Jade stopped listening when her eyes found what she was looking for. In the back courtyard was a relic, much smaller than the ones she’d ridden in before, this one might hold the whole team—or whoever made it back. She ran to it and tried the switches. “Okay, no power.” The only way to move a relic without power was recharging the enchantment with Glint.
Time rushed at her, sudden and unwanted, the events of the last twenty minutes clawing their way to clarity. Her adrenaline faded enough for her hands to tremble. Fear threatened to choke her. Her head was spinning. If she couldn’t get the relic to move, what would they do? Dian couldn’t walk. Gandry was dead. So much blood. So much blood.
Jade’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her thoughts spiraling. They had no other option. If this relic didn’t work, that was it. They would be trapped as Meraton came crashing down around them.
An electric shock zapped her fingers and Jade jerked back. The air crackled with energy and the gauges glowed a faint green before going out. The engine roared to life.
She froze, suddenly very unnerved about what it looked like versus what she wanted to be true. “So...that happened.”
There wasn’t time to think about it, Jade rushed back to her team and gathered everyone into the relic. Everyone that was left. She hopped behind the wheel and crashed straight through the walls before hitting the street and gunning it. Soon Meraton was fading into the distance. Thick plumes of black smoke marred the blue sky, blocking the sun. Fire tickled the skyline of the city growing smaller and smaller as she followed the first road sign she saw. Ceol: 160 miles.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EVERYONE SUCKS EXCEPT FOR YOUR WIFE (A REAL LIFE LESSON)
Havinnia Gaielle Merrin Oakhaven could trace her lineage back over twenty generations. She shared the blood of Kings and Queens. The chosen family of Vacua. Her ancestors were noble caretakers. Chosen by the Founders when Vauca was formed in the ruin of Old Liore nearly five centuries ago. Havinnia learned the names and stories of her forebearers in classes as a child, spoken in reverence. She had never wanted to rule, it was not supposed to be her fate, but the regal lines spanning centuries had always made her feel a small piece of something special, larger than herself. Each of them was a part of her, and for better or worse, they—along with the chosen rulers of the other nations—had shaped Liore.
She stared hard into the pale blue eyes of Peregrine Horatius Gillium Oakhaven, his portrait hung—one in a long line—amongst the great rulers of Vacua, and she seethed. Her posture was rigid, her hands clasped delicately at her waist, and her thoughts a tempest swirl of anger, frustration, and malice directed solely on her long deceased relative. Peregrine Oakhaven was an imbecile, the one responsible for the demise of Liore, though history remembered him differently.
He had a smile of straight white teeth, sculpted mane of blonde hair reaching his shoulders—as was the fashion at the time—and posed with the bearing of one who had thought himself great. His only success had been dying young and sparing the world more harm.
This ancient room was filled with her family’s history. Aside from the many portraits of rulers, there were albums of pictures and private journals. Heirlooms and trinkets collected over the years and displayed on stands or glass cases. The room was gargantuan, tucked in the back of the Royal Court, it would take nearly five minutes to walk from one corner to another. As a child, Havinnia would follow her mother in this room and ask about the beautiful people on the walls, curious and eager to engage her mother’s attention even for a few moments. Her time here had been safe, warm. Home, as much as any part of the Royal Court.
Now, the walls were crushing, a cage. Being in there left her hollow and anxious. It was a place to vent her frustrations, to direct her fury on the ones who deserved it, when day after day she could do nothing more than keep her mouth shut and do her duty. This was the real legacy they had left for her. Peregrine was just the catalyst.
“Majesty?” A voice from the door called to her and Havinnia acknowledged it without turning. Her advisor stepped in and bowed. “Your majesty, they’re waiting for you.”
A proper Conclave of the Five Nations had not been called since her parents were still alive. Havinnia turned and strode past her advisor without a word, chin in the air. She was growing tired of all of them, politicians included.
It was a short walk to the chamber where the other members of the Conclave waited, a special room enchanted with all the Royal Court’s standard security measures as well as enchantments for secrecy and privacy. Only a leader of Liore could enter, anyone else would be repelled, thrust away in a hurricane of icy wind. Havinnia settled her hand on the door and it opened for her touch. There were only four people in the cozy room, but they were the four most important people in Liore. Her equals in every way.
From Rowm, President Jerron Kitchingham, a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair and easy manners. Chancellor Viktor Karo, from Harrowind, was older with severe features and a finely sculpted beard. He possessed the white hair of his people and wore fine, embroidered cloth. Empress Arra Amuro wore the draped fabrics of Rosewall, decorated in natural patterns of leaves and flowers. Her eyes were brown and welcoming, though Havinnia knew her to be shrewd and concise. From Helvik, the mysterious neighbor to the North, the most guarded and reclusive of the Five, Inquisitor Cadence Iwou. Her hair was done in long, thick braids down her back, adorned with beads in her country’s colors. Her clothes were thick, leather and wool, to keep warm in her frigid homeland. Havinnia had spoken with all of them on occasion, but never all at once or in person.
“Thank you for coming,” Havinnia began, her nerves nearly getting the better of her. She was a Queen, and yet, she felt out of her depth. This was never supposed to be her. These people were experienced, true rulers of their nations. She felt like a liar, even though the door had allowed her to enter. She raised her chin, pouring all her courage into her manner. “You know why his Conclave of the Five Nations has been called.”
“Yes, indeed,” chimed President Kitchingham, “Things getting out of hand.”
“I agree,” Havinnia turned her full attention to the President, who was so graciously referring to the massacre and complete take-over of Meraton. “Things have gotten very out of hand.” She paused, thinking over her words carefully, but knowing they had to be said, “The four of you had an understanding with my parents, a plan to save Liore. And it is failing. I think it’s time we agree on a new course.”
There was a shift in the room, tension.
“Do you have any suggestions, Young Queen?” Empress Amuro asked, who could somehow tilt her head with elegance and balance despite her large headdress.
“Not many, I’m afraid. Calling you all here was, in part, to find a new direction together.” She willed her hands to be still, to keep her fidgeting at a minimum. She did not normally fidget, but their eyes were so heavy on her skin. Each presence in the room was trying to dominate it, through the nature of their person, and it was clashing in front of her eyes like fireworks. She felt a mouse in a den of lions. Yet, as the code and law they all lived by, none of them were above the other. “It is my belief that the situation is becoming dire and our efforts have had little effect. We need to change tactics.”
It was quiet for several heartbeats, until Empress Amuro stood. She was a beautiful woman, her age impossible to determine. The empress and Havinnia were of the few born into their roles, unlike the elected others. “In Rosewall, we do not push nature away, but embrace it—”
“Please, Amuro, spare us the elemental preaching,” interrupted Chancellor Karo. “You aren’t better because you lack the fortitude to harm a tree.”
Amuro turned on him like a viper, her dark eyes lethal. “Forgive me, Karo, but how does Harrowind fare now? Flourishing?” Her eyes narrowed as she struck, “Such a comment is not very sporting of me. Especially when we see so many of your people flocking to our shores.”
Karo shifted, his lips pursed.
>
“As I was saying,” Amuro continued, gliding the length of the room, “Is that Queen Havinnia may have a point. Nature is becoming...unbalanced. Weather patterns shifting. We have even started to catalogue mutations in the flora and fauna. As for altering our course, that may be wise. But accelerating our plans could also prove effective.”
Havinnia’s heart clenched.
“So we agree that something must be done,” Inquisitor Iwou said, her voice melodic and yet deep. She was known for her silence, secretive just as her country, but she inclined her head at Havinnia with a note of respect. “Helvik isn’t immune to these problems. Whispers and gossip of the strange or abnormal. More and more Chanters found every day. And sickness. Just a few cases, but it’s as they described. I think accelerating our plans won’t be enough. We need a new direction.”
“What do you suggest, Inquisitor?” Asked Kitchingham.
“Enchanting is our problem, we know this to be the cause,” Iwou started, her words sparking a rush of sighs and huffs, “Then I suggest what I did years ago. We stop enchanting. All of it. Immediately.”
“Damn it, Iwou, we’ve been over this,” Kitchingham argued, “We can’t just full stop, our entire world runs on enchantments.”
Amuro shook her head. “I don’t like it, but he’s correct. You are asking us to bring the entire world to a dead halt. Chaos and death will follow.”
Iwou stood firm. “That sounds like a more manageable problem than the actual world decaying beyond repair. The riots will work themselves out and order will return eventually. Reversing the damage that is being done every single day in the tons of Glint being processed and enchanted will be impossible.”
When they started talking over each other, Havinnia spoke over the uproar. “The subject of ceasing enchantment production is out of the question. It’s too dangerous. Not only will it risk too many lives and the fabric of our civilization, but we cannot be sure that the people would not find ways of enchanting on their own. Corsairs already exist and if we outlaw enchanting, they will just find a way to do it anyway. The only solution is to find an immediate, usable alternative to enchanting.”
“Is that not what rounding up all those damn Chanters is for?” Karo asked. “Do they not provide an immediate, usable alternative?”
Havinnia took a steadying breath. “So far, our research proves Chanter’s enchantments are clean. They don’t use the refined Glint, which is the source of the problem. We are currently trying to find an alternative to the refinement process, so that Glint can still be manufactured, but without the radiation.”
“And how long is that going to take? Months? Years? How far into this research are you, exactly?” Asked Kitchingham.
Her nose flared, but she could not lie. Not about this. “So far, all tests have failed. We have no timeline for when an alternative could be found.”
“So then it’s back to the original problem. How do we get Chanters to enchant for the entire world?”
“Jobs?”
“As it stands, we would need every Chanter in Liore to work ‘round the clock to keep up with demand. And that’s providing they all accept our job offer in the first place. We simply don’t have the numbers for that, not yet. And we couldn’t risk them saying no.” Said Kitchingham.
“Our little attempt at forcing them to revolt seems to have worked too well,” Karo added.
Havinnia sighed, feeling sick. The plan. The plan. Her parent’s plan. The plan for the good of Liore. Free Chanters lead a controlled rebellion and force the government to intervene. Surely the public could excuse the mass capture of Chanters if it was for the common good? All they needed was for people to fear them enough for the law to stick. Then, once contained, they could use the Chanters to fulfill the needs of the world while a better solution was reached.
Nevermind that it was the wrong choice. No matter the ends, such means had to be wrong. Havinnia knew it to be wrong, she had since the moment she stepped into her crown and found herself in the middle of this scheme. Then there had been no other choice, the decision had not been hers to make on her own. But Meraton was not part of that plan. People were dead.
Their puppet had cut its strings and learned to kill.
“I think the solution is obvious. Whether it’s how we wanted it or not, the Free Chanters have helped our original goal. The world will fear Chanters now, won’t they?” Kitchingham’s words hung in the air for a moment, each leader meeting the others’ eyes briefly, assessing, thinking. “Let’s round ‘em up.”
Silence. Heavy and real.
“It may be our only viable option,” Amuro said, though she had the decency to at least look uneasy, “We can treat it as a temporary solution, to halt the production of Glint while other solutions are sought. We should put it to a vote.”
Karo and Kitchingham raised their hands slowly, but first. Only one more hand would make a majority. Iwuo’s hand. Havinnia felt her chest tightening. Right now, her only defiance of this atrocity was to vote no. She would not raise her hand. Amuro’s raised arm sealed the decision. All votes were cast, 4 to 1. There was nothing she could do, her decisions must align with the other nations or risk tension and even war. For right or wrong, the Nations must remain unified.
“It is the only way, for now,” Amuro said to the room, “We have all read what will happen if left unchecked. Liore will die.”
“Liore is already dying,” Havinnia snapped, her resolve cracking a fraction with her frustration, “And our last stand will be one of injustice.”
Havinnia afforded her peers the barest of decorum as they left to their various suites for the evening. She dismissed her advisor, letting him stew in uncertainty of what was said for the rest of the night. He could wait. Her heels beat the polished floors as she canceled the rest of her day. Dinner. Meetings. Paperwork. All of it.
Fires burned in the twin hearths of heavy stone on either end of Havinnia’s bedchamber. Havinnia was curled in an armchair, hair in rollers. Her make-up removed, her nightdress under her bathrobe, and a book open and unread in her lap. She stared into the fire until her eyes lost focus and chewed on the nail of her thumb. Her stomach was still rolling with unease when Jordana entered, and promptly flinched.
“Dear gods, it’s way too bloody hot in here.” Jordana’s thick, raven hair was up in a high ponytail, her clothes plain and simple. She refused to be dressed by a maid and the ponytail was a signature look. Jordana made a dramatic show of panting as she stripped down to her slip and kicked her slippers across the room. “I’m turning one of these off.” she said, crossing to the second hearth and dousing the fire inside. She lacked the tolerance for heat that a Southerner ought to have and Havinnia had no tolerance for cold. “It’s hotter than Vall’s balls in here.”
Havinnia watched her wife flit about the room and grumble. “I like it warm.”
Jordana rounded on her, voice playfully serious, “You can add layers. I can only strip so much.”
“I suppose,” Havinnia replied.
Jordana’s feet stopped next to the armchair and she kissed Havinnia’s forehead. “Hey, love,” Jordana said, then shot back up, “I’ve got to get some air in here.” She started up a fan to get a breeze of cool air and sighed with satisfaction. She also had a desk, a wardrobe, and an entire wall of bookshelves with a rolling ladder installed just for her. Despite the Royal Court having a proper, and quite expansive, library, Jordana needed books around her to be comfortable. Once a librarian, always a librarian.
Havinnia’s mood darkened again, her heart heavy. The worst part about being Queen was how little of her true worries she could share with her wife. That was the point of marriage, sharing in the burdens and troubles of your partner. But that wasn’t true of a Queen of Vacua. The affairs of Vacua were not exactly Havinnia’s to share. And Jordana didn’t want this. She didn’t want this life, with the burdens of a world on her shoulders. Havinnia had vowed to protect Jordana’s happiness, no matter how much Jordana protested over t
he years.
Jordana’s gaze locked on to her and Havinnia could sense her concern starting. “So, dear. How was your day?” Jordana asked, walking over to sit next to her, though still in line of the fan.
“It was awful, thank you.”
“I see. That secret meeting with secret people not go so well?”
Havinnia threw her head back. “Worse than not well. Jordana, I’ve never hated being Queen more than tonight. And, in this case, I was powerless to act how I felt was right. It’s out of my hands now.” These cryptic conversations were the best Havinnia could manage, but it was better than nothing. Jordana always listened and encouraged where she could, but she knew who she was married to, and what that required.
“Then it’s out of your hands,” Jordana said, “Dwelling will only make you crazy. What you need to do—and I mean starting tomorrow not tonight—is gather your thoughts and figure out what you can do.” She was a soothing presence in Havinnia’s chaotic world. They had met by chance while Havinnia was touring Liore as a newly-of-age-princess. Jordana had grown up with parents and siblings and everyday troubles, marrying a princess had been a huge leap for her. She was coarse and crude, contemplative and laid back, a sit-with-a-good-book-and-let-the-drama-pass sort of woman. Her temperament was slow and relaxed. Havinnia had immediately been drawn to her. After months of convincing Jordana that life with a princess could be relaxed, Havinnia had found herself Queen of Vacua. How she didn’t lose Jordana when that happened, she wasn’t sure, but she was too grateful to question it.
Havinnia got up, chewing her thumb more furiously. “It’s just...it’s wrong. This whole mess is wrong and at this point it’s too late to do anything else.” She bit until it hurt, until skin was being ripped away and dots of blood began to well at her finger tip.
“Whoa, whoa,” Jordana shot up and yanked her hand away from her teeth. Havinnia’s hand squeezed into a fist, but she didn’t move. Jordana began to slowly ease her fingers straight to see to the bloody one. The skin was wrecked, the nail bit and pulled past the quick. It throbbed now, every pulse of blood stung and ached.
Catalyst (The Second Cycle Book 1) Page 20