by Anna Holmes
“How can you not be?” He demands. “This place, it is…alsata tsardesh halaan.”
Alain stops scoping out the architecture long enough to regard Daryon with a halfway honestly curious glance. “What’s that mean?”
“Ah, in Standard…a gathering-place of many ghosts.”
I can see that, even if Elyssians tend not to believe in spirits. The air carries a green-gray tinge to it, and the early rays of moonlight and the beam from Daryon’s box refract erratically on the undersides of the arches. Sound seems to move in waves here, too, echoing in some places, bouncing off stone in others. “And pirates, supposedly,” Alain finishes dryly.
“They’re here somewhere,” he mutters, holding the box in front of him and walking as far along the riverbank as he can without wading in. “RIN,” he booms. “You will cease this game you play with us at once. Show yourself!”
At his shouting, figures move among the mist at all levels. Blue flames flare to life on crossbow bolts from the stone platforms above, and the scrape of steel being unsheathed sounds all around us. Alain sighs and holds his hands up perfunctorily. I’m not quite ready to surrender just yet. Daryon doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands and winds up awkwardly swinging them while glowering around at the gray-clad pirates.
From under the nearest archway, a husky voice calls, “Quit bellowing, Beefcake. I can hear you just fine.” Faint glints of gold flash in the darkness as the figure moves out into our line of sight. They belong to a solidly built woman sliding along on a metallic snake tail. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that. The drae seldom leave their desert hills for the colder continents. Indeed, this one is bundled not only in the same gray wool coat that all of the grunts seem to be wearing, but several mufflers, mittens, a hat that keeps slipping from her bald head, and something I can only describe as a…tail cozy. She looks us over, golden eyes narrowing. “And you’ve brought me the littlest queen and…a skinny blue boy. Not what I usually take in payment, but I’m flexible.”
“About that,” I begin.
“I do believe you have several of my people, so I’d call it a fair trade,” she says with a one-shouldered shrug.
Daryon shakes his head. “I did not bring them to you for trade.”
I fold my arms against my awkwardly generically sized breastplate. “At least not as the trade fodder. I’m willing to make a deal with you…what was your name?”
She sets a hand to a hip and lets go of a laugh that flares her slitted nostrils. “Rin Taresin. Captain of the Cloud Raiders of the Folgian Skies and the rightful queen of Draenos.” Ah. That would explain what she’s doing in my portion of the world. As part of Rosalia’s push to own every scrap of land in the Third Quadrant, the ruling caste of Draenos was pushed out sometime before my father took the throne. “Seems to me I have the leverage here. I hope you have something really interesting.”
“In this little tucked away hollow, perhaps. But you are in my country. I came prepared.”
Behind us, there’s some shouting and scuffling. I turn slightly. Two red-headed figures are being dragged in, hands tied behind them. Alain drops his head and raises his hands again. “Oh, perfect,” he blares. “They caught both of you?”
Gavroth stops struggling for a moment. “Yeah,” he answers. “All two of us. Sorry, Your Majesties. Should have brought more backup, I guess.”
Daryon frowns slightly and starts to open his mouth, presumably to blow the whole charade, but doesn’t manage to get anything out. “August?” Rin demands. “What the hells are you doing out here?”
Alain drops his hands now. “How is it that you know the Prince of Folgia and the Queen of Draenos?”
I point between Daryon and August. “Wait, you know each other?”
“It has to do with my proposal,” Daryon says, “which you never let me get to before you run away.”
It might be the thundering of the falls or the stress or the extreme toll all of this has been taking on my sleep habits, but I swear my head is going to split right down the middle. “I told you. I am not now nor will I ever be marrying you, with or without the involvement of pirates, other monarchs, any number of my guards-in-training or the godsdamned Rosalian Legion! I don’t know how much clearer I can possibly be.”
“Ouch,” Rin comments.
Daryon freezes in place, watching my face closely. “You think that I— oh.” He chuckles. “Proposal. It has two meanings in your Standard, does it not?”
I can’t help but stare. “What?”
“Oh, do not mistake me. I was certainly disappointed when you turned me over at the dance. Our children would have been unparalleled. But surely you did not think I was still carrying on about that!”
“What are you carrying on about?”
Rin bursts out laughing, the sound bouncing strangely off the stonework. “Oh, very good. I needed this. Well done, everyone.” She waves a hand, and the crossbows all click inert, their owners turning away. “Cut the humans loose. I think we haven’t much to fear from them, if this marvelous bit of entertainment is any indication.” Two of the Raiders slice through August and Gavroth’s bonds and leave us with Rin, who rubs her hands together and nods toward a large shadowy shape past the aqueduct. “Come on. It’s colder than the second hell out here. All this can wait till the kettle’s done.”
It’s nicer in here than I thought a pirate ship might be. Rin slides around her cabin, a capacious room whose metal floors and walls are decently disguised with lush tapestries and carpets. She sets steaming cups of tea, fragrant with spice, in front of everyone except Alain, who knows better than to ingest things given to him by people who were just pointing weapons at him. I just want mine to hold till the feeling comes back into my fingers. Rin slips up and onto her seat, unwinding her various pieces of outerwear. “All right, Beefcake. Why don’t you finish proposing to this tiny queen here?”
I’d interject that I’m not all that short, but Rin is about nine and a half feet long, so I suppose that’s a matter of perspective. Daryon considers a moment, rubbing at his chin. “Are the others here?”
“Where else would they be?”
He nods, and she rises and moves to the door, speaking in hushed tones with someone behind it. I frown. “What in the devils is happening here?”
“Rin’s an older friend than my agreement with her pirates,” he replies. “We have more than one dealing with one another.”
“Not helping the general sense of foreboding.”
August leans forward. “It’s not a bad thing, Your—Caelin. You’ll see.”
Gavroth and Alain both fix him with a similar look. The door opens, and in file an assortment of people, none of whom are unrecognizable to me, and absolutely none of whom I would expect to find here. The first shakes his golden ringlets from his face and shoots a distasteful glance in Alain’s direction. “What is that doing here?”
Alain stiffens. I can leave if this is going to become a problem.
I stand, placing my hand firmly on his shoulder. “Ah, yes, how rude of me. Allow me to make the introductions.” I gesture to the well-dressed gentleman whose white beard stands out against his dark skin. “Alain, meet Alaric Ghent, Lord Consul of the Republic of Dystal. To his left, Lon Feyn, king of the late Els Tinen. Next to him, the Lady Larkin, former Voice of Beren.” I’d met her a few times, but it’s still strange to share a space with a woman completely made of stone. She lifts her head defiantly as though daring me to say something. I won’t. “Everyone else, this is Alain Flynn Northshore. I will say this once and only once. He is here in his capacity as the Prince Consort of Elyssia. Now that that’s out of the way, somebody tell me what you’re all doing here.”
Daryon rests his elbows on the table, making a latticed tent of his fingers and tapping it against his chin. “I will be frank. Everyone here has been or is in the process of being deposed by the Rosalian Legion. Of us, only you have climbed back up onto your throne.”
I swallow around a dry throat.
I’m not particularly fond of where this is going. “And you’ve come for tips, is that right?”
“Something like that,” Feyn answers. “At the moment, we’re concerned with keeping you on it.”
“Perhaps a letter next time, asking if I’d like help with that,” I say, “Instead of taking resources from my people? A thought.”
“Were they really your people?” Rin asks in her husky voice. “Because we’ve been watching, and we’ve seen some pretty high up Legion actors moving through your cryst towns lately.”
It takes everything I have not to drop my head and rub at my temples. The same arguments I have with my cabinet, only this time it’s a bunch of people who don’t even live in this country I need to justify myself to. “I appreciate the emotional ramifications. But Elyssia was at war for ten years. It’s only been healing for one. Split allegiances aren’t a shock to me.”
“We’re not talking about a lieutenant here, a proxy there,” Ghent says. “These are Commanders. Princes. Rosalian-born, coming and going and meeting with people. Important people. Governors. Local lords. Merchants.”
Alain leans forward slightly. “Do you know which ones?”
Feyn frowns. “Why, so you can report to them?”
Alain sighs and turns to me. “For the sake of productivity, I think it’s best if I excuse myself.”
Rin looks at Alain sideways and holds up a hand to placate Feyn. “Curly, hush. This blue boy presents an interesting opportunity.” She peers across at Alain again, nearly leaning halfway across the table. “Is it true you renounced the Legion?”
“Yes,” he answers, leaning back slightly, glancing at me. “Thoroughly. Often. Demonstrably.”
She settles back to her chair. “Well, you’re either the best liar I’ve ever met or telling the truth, so either way you’re fine by me. The princes are Dustrises, a married couple from the Satellites. Many of the commanders have come and gone, but the one who’s been around the most lately is this woman named Marsh.” Alain starts slightly. “Oh, you know her? Horrible woman, mouth all puckered up like a human’s b—”
“Rin,” Daryon sighs.
Alain’s mouth twitches in amusement, though I can see the veins on his forehead sticking out blue. “She was my commander for the period before I was elevated. And yes. She’s a little stiff.”
“Any idea what she could be doing here?”
“A few. None of them enjoyable.”
Rin looks at me a little triumphantly, spreading her three-fingered hands as if to say see?! I fold my hands around my cup again. “I am afraid I don’t follow. What is the…proposal here?”
“Join with us,” Daryon says seriously. “A group of us pushing back at the Legion is stronger than going it alone. We can help.”
The beginnings of a very large headache are pushing at my eyes. This is not what they’re going to want to hear, and this is not what I would like to say. “I am bound,” I begin slowly, “by the terms of the treaty that ended the war. I cannot push back at the Legion, as much as I might wish I could. I cannot openly confer with people who are, either. This…places my kingdom at risk, and honorable as your intentions might be, I cannot appreciate it.”
“You think they’re honoring it?” Rin demands. “Sending their people in to muck around with your cryst?”
“I agree that they’re not following the spirit of it, but unless they violate the letter of it….” I can’t help my gaze shifting guiltily to Alain. I don’t know how to come out and say that we sort of have to let them walk over us— stomp on him— because we are comparatively tiny. Not powerful enough. His fingers find mine under the table, close around my hand. The knot in my throat eases a little. He knows. “We’re not in a position to initiate a war.”
“It doesn’t need to be an overt war. Subterfuge does exist,” Rin reminds me irritably.
I am so very aware. “And if that subterfuge is found out? How do I tell my people to prepare to lose more of their loved ones?”
Ghent looks at me. “This is an opportunity that may never come again.”
“Then I must regretfully and permanently decline.” I stand. “Thank you for the tea. I wish you every success.” I look to Alain and the Ryes, moving in the direction of the door. “Let’s be going, please.”
“Wait, you can’t—” August starts, his face creasing in places it’s far too young to.
“I can and I have to,” I reply firmly as Alain moves to my side. “There’s too much at stake to gamble.”
“The Archon is dead,” he blurts.
I feel Alain freeze at my side—shirk harder than he did at any of the slights flung at him. I fear I still haven’t quite caught up. I’m too hung up on trying to figure out how that could be possible to really process what that means. The figurehead very nearly worshipped by the whole of Rosalia? The man I’d stood across from during treaty negotiations? The child I’d once played with who doesn’t get a seat in this room? How is it we wouldn’t have heard that?
But Alain’s let my hand go and turned back around, and in his shock I finally too feel like something’s slammed into me hard, pushed the wind out of me. I have to trust his experience, and he’s shaken. “Did they examine you?” he asks urgently.
August’s eyes flash to me once, then turn to the ground guiltily. “Yes.”
“How long ago?”
“After the treaty signing,” he manages. “When we were still with the Wanderers, just before we met you.”
Gavroth runs his massive hand over his face, pulling down his beard. “Gods, boy, why didn’t you tell me?”
“He couldn’t,” Alain answers, frowning deeply. “What were the results?” August fidgets in his seat, his eyes in his lap. “August.”
“I turned them down,” August mumbles.
All the color drains from Gavroth’s face except the blue lines. “Why? What the devils were you thinking?”
August’s face, on the other hand, goes pink, his fists clenched. “They wanted me to disown you, and I couldn’t— Mum and Dad are gone. You’re all I…but it doesn’t matter. I joined the Academy and when Rin and the others caught up with me, I told them what I knew. We can do something, Gav.”
I feel utterly lost. The Legion sometimes speaks a different dialect, but I thought after all this I had a reasonable grasp on it. I can tell, though, by the way Gavroth is staring straight ahead and Alain has to steady himself against the edge of the table that there’s some nuance I’m missing. I watch Alain’s shoulders collapse a bit at a time, his gaze still fixed on August. “You all have to know, don’t you?” he says, finally turning his sights on the others. “You know he’s living on borrowed time, and you’re using the last of it for yourselves.”
Instinctively, I step forward. Ghent and Rin swap glances. Larkin just lifts her chin. Daryon seems about as confused as I feel. For both of our sakes, I have to ask. “What do you mean?”
“Once you are confirmed to a classified position, you can’t just turn it down,” Alain says flatly. “You accept or you die. And if he has the potential to reveal that the Seat is empty? It’s a matter of time.”
August shakes his head. “No! Our uncle wrote our death notices when we traveled with you, remember? As far as they know, I’m already dead.”
Gavroth covers his eyes. “Gods’ tender bits, boy, think. Cole and Fiora got away. That’s why we’ve been living shut up like a couple of heavily guarded mountain goats for a year.”
His face falls for the briefest of moments as the weight of his assumptions settles on him. Almost as quickly, the fire’s back. He leans forward, his hands planted firmly on the table. “All right, so what, then? If they’re just going to kill me anyway, I want to do something.”
I know. I can feel his anger, his desperation to act. It was mine. In some ways, still is. But Alain’s right. They’ve taken pains to conceal the vacancy at the Seat, and considering that someone is still issuing edicts in Archon Sein’s name, they haven’t filled it.
; And suddenly, it all makes sense. The rush Ghent feels, Daryon’s persistence. Ghent looks at Alain. “You know. Rosalia is deeply bound to its propriety. If it came out that there isn’t actually an Archon at the top, overseeing its Kings, serving his or her social purpose….”
“There would be massive unrest,” Alain says. “Which you would take advantage of to try to lead an uprising. But it will never happen. Not even if you protect August long enough to tell his story a thousand times.”
Rin leans her head to the side. “Everybody gets tired of getting pushed around sometime. Didn’t you?”
“I had the benefit of vaguely remembering a time before the Legion and a princess who patiently and personally disabused me of my conditioning,” he counters. “Rosalians don’t.”
August looks at me, his red brows meeting in the middle. “You led a bunch of…farmers and blacksmiths and grocers into battle. You won that battle. Even though your chances were terrible, you tried and threw everything you had at them. Shouldn’t we keep trying so nobody else has to?”
My hand rests on the hilt of my sword of its own accord. A sword that first found its way to my belt when I was younger than he is now. It’s hard to look him in the face and tell him I know better when the truth is, I didn’t and I don’t. “Yes, August,” I say slowly. “We should. And you are, and that is no small thing. But what you need to remember is that took ten years. Ten years of trying, and a lot of good people never came home. And at the time…everything I had was very little. Now there are a lot more good people who wouldn’t come home if I gave everything.” His face falls, and I sigh. “But you’re right. That doesn’t mean I should give nothing.” I look to Rin. “I can’t give you much. Not officially. But I can arrange for the return of your people, passage through Elyssia and a blind eye to your theft on a few conditions.”
She leans forward on her elbows. “I like conditions. Conditionally.”
“Make sure you’re actually stealing from the Legion and store the bloody cryst properly. I’ll buy it back from you. Oh. And I’ll need the blonde woman who led your team in the Royal City.” Her mouth starts to pull down, and I fold my arms against this blasted awkward breastplate. “Don’t worry. You won’t miss her. She’s Legion.”