War of the Bastards

by Andrew Shvarts

  For the greater good.

  And before I could think any more, before I could rationalize or talk myself into it, before I could let even one more voice speak inside my head, I spun around and flared out my hand and pushed all the energy inside me into that crystal and it exploded like a starburst, shattering all over the room, glittering and bright and useless, a skyscape of yellow stars that hung around us like flickering fireflies.

  The power was gone. I’d destroyed it.

  It was done.

  If it had been silent before, then now it was a level below silence, a quiet that was overwhelming. Zell stared, stunned. Lyriana’s jaw hung open.

  “You didn’t use it,” Lyriana said at last.

  “No. And now no one can,” I said. My heart was thundering in my chest. I felt like I was going to faint. I’d done that. I’d really actually done that. I knew I should have felt guilt or shame or fear. I’d destroyed our only solution. I’d let the bloodmages run free. I’d doomed the world.

  But all I felt was relief.

  “Why?” Zell asked, without judgment. “You would have saved the world.”

  “Because a world that we have to kill thousands of innocent people to save isn’t one worth saving,” I replied, and even as the words came out, I felt their strength, felt my strength. “Because I’m not going to just be another cog in the wheels of history, churning along, repeating the same mistakes. Because sooner or later, someone has to take a risk to actually build a better future, and not just take the easy way out. Because I’m not going to become my father.” I was shouting, I realized, but I didn’t care. “We have to find another way. A better way. Or die trying.”

  “Zastroya will still come,” Lyriana said quietly.

  “Maybe,” Zell said, and I could hear something new in his voice. Relief. “But maybe it won’t. Maybe we’ll find a better way, like Tilla said.” He turned to me and smiled, and it felt like a weight as heavy as a boulder had been removed from my chest. “At least we can live with the choices we made. At least we can live with ourselves.”

  Lyriana nodded. “Damn right,” she said. “But…what do we do now?”

  “The one thing we should have done a long time ago,” I replied, and even as I spoke an idea was forming in my head. “We tell everyone the truth.” The crystal was gone, but I still had the rest of the Nightmother’s knowledge in me, and that meant I could still see the glowing green panes, the ones that controlled this room. And I still somehow knew how they worked. My hands did the work automatically, drawing one in, tracing a rune, using the Titans’ ingrained magical systems. A twist of my wrist brought up a single translucent button. I turned to Lyriana, my hand lingering over it. “So. Your Majesty. Ready to give your first real address as Queen?”

  She blinked. “To who?”

  “Everyone.”

  She stared at me for a moment, and then I saw comprehension hit. “Oh,” she said. She ran her hands through her hair, smoothing it as much as she could, wiped some blood off her forehead, and took the deepest breath I’ve ever seen. “Okay,” she said at last. “Do it.”

  I pressed the button. A green halo appeared under Lyriana’s feet, and a beam of pale light enveloped her. The air sang with the low hum of deep magic, and I felt a buzzing in the back of my head, like a fingernail scraping against my brain. The room flooded with a blinding green light, but it wasn’t coming from inside but outside. I spun to the far wall, which was now a window looking out on the city, and there was something in front of it, something massive and bright. I could only see a tiny bit of it from up here, but a hovering pane in front of me let me see the view from the outside.

  Standing in front of the Godsblade, tall as the tower itself, was an image of Lyriana made of green light. She loomed over the city like an impossible statue, like a giantess, like a Titan. It had been almost a thousand years since anyone had seen a sight like this, a level of magic beyond anything any human had ever achieved. And everyone who saw it, everyone in the city or the fields beyond, dropped what they were doing and turned to gape. Westerners, Heartlanders, bloodmages, soldiers, men, women, children. In that moment, everyone was united in awe.

  “Psst,” I whispered. “I think you’re on.”

  “People of Noveris!” Lyriana said, and even though I heard her voice in my ears from a few feet away, I also heard her voice the way everyone else did, booming and thundering in my mind, the way the Nightmother’s voice had. And everyone could hear her like this. The people in the city below, sure, but also the merchants in the Baronies of the Eastern shore and the Zitochi in Zhal Khorso and Syan’s mother all the way down in Benn Devalos. When Lyriana spoke, her words went out to every soul on the continent.

  But still, somehow, she kept her cool. “I speak to you as your rightful Queen. The Usurper Kent is dead. The Inquisitor Hampstedt is dead. I have retaken the Godsblade. The war is over.” Her voice was strong and authoritative, regal and commanding, the kind of voice you had to stop and listen to. It was a side of her I hadn’t seen in ages, a composure I hadn’t seen her display since the fall of Lightspire. I’d gotten so used to Lyriana the rebel, Lyriana the warrior, I’d forgotten how impressive Lyriana the Royal could be.

  “We’ve all lost so much in this war. So many people have died. So many cities have burned. And we’ve all given up parts of ourselves, our souls, just to stay in the fight. Now, at long last, the time has come to put down our swords and take off our Rings. The time has come to build a peace.” She swallowed deep, collecting herself. “I know there are many of you out there who will not want to accept this, especially coming from me. There are many of you who will blame my family for this war, for their conquests, for the way they ruled. I don’t blame you for this. The Kings and Queens before me made mistakes. My family made mistakes. Their rule was not perfect, not just, not divinely mandated. I can’t promise you I’ll be any of those things. But I can promise you I’ll try to be better.”

  I had no idea how her words were being taken out there, on the battlefields, in the streets. All I knew was that my heart was practically bursting with pride.

  “The truth is, even if this war ends, the danger is far from over,” Lyriana went on. “A far greater threat looms over the Kingdom. The use of magic has begun tearing our world apart. The earthquakes are just the beginning. If we don’t unite as one people, if we don’t end this conflict, if we don’t all work together to find a solution, then it won’t matter who sits on the throne. Heartlander or Westerner, Easterner or Southlander…we’ll all burn.”

  She closed her eyes, and I don’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful. “I am your Queen, but the truth is, I cannot order you to bow to me. You, the people, hold all the power. All I can do is tell you what I know. And I know we all face the most important choice in our history. We can unite as one and build a ship toward a better future. Or we can all drown together. If you’ll trust me, if you’ll give me a chance, I promise you I’ll try to find a way forward. But in the end, the choice is yours.”

  Lyriana nodded to me, and I swiped my wrist again, moving away the pane. The halo of light under Lyriana vanished, as did the giant projection of her outside. That scratching feeling vanished as well, so it’s safe to say she was out of my head. “Well?” she asked. “How was I?”

  “Magnificent,” I replied.

  “Hey,” Zell said, his voice hushed and reverent. “Look.”

  He was pointing out the window, to the city below, and I walked over to look out, my stomach fluttering, because if this didn’t work, if Lyriana’s speech fell flat, then I’d kind of doomed the whole world. Lightspire sprawled out below us, and even though the fires still raged and the smokestacks still loomed, the city seemed different. Stiller. Quieter. There were no flashes of magic, no scurrying figures, no bursts of lightning or clanging blades.

  All throughout the city, soldiers stared up at the Godsblade, whispering, muttering, praying. With tears in their eyes, they fell to their knees.

 
And laid down their swords.

  LYRIANA’S CORONATION FELL ON THE first day of fall, and naturally, I overslept.

  A month had passed since the Battle of Lightspire. A month of reconstruction and rebuilding, of putting out the fires raging all over the Kingdom, both literal and figurative. It was a month of exhausting negotiations and fraught diplomacy, a month of endless letters and endless meetings, a month of long difficult conversations about what the future would hold. It took a month to bring order to the city and begin fixing all the damage that had been done, a month to clean up the Godsblade, a month to convince the holdout bloodmages and Western Lords to surrender, a month to put together a new government. Lyriana wasn’t technically the Queen yet, just the Regent until her coronation, but it was a month that saw her scrambling to craft a vision of what her reign would be: policies that saw the nobility forced to share their wealth with the people, that created jobs for the poor and provided medicine to the sick, that prohibited the use of magic, that rebuilt the kingdom as a place that was, at least on paper, far more equal and just.

  That was her, though. For me, it was a month of desperately needed rest. The city wasn’t safe to wander for a Westerner, not yet, so I kept to the Godsblade, got myself a nice room in the upper floors. I slept in. I took long baths. I spent hours and hours in Zell’s arms. To stay helpful, I baked bread in the kitchens to hand out to the smallfolk, and to relax I hung out with Lyriana and Syan whenever they were free. I celebrated my eighteenth birthday with fine Lightspire wine and a beautiful sunset and all my friends by my side. It wasn’t all comforts and kisses; there were nights when I woke up screaming and days when my wounds itched and my eyes burned with sudden tears for everyone I’d lost. But still, little by little, life seemed to go on.

  I thought of my father’s dying words a lot. About what would happen if I ran away with Zell, if I went somewhere far, far away. Building a little cottage. Making a life. And putting all of this, all this responsibility and conflict and death, finally behind us.

  But that was in the future. Right now, I had a coronation to get to.

  I scrambled all morning to get ready, brushing out my hair, putting on jewelry for the first time in ages, slipping into the gown Lyriana had picked out for me. It was a Lightspire dress made of flowing blue silk, sleeveless, with golden ribbons tying up the back and little jeweled strands that crept up the side like ivy. It had been at least a year since I’d worn a dress, and I couldn’t help staring at myself in the mirror, at the stranger I could barely recognize. My arms were buff, like, really buff, with biceps that put half the guys I’d known to shame. My shoulders looked broader, my stomach flatter, and even my hair looked unnatural flowing down, instead of tucked back in a ponytail. I never thought I’d look too tough for a ball gown, but here I was.

  “You look beautiful,” a voice said from behind me. I turned around and there was Zell, leaning against my door frame with a sly grin. He was wearing a tight black leather tunic with an icewolf fur trim around the collar, a trailing black cape, and matching gloves and boots. Small silver chains crossed his chest, and little tiny beads of embedded nightglass sparkled like a sea of dark stars. It was traditional Zitochi formalwear, an outfit he’d gotten as a gift from some Lord currying favor. It’s funny. A year ago, the idea of Zell wearing Zitochi clothes to a formal event would’ve been unthinkable, because we’d wanted so badly to blend in. Now he wore them with pride.

  “You look pretty damn good yourself,” I said, crossing over to kiss him. And I meant it. He looked amazing. So amazing that I kind of wanted to just keep kissing him, to feel his arms around me, and maybe to slide my hands down and see what happened. Did we have time? I mean, maybe if we were quick…

  He pulled away, smiling. “Later, my love,” he said. “We have a coronation to get to.”

  Fine. Fine. I took his hand and followed.

  The coronation was held in the throne room, naturally, a room I’d managed to avoid in the month I’d been here. They’d cleaned it up real nice: all the blood had been mopped up, all the bodies dragged away, the whole place as shiny and sparkling as it had ever been. The shimmersteel throne glistened at the end, and even after everything, it still looked majestic.

  Zell and I were the last to come in, shuffling to our place at the front. The room was packed, with rows and rows of chairs that stretched all the way to the chamber’s end. It looked like pretty much everyone of import had managed to make it out. In the front row were the special guests Lyriana had chosen to honor: Syan in a gorgeous white gown, Galen in a sharp black robe, even little Princess Aurelia, back home at last, looking utterly adorable. Behind us were the new Lords of the Heartlands, the fifth sons and castle regents and distant cousins who’d come into power after the fall of the nobility.

  But I could see other Provinces represented too. One row was made up of the leaders of the Eastern Baronies, pale men and women with painted faces and bright red lips; I wondered if Markiska’s parents were among them. Behind them were the Southlanders, with their white robes and bald heads. Rulys Cal was with them, watching us closely, like a cat poised to pounce. His engagement to Lyriana was one thing the Queen and I very much had not talked about; every time I tried to bring it up, Lyriana changed the subject, probably because of what it meant for her relationship with Syan. I didn’t blame her. I knew we owed Cal a huge debt, that none of this would’ve been possible without the help of his army. But it didn’t mean I liked looking at him.

  And then at the very back were the Westerners, a handful of Lords who’d come out to represent the Province, the handful who’d survived: stern, hawk-faced Lord Tyre, the young Lady Millings, and heavy bearded Lord Collinwood, who I’d watched fall asleep in his beet soup a lifetime ago. They looked uneasiest of all, glancing around nervously, like they expected us to turn on them any second with blades drawn. I didn’t blame them. It’s what they’d probably do if the tables were turned.

  I swallowed deep, feeling the tinges of anxiety tickle at my stomach. The last time I’d been in a room with this many powerful people, they’d all died in a horrible fireball. Lyriana had assured me we’d be safe but…how could she be sure?

  Zell’s hand found mine and squeezed. I breathed deep, forced a smile. I’d made it this far. I’d make it further.

  The music kicked in, a choir of young women singing in perfect harmony as a group of performers strummed violins and a blind old man played a majestic grand piano. In previous years, this would’ve been a ceremony infused with magic, the music augmented by the impossible geometries of the Mesmers, the room lit up by dazzling lights and ribbons of flying color. But magic was forbidden now except for emergencies, and so the whole thing had a humble, low-key vibe, the kind of thing you might see in a wealthy Western merchant’s house. It was actually kind of nice.

  The doors at the end swung open and Lyriana emerged. She looked so beautiful I actually gasped. She wore an ornate layered gown, a light cream that looked radiant against her black skin, with shining rivulets along the side and a flowing trail behind her. Her hair was braided in dozens of elegant strands, adorned with a crown of blue-and-yellow elderbloom. Long gloves went up her arms, and her golden eyes glowed bright and radiant.

  Every head in the room turned to look at her and bowed in reverence. The music swelled. She walked forward, nodding regally at each delegation, her face a model of poise and grace. And for one second, one tiny wonderful second, our eyes met and I swear she cracked a smile.

  Then she was up at the front of the room, at the foot of the throne. Normally, the High Priest would take over here, blessing the new monarch as the living herald of the Titans’ will. For a lot of obvious reasons, Lyriana didn’t feel comfortable with that, so instead, she had Archmagus Ellarion usher her in.

  Yeah, that’s right. Ellarion! After all those dramatic goodbyes, he’d made it out alive, thanks in no small part to Syan. We rushed back to them after Lyriana’s speech and found him where we’d left him, unconscious, slumped agai
nst the throne room wall, surrounded now by the bodies of a dozen more Westerners Syan had killed to protect him. It had taken two weeks in the care of the Sisters of Kaia, but they’d saved his life. Sure, he’d lost twenty pounds and walked with a limp. But that spark was back in his eyes, the confidence back in his stride, and I’d seen him hit on at least four different girls in the last week alone. Ellarion was back in his element, and he’d never seemed better.

  Today, though, he was all business, and managed to make it through the entire ceremony without cracking a single joke. He read Lyriana the vows of the throne, and she accepted all of them, pledging to be a faithful leader and serve the people and all that. It took nearly an hour, by the end of which I’d totally zoned out and was just staring blankly out the window. But then he ended and she rose to her feet and replaced her elderbloom crown with one made of shimmersteel and took her seat on the throne, and we all stood and clapped and cheered and damn if it didn’t feel good. I knew there were still problems out there, a lifetime’s worth: rebel bloodmages and uneasy alliances and the whole possible end of the world thing. But Lyriana was on the throne. At last. I had to celebrate that.

  Then Lyriana spoke. “My assembled Lords and Ladies,” she said. “I thank you all for making the journey to be here for this event. I know that you all have many responsibilities to your people, and that many of you may have apprehensions about what the future will hold. I know that we all have a difficult road ahead of us, that we have so much to rebuild and so many challenges to face. And yet seeing you all here, seeing us gathered together, not as enemies, but as friends once again, it fills me with tremendous hope.” She smiled, a beaming, generous infectious smile. “For the first time in ages, I feel as though we might be able to make it to a brighter future.