by Will Wight
On the morning of the peace talks, Calder looked himself up and down in the mirror.
He had already second-guessed his decision not to wear the Emperor’s armor. It was imbued with so much complex Intent that Calder couldn’t even begin to understand the extent of its protective powers. It might even save him against Estyr Six.
But he had chosen to leave it aside. The armor was beginning to disturb him.
The longer he wore it, the harder its Intent tried to seep into his thoughts. He wasn’t used to Intent having any sort of agency, and he was afraid of what tricks the Emperor may have left behind.
Next, he had considered dressing in the Emperor’s clothes.
There were a few advantages there. First, it would reinforce his new title. Second, the Emperor’s regular clothes were invested to be more durable and defensive than most sets of armor.
Though there was the real risk that he would come across like a child dressing up in his father’s clothes. That would be doubly true in Estyr’s eyes, since she had known the Emperor personally.
So he dressed as himself.
He wore what he might aboard The Testament, only cleaner: a set of dark blue pants, a white shirt, and a long brown coat. He ran his hands along his short beard. Jerri wouldn’t like it, but he did. He thought it made him look rugged.
Finally, instead of a hat, he had decided to wear a crown.
But which one?
He examined the two circlets before him. One silver, one gold. He only really had a right to the silver one, the crown of the Imperial Steward…but hadn’t he earned the golden crown as well? He and his crew had shed blood for it, after all.
Blood from both humans and Elders.
He had to consider the message he wanted to send. The silver crown would say he knew his place, that he wasn’t seeking to offend, and that he was willing to back down for the sake of agreement.
Calder grabbed the gold crown and placed it on his head.
It clashed with his red hair. He’d always thought so. And wearing it might provoke Estyr; she could choose to interpret the gesture as him pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
But he needed some prop to remind them of his position. Besides, difficult as it may have been to ignore the Intent in the crown while wearing it, its powers had come in handy before.
He didn’t expect a crown-enforced command to work on these particular enemies, but who knew? Maybe it would help.
The Emperor’s Intent tried to push its way down from the crown, and he shut off his Reader’s sense more firmly.
When he was ready in his Navigator gear and a crown, Calder went outside to join his entourage.
Though their journey was entirely within the Imperial Palace complex and only the Palace inhabitants would see them, the Imperialist Guilds still made a grand procession. The Imperial Guard was out in force, their Kameira enhancements standing out against their red-and-black uniforms, and they covered every entrance, exit, rooftop, and window along their entire route.
Here and there he spotted a Champion, conspicuous among the Imperial Guard. They wore no uniform, each man or woman’s armor unique, and they carried Awakened weapons as well as several strange, obvious devices that could be their Vessels.
Their true Vessel was usually more subtle.
The Blackwatch made a disciplined, regimented army, some hundred men and women of all ages dressed in long, black, silver-buttoned coats. They stood side-by-side five deep, led by two figures at their head: Bliss and her aide, Alsa Grayweather.
That aide, Calder’s mother, was a trim woman who looked like she alternated her time between dueling with sabers and teaching school. Which was largely the truth.
Her gray hair was cut short at the shoulders, and she stood comfortably with her hands behind her back as she awaited Calder. When she saw him, her eyes lit up, and she gave him a fond smile.
Calder hadn’t expected her to be here, which led to some complicated feelings. He was glad to see her here, glad that she could witness his rise in person…but he was still worried that there would be danger today.
In a battle between Soulbound, she would stand no chance.
Bliss stood next to Alsa, her head moving as though she traced the path of an invisible butterfly. When she saw Calder, she held up a finger to her lips, signaling him to be quiet. Or perhaps signaling that she wasn’t supposed to speak.
The Navigators, with Cheska Bennett at their head, had lined up behind the Blackwatch. Although “lined up” might have been too strong a term.
They were more of a loose mob of forty or so sailors, whichever Guild members Cheska had been able to scrounge up at the last minute, and one and all they looked like they had dressed themselves by raiding a theater’s costume closet at random.
Cheska herself was elbowing an older captain in the ribs, clearly in the middle of telling a joke, and for only the second time that Calder had ever seen, she had put effort into her appearance.
Her red hair cascaded down her back in waves, and her outfit—from her tri-cornered hat to the ankles of her pants—was a bright blue trimmed in gold. Medals decorated her chest, though he suspected they were all either self-awarded or meaningless.
Clean and laughing, she was radiant, and when she saw him looking, she shot him a wink that made him clear his throat and glance away.
Jerri wouldn’t let him forget looking at Cheska like…
No, Jerri was in prison. She had betrayed him. He didn’t owe her anything.
Calder added that thought to the long list of things he had to ignore and turned his attention to the next Guild in line. The Magisters milled behind the Navigators, though they came across as somehow grimmer than the Blackwatch. They all wore robes and carried staves, though each robe and staff were distinct from every other, and they all seemed wrapped up in their own thoughts.
Flanked by Imperial Guards, Calder took his place at the front of the procession, with General Teach and Baldezar Kern waiting for him at his right and left hand.
Teach looked the same as ever, wearing armor of red and black from the neck down, her eyes icy and her hair cropped close to the skull. This time, Kern wore armor of his own, and he looked far more comfortable in it than in his stretched-thin civilian shirts.
His armor was a deep slate gray, unornamented and utilitarian, and he carried a leather bag in one hand. Calder didn’t need to Read the Intent radiating from it to know that his weapons—the helmet that was his Vessel and his pair of maces—lay within the bag.
Teach carried her sword, Tyrfang, over her shoulder in its sheath as normal. She looked Calder from head to toe, her gaze lingering on his crown.
“Should I have someone dress you next time?”
“You’re looking radiant as ever, Jarelys,” Calder said. “And I selected my outfit with great care.”
Teach searched his expression as though looking to make sure that he was treating the situation with the gravity it deserved, which was just as well, because he was.
Kern didn’t give him a second glance.
Finally, the Head of the Imperial Guard turned to address the entire column. “Forward!” she bellowed, and the command must have echoed through the entire Palace.
A rough cheer erupted from the Guild members—mostly from the Navigators—and their parade moved forward.
The Imperial Palace was massive, often called a city unto itself, and took up almost twenty percent of the Capital. The convoy of the Imperialist Guilds gathered onlookers from the staff and inhabitants of the Palace, who numbered in the tens of thousands.
They lined the streets, cheering and throwing flower petals, colorful bits of paper, and scraps of cloth into the air in celebration.
Calder wondered if someone had ordered them to.
The Rose Tower was two miles away, on the eastern side of the Palace complex, next to the wall. They took their time on the march, a performance for the onlookers and for the news-sheets the next day.
The tower itself was i
dentical to half a dozen others all around the edges of the Palace. It stood seven stories tall, with flat rectangular sides in smooth white plaster and tiered red tiles on the roof. Arrow-slits pierced the wall every floor or so, and there were openings in the roof where marksman could cover the ground below.
As they came closer to the Rose Tower, Calder began to see evidence of the Independent Guilds’ security. Rather than only Imperial Guards and soldiers standing guard, he began to see men and women in silver armor decorated with the White Sun: Luminian Knights.
They were far less numerous than the Imperial Guard, but if their reputation was to be believed, they would be worth a dozen soldiers apiece in combat.
There were Consultants on security detail as well, he was sure, though he saw none. They would have melded into the cheering crowd around him, and he imagined he could feel their eyes piercing him from the mob.
Even one blind man carrying an instrument seemed to be glaring right at them. Maybe Calder was just paranoid.
Although Calder couldn’t stay too wary when he thought of the crowd. All the cheering was infectious; he couldn’t be the only one among the Guilds encouraged by the support of the people.
Finally, they arrived to see the Independent Guilds spread out before them in the shadow of the tower.
Rather than in a column like the Imperialists, they had fanned out in a wedge. On the outside, he saw the Greenwardens, which was a rarity for him; he almost never had dealings with their Guild. But they were easy to spot, wrapped as they were in living green-leafed vines that spiraled all over their bodies.
Their Guild Head, Tomas Stillwell, was a wheelchair-bound man with auburn hair and an easy smile. That smile dimmed as he turned from his companions and regarded the enemy Guilds before him.
Calder recognized the alchemists immediately, as many of them were dressed in their iconic uniform of bulging glass goggles, a thick apron, and gloves. However, not all had the appearance of alchemists. A number of them were strapped with weapons or bore glowing, exotic artifacts that had the look of Awakened objects. Hired security? Or non-alchemist employees of the Alchemist’s Guild?
The Luminian Order was disciplined and organized, with a handful of knights in silver—most of them had been deployed for security—and a great fan of Pilgrims, recognizable by their all-white attire and the silver medallions they wore on their chests.
He suddenly regretted not asking Andel more questions about his former Guild.
At the head of the Pilgrims stood their Guild Head, Jameson Allbright, a saintly old man with a fringe of white hair around a bald spot. Unlike the other Pilgrims, he wore an intricate ceremonial outfit of many colors, mostly red and gold.
Beside him was his grandson, Darius Allbright, whose body was armored and whose face was hidden in shadows beneath a hood. Calder suspected the hood was invested to hide his appearance, which had reportedly been scarred in battle against Elderspawn. It was impossible to see anything of the man’s face but darkness.
Then there were the Consultants. There were only three of them…at least, only three standing in formation next to the other Guilds. The High Council, leaders of the Guild before the recent appointment of their Head.
He had met Kerian before, a dark-skinned Heartlander woman with a thin scar down the middle of her face and her hair worn in dozens of braids. She bowed when she saw his eyes move over her, a professionally pleasant smile on her lips. He had only recently learned she was the High Gardener, leader of the Consultant assassins.
She stood next to the High Mason and High Shepherd, on whom Calder had been briefed. All three of the High Councilors wore the skintight black clothing that he had seen the Consultants wear on the Gray Island, but without the stretch of cloth over the lower half of their faces. Did that mean something?
Finally, he turned his attention to the three standing in front of all the Guilds, and his stomach flipped.
He was standing in front of Estyr Six.
She looked exactly like the statues, paintings, and stained-glass windows had described her. She was a statuesque woman with long, blonde hair and a faintly amused expression. Her hands were tucked casually into the pockets of her long, black coat that reminded him of the Blackwatch…in fact, now that he thought of it, her coat may have been the inspiration for the original Blackwatch.
Above her head, three reptilian skulls roughly the size of an alligator’s floated in lazy loops around her head. The Vessels that made her the strongest Soulbound in history.
But it wasn’t Estyr alone that made his gut churn.
To her left was Nathanael Bareius, the richest man in the world, whose slick hair and thick-rimmed glasses and tailored suit were all polished to the point of gleaming. Like the Consultants, he too wore a business smile, and his teeth were blinding white.
Calder recognized him from paintings and sketches in the news-sheets. Though Calder had spent his share of time with Guild Heads, Bareius was one that he thought of more as a myth than a man.
At least Jorin and Loreli were gone. Latest intelligence suggested that the other two Regents were putting out fires elsewhere in the Empire, for which he was grateful.
And then there was Shera.
She was dressed very differently than when he’d seen her last. Her black outfit had been traded in for pale gray, with a gray hood hanging down so that it shaded the top half of her face while another gray cloth covered her mouth and nose.
He could see very little of her black hair, but her eyes were dark and fixed on him with frozen intensity. She could put a knife through his heart while wearing that expression. She had tried before.
In a way, it was comforting that at least one among them was being honest.
All the other Independents smiled like they were greeting clients or long-lost friends. Shera looked like she’d rather stab him in the back but was holding herself back for the sake of her position.
He trusted that expression more.
Estyr Six jerked her chin at Calder, and he held himself straighter as he realized she was about to address him.
“You sure you want to wear that?” Her eyes indicated his crown. “You’ll have a hard time hearing anything we say.”
In fact, it was taking a great effort of focus to avoid Reading the Emperor’s crown. He had it under control for the moment, but he wouldn’t be able to relax while wearing it or his thoughts would be overwhelmed by the Emperor’s memories.
Of course, now that she’d mentioned it, he couldn’t take it off.
“Thank you for your concern. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
It was a bit of a calculated risk, taking a cocky tone with one of the Regents, but he suspected it would make her weigh him differently. Measure him as someone to be taken seriously.
But she just shrugged. “Fine with me, just don’t pass out. Teach, I heard you gave Jorin a beating with his own sword.”
There was an awkward silence, and when Calder looked to General Teach, he was surprised to find that she was the one who looked like she was about to pass out. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, and she trembled slightly.
“No, I didn’t…I mean, it was hard-fought. I had lots of…help.”
Teach gulped as though about to swallow her tongue, and Calder couldn’t help but stare at her. She lectured him on making sure he was ready, and then she lost her nerve the second she came face-to-face with a Regent?
He couldn’t Read the emotion that radiated off of her, but he thought he could recognize it nonetheless. It looked like awe. Maybe even deference.
As part of her enhancement to become the Head of the Imperial Guard, Jarelys Teach had replaced her heart with a Kameira’s. Calder had never thought of it before, but that had to come with side effects besides her increased strength and resistance to her own sword.
Perhaps that included instincts that made her want to surrender to a larger, stronger predator.
He had to hope it wasn’t a problem.
Estyr turned to
Kern next, inclining her head. “Champion.”
“Champion,” he responded.
That was enough of a greeting for them, Calder guessed, because a moment later Bareius jumped into the silence. “Baldezar! Jarelys! How long has it been? Furman, tell me…ah, right, Furman isn’t here. That’s annoying.”
Calder didn’t know who Furman was, but Teach’s expression had transformed from awed admiration to one of annoyance. “Don’t push me, Bareius. I don’t want to break peace between the Guilds just to kill you.”
Bareius’ smile was invincible. “It’s just business, Jarelys! Don’t let it get too personal. If it has to be personal, then let it be for the right reasons! Remember the good times.”
Kern spoke slowly and calmly. “The night after the Emperor’s death, eight out of ten of the alchemists supporting my Guild canceled their contracts. I know why.”
By this time, Teach and Kern were both staring down the alchemist, and even Shera and Estyr had turned to watch him out of the corner of their eyes. Shera took a step away from him.
Bareius cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and fiddled with the buttons on his suit. “That was…bad business, I admit, but everything’s on the table now, isn’t it? These are all discussions we can have once the ink dries between us.”
Calder had been silent too long, and as the one person present without unpleasant history between him and the Alchemist’s Guild, he took it on himself to smooth out the situation.
Although he had to do so without siding with Bareius, because by all appearances the man was a snake who deserved what was coming to him.
“There’s bad blood all around,” Calder said. “For now, we should set it aside and work together, or it will lead to a worse end for all of us.”
By the end of the sentence, he was looking into Shera’s eyes.
She gave him a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.
Bareius clapped. “Well said! Now, shall we? Furman!”
At the shout, a man stepped forward from the alchemists—a man who, Calder now noticed, had taken great efforts to look exactly like Bareius. He issued some instructions to the Independent Guilds. They split in half, leaving an opening toward the entrance of the Rose Tower.