On Wings of Bone and Glass

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  “And why hadn’t you done so?” I asked. “You had the time, prior to the eruption of... all this.” I waved a hand to encompass where we were and all that had changed.

  She looked away, shoulders tense. “It would have been… messy. To fight them. Such a war… many would have died, even immortal as we were before. An ugly fight, and at the end of it, what sort of victory? I would have ruled the Archipelago complete, but I would have had to build my throne on too many bodies.”

  “The bodies of your enemies.”

  “They were rivals,” she said, stressing the word. “Not enemies.”

  I snorted. “Thameis would have disagreed.”

  “Thameis was a brute,” Tchanu said curtly. “Who loved violence for its own sake. I don’t love violence, Prince Locke. Power, yes. I find power very pleasing. It chafes me to be forced to watch others do badly what I know I do well, and I lead well. But violence?” She shook her head. “You and I have lately seen the ultimate in violence. A battlefield between the dead and the living… the only more senseless scene would be the dead killing the dead. That is what it comes to in the end. Corpses.”

  “You ask why I came back for you, then?”

  “Because I abhor violence?” She snorted. “It can’t be only that.”

  “No,” I admitted. I heard the rattle of dice again, a laugh in my ear, teasing, intimate. “I took a chance. That you were not as inflexible as to shun humans and genets in this new world where they must be our equals.” I lifted a brow. “You are capable of admitting them into the circles of power where you move?”

  “I suppose I must be,” she said. She smiled a little. “I never disliked humans. Or genets.”

  “According to the humans here, you liked them rather too well.”

  “You say this, who have a human to your side?”

  I sipped my water, refusing my first flush of anger. She was a product of her culture. She had to be taught. I was here to see if she was able to receive that teaching. “Would you have married any of the humans you were so fond of?”

  “Of course not,” she replied, startled. And then frowned at me. “And you are planning to do so? It is not a fecund alliance.”

  “The royal gifts do not pass directly through the blood,” I said. “Obviously, or Sedetnet wouldn’t have spent centuries destroying them in the populace. There will be another prince and king, Tchanu.” I grinned. “If you marry well, they may even be born of you.”

  She huffed, but she also leaned back, relaxing. “So what would you?” At my look, she gestured with a hand, absent. “You fished me from the cell and put me at the table for some purpose, I assume. May I know the mind of my prince?”

  “That depends,” I said. “Am I your prince, Tchanu? Or am I simply, once again, the convenient choice?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You ask me a question knowing full well that there is no way I can answer to your satisfaction.”

  “Do I?”

  “Of course.” Her frown grew more pronounced. “I am no stripling, Prince. Trust is not something won in a day. It must be demonstrated. It must be earned.”

  “No,” I said quietly. “No, Tchanu. Like love, trust is an act, and it is continually in the doing. It is forever fresh, and forever renewed, and it begins with a commitment to that act. Will you then commit to me and your king? Will you meet my eyes here in this room and say words, and make those words into sacred vow with the intent in your heart?”

  Her breath caught.

  I remembered a conversation beneath an oak, and the woman who’d reminded me there of uncertainties and promises and painful truths about the future. Perhaps I had loved the university, not for its protection from the world I’d feared I would never enter... but because in my heart I acknowledged the glorious and terrible truth that we were never finished works. That we could never rest, because this life was our school, and the moment we ceased to learn, we abdicated our responsibilities to each other, and to God. Quietly, I finished, “You cannot know the future, Tchanu, and neither can I. That is what makes our promises to each other in this moment meaningful. Because we will give those promises in full acceptance of that uncertainty.”

  “And you,” she said, low. “You will also make one.”

  “I am your prince, Tchanu. If you accept me, then you know I will never leave you in any cell I can free you from. And few cells will not open to me.”

  “No,” she breathed. “No, I believe you.” She closed her eyes, fisting her hands on her knees, and when she lifted her her head I knew before she met my gaze that she was mine. “Then you are my prince, Morgan Locke.”

  “And you are my liegewoman.”

  She lowered her head and in that silence we both composed ourselves. After a sip of her water, taken from a glass that trembled, she said, “So, then. What is it you want of me at that table?”

  “I want you to speak for the elves,” I said. “What else?”

  Tchanu lost her next words in a gurgle of laughter that made her sound the maiden she’d professed to no longer be, and it was charming. I suddenly thought that there must have been lovers who’d liked her, no matter her race. “That’s all! I would have done so anyway!”

  “Yes,” I said. “But now, alas for you! You must do so in the full understanding that what I want is a Serala where elves, genets, and humans are all free to live their lives—in peace and without threat of violence. The life you knew here is ended, Tchanu. I will not countenance it resurfacing.”

  “I understand,” she said. “And... if I may be crass... then I will say that it doesn’t need to again. What we made here was... a...”

  “Expedient solution?” I offered dryly.

  She winced. “Yes. We needed energy. The enchantment gave us the means to steal it. But we can neither steal the essence of others anymore, nor do we require it. We are free again.”

  “And you mean to tell me that there will not be elves who miss being able to steal more energy than they would have been born with?”

  This grimace was more pronounced, but she answered nevertheless. “There will be, I’m sure. But short of inviting demons into themselves, they won’t be capable of the act. And who, having fought the dead, will want to risk that? And if you ask me ‘what of the elves who did not see it?’ then I will say....” She trailed off, then shrugged. “Send them to Vigil and put them to work dragging the revenants from the battlefield to the bonfires. If that work does not dissuade them, then they were bound for evil anyway.”

  “Oh!” I laughed. “Oh, Tchanu. Brilliant! We shall do that as soon as we finagle a truce out of these people.”

  “Do you think we can?” she asked.

  “We will, because I’m not leaving without one.”

  “Can it be done?” I asked Chester later, when it was safe to betray doubt.

  He laughed. “We’ve done harder things. But not, I think, things that have taken longer.”

  “Time I have,” I said, blowing out a breath. “Go get me my truce.”

  So began a slog that felt far more interminable than our battle against the dead. Though not as volatile as Diantha, Ikaros remained obdurate in response to pleas; his counterpart from Ekadet, Jonthil, was easily agitated and the mere presence of elves at the table seemed sufficient to aggravate his nervous disposition. Davor, representing Suleris, was cautious but more open to compromise, but he was outnumbered by the other two humans. And while Iset was willing to make concessions that would have beggared Serala’s treasury (if treasury it even had!), Tchanu was less conciliatory. Like Davor, she was willing to bargain, but not to beg for clemency.

  I remained as aloof as possible from the proceedings, because my word must be taken as law by the elves... and I wanted them to feel they’d had some hand in the proceedings. There would be resentment aplenty between elves and humans when we left Nudain; I did not want to compound it with resentment between the elves and their prince. Amhric, they would probably forgive anything. But it was not Amhric who would be engaged i
n the day to day affairs of the court.

  Chester gamely took to the field every day, and if the battle was bloodless it was no less ferocious for that. The humans were determined to procure not just guarantees of safety, but also of sovereignty, and if they had their way there would be no Serala, but two separate countries sharing the same archipelago. I did not like to imagine the years of argument that would see the resources, cities, and wealth of the kingdom split between the two parties; worse, I could not imagine it prospering. If perhaps we could separate the two nascent countries... but to have them existing in proximity on these islands? There would be no peace, only a deferment of the conflict that was already consuming the Archipelago.

  My goal was to end that conflict. And for that, we needed one Serala. Chester agreed; so did Tchanu and, after some convincing, Iset. Davor I thought would vote with us if his fellows weren’t so fiercely opposed... but he had been born to service in one of the most depraved of elven blood-flags, and it was hard for him to set aside the decades of experience that shaped his perception of elven behavior.

  Put simply, they didn’t trust us.

  They had no reason to.

  Two weeks into the process, at the end of one particularly grueling session that had dragged on far too long, Diantha slammed her hand on the table and said, “There’s no point to this! We will never, never give up our liberty to elves again! You can talk and talk and talk all you want, but what you want, we can’t give you!”

  “They’re not asking for your freedom,” Chester said with commendable, if weary, patience.

  “No,” Jonthil said. “They’re asking for our trust. And it has never been a good idea to trust an elf.”

  Tchanu, who had fallen silent for the past half hour, roused herself then. “A wise man once said to me—” Eyes flicking toward me now, “—that trust is a promise, renewed every day by the acts of those who pledge it.”

  “Maybe it is,” Ikaros said. “But I don’t see any elf trusting a human right now.” He held up a hand. “No, not here, talking about what might be. I mean right now. In some meaningful way.”

  “You’re talking to two elves who lately trusted their lives to humans who fought demons and walking corpses,” Kelu said dryly.

  “And what proof have we of that?” Diantha demanded.

  “And what does it matter?” Ikaros said. “That was an extraordinary situation. When you’re about to die, you’ll take all the help you can get, no matter where it comes from.”

  “That is manifestly not true,” a much exasperated Galen said from behind Iset’s shoulder. “People will cheerfully go to their doom to avoid accepting help from people they despise. As you should know.”

  “I stand by my words!”

  I held up my hands for silence, and when granted it, looked at Davor. “Are they right?”

  Davor contemplated his fellows, who stilled themselves for his regard—they did not agree with him, but they respected him, almost despite themselves. For a man to live to Davor’s age among elves denoted an ability to navigate the caprice of elven society and survive, and this commanded admiration even among the most grudging of humans. He measured them, then said to me, “I think so, lord prince.”

  “Then,” I said, “I shall prove it.”

  “You’ll what?” Jonthil said, confused.

  “You asked for proof that an elf might trust a human... under ordinary circumstances. I shall supply this proof.” I rose. “Make ready for departure. We are leaving for Erevar in the morning.”

  “Leaving for... but.. why?” Ikaros stood. “Locke?”

  “Prince Locke,” Chester said. “I’m the only one allowed to call him Locke. Here, anyway.”

  “Pack your things,” I said as I left. “You’ll be gone a week.”

  Outside in the hall, Chester and Kelu caught up with me. It was the latter who said in Lit, “What are you planning?”

  “A demonstration,” I said. “As promised.” I eyed Chester and added, “You said I would have to be involved.”

  “You also said it was mine to do, so now I fear you are involving me in this plan...!”

  “I am. But it will work best if it is a surprise.”

  Chester sighed, chuckled. “How many ways can this go wrong, I wonder. Dare I ask?”

  I grinned at him. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  He shook his head. But he also didn’t ask.

  28

  The drake ferried us all to Erevar, and an uncomfortable journey it was in such company; while I was glad of my personal friends, the unfriends who ranged on the drake’s long back were not only unwilling to be sharing that ride but forced to make do with the leading straps hooked off the back of the saddle, which had not been designed for such a large party. By the time we arrived we were glad to be quit of one another, which meant Ivy and Chester were only slightly annoyed with me when I revealed that I was leaving them.

  “Must you?” Ivy said, one hand gripping my stole. “Do you wish to be responsible for the untimely murder of that girl?”

  For a moment I contemplated Diantha’s death and was not moved by horror. Ruefully, I said, “Just have Iset squirrel her away in a corner of Kemses’s manse. You need never see her.”

  “Really, love, where are you going?”

  “To fetch the materials for our demonstration,” I said. “Expect me in five days, thereabouts. You will want to be outside the city, but not too far.”

  Chester was watching me now, eyes narrowed. He suspected what I was about, unsurprisingly.

  “Make sure there will be a crowd to watch,” I said. “It will be worth it.”

  “Morgan,” Ivy said, bouncing the cloth of my stole off my chest to catch my attention. “This secrecy is in appalling taste.”

  “I know, my dearest. Not much longer, I promise.”

  And with that they were forced to be content. Emily brought me supplies for the journey and I boarded the drake and once again we were aloft. I left my own with my prayers that they would keep the human leaders of Nudain and Ekadet from violence; God only knew what they would make of a city full of humans happily at peace with their elven counterparts. I anticipated many tiresome arguments about the elves conditioning their slaves to be grateful for their state and was shamefully glad to be missing them.

  It was good to be alone.

  Rare, yes, and I was grateful for that rarity, for I loved the society of my friends and loved ones... had not realized just how fully I’d been holding back from them because of my infirmity and the perceived inevitability of my early death. So much I’d denied myself, and for what? I would have lost the ability to suffer my indignities in private, perhaps, but gained so much that would have enriched my life; had I been destined to die young, I would have done so without really having lived.

  I would not trade my crowded life for solitude again. But now and then... to feel the sun on my face and feel the breeze cooling the sweat on my body, in the folds of my skin where my arms and legs bent... to be allowed the peace for my thoughts to develop and then run clear from me until nothing remained in my mind but the joy of flight, the awe of the world unrolling beneath me, the sough of breath in me, breath after breath, a rhythm that proclaimed my living!

  I was the prince of elves, and I was alive.

  The drake brought me at last to the Door. I slid off its back and considered it, and all the silence of the hours, the days, was in me then.

  No room for doubt. I had done this once before. Needs must and I was here again, alone, because a grand gesture was called for and this was the grandest I could improvise. It would be enough, I thought. Reaching with closed eyes and calmed spirit, I carefully shut the Door and unmoored it from its anchor, compacted it, made of it the smallest, most tender bubble. In the arc of the sphere gleamed a reflection of movement, of a cold winter sky, so much paler a blue.

  Cradling it, I returned to the drake. As I mounted, I said, “And now, great heart, I must trust you to make the journey back. This will ta
ke all my attention.”

  It whuffed softly, waiting for me to strap in. And then it rose, and as it did I sank into meditation, holding in my mind the will and magic that had formed this particular sorcery. If I felt Sedetnet’s hand in it, that was well. It kept mine steady.

  Someone must have set a lookout on Erevar’s heights, for our return found a gathering outside the city, and a sizable one, milling in the light of the setting sun. As the drake circled in lazy arcs, I waited for the last of the people to arrive and array themselves beneath the direction of whomever was shouting. The location was perfect: close enough to the coast to have access to the sea, but not so close as to be threatened by the tide, and at the city’s edge. Kemses and Iset were clever folk... they would extend the city to protect the Door, and ensure that our passage to and from the continent would always be overseen by our staunchest allies on either side. And with the Door rooted in Erevar, the other humans of the Archipelago would be forced to come to terms with e Sadar did they want to reap the benefits of the shorter trade route.

  As political ploys went, it was heavy-handed, and I knew it would engender some resentment. But I was not willing to give the safety of Vigil into the hands of the likes of Diantha. And the demonstration, I thought, would serve.

  Chester was waiting just where I wanted him, standing where the Door should be anchored. Behind him was Amhric, prepared to offer more power to the working if power we needed. Ivy stood to one side, though God willing we would need her abilities not at all.

  “Closer,” I said to the drake. “But not landing.” And it obeyed, curvetting in the air and then maintaining an awkward hover by flying into an ocean breeze. I looked over the side of its neck and saw Chester with his arms lifted, because of course he knew what I was about.

  I leaned over the edge with my burden and opened my hands.

  Down drifted the bubble that represented our link to the continent... without which we would be forced to endure several months on the Archipelago until the winter seas calmed enough for us to journey back. The Door, which had been made by a prince, could now only be manipulated by a prince... or whomever that prince granted permission. As the bubble fell, I opened my heart and mind and the working, felt his hands grasp mine in an invisible communion.