by C. M. Hayden
Nima took three deep, heaving breaths, trying to keep herself together. “You killed your dad, too. He was a terrible man, but still your dad. Why don’t you care?”
Vexis stared at her, a dark look in her bright green eye. “Because he’s not the first person I’ve had to get rid of to get what I want. And he won’t be the last. There’s only one way to live in this world: for yourself.” She gestured out the window. “The little people out there are stepping stones.”
“Am I one of those little people?” Nima asked.
“You are. But—with a little work—we can fix that.” She held out her hand. “Now, pull yourself together, you’re an embarrassment. Be strong. We need to move.”
Nima couldn’t say she was exactly on board, but there were precious few options open to her. She knew her family would never forgive her for what she’d done, and staying in Helia was suicide.
She steeled herself and made her choice, taking Vexis’ hand. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“First things first,” Vexis said, using Nima’s arm to stand. “We need a doctor.”
From the other side of the sitting room, a voice answered, “I daresay you do.”
Nima knew the room had to be empty. It was locked when they’d gotten there, and the door had been in full view the entire time. It hadn’t been opened. The only light came from the moons shining through the open window. When the voice called, Nima took several steps away, pressing her back to the bedpost and looking frantically into the darkness.
Vexis was momentarily surprised, but maintained her composure considerably better. Her eyes focused toward the corner, squinting as she, too, tried to see who the voice belonged to.
Nima’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she was able to make out two figures: a man and a boy. They stepped forward into the pale moonlight, the older of the two coming into focus first.
He was fairly young, on the early side of thirty, but walked with a cane in his right hand that bore a bronze raven on the tip. His face was smooth shaven, and he wore a long, white coat with vials of alchemical liquid stitched into the fabric. Nima had never seen the man before, but something about him was maddeningly familiar. It was something about the way he carried himself, the way he stood, the cadence and pitch of his voice. There was something in his eyes, some hard emotion that contrasted the smile on his face. There was something dark and dangerous about this man that Nima recognized on a base level, as if she were staring down a ravenous lion. However, on the surface, the white-coated man appeared pleasant.
He raised his free hand, waving it in a calming motion. “Now, now, Miss Nima. There’s no cause for alarm. I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to help.”
In a flash, she recognized the voice. She moved forward cautiously, squinting at the man as if he were a puzzle to be solved. “It…it can’t be.”
The man’s smile widened, showing off his very white teeth. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already?”
Vexis stood still as a stone, unmoving save for her eyes, which were scanning over the man. “I saw you die.”
Nima looked at Vexis. “Is he…?”
Vexis nodded. “Dr. Halric.”
“You don’t sound too surprised,” the doctor said, taking a few short steps toward them, his metal cane clinking against the stone floor.
“You’re looking much better,” Vexis said glibly. “You look fifty years younger. My father would’ve loved to know your secret.”
“Oh, I’m sure the old sinner would have. Though I’m not sure he would’ve been prepared for the agony that this new body entailed.” His eyes focused on Nima, and he motioned for the younger figure behind him to come forward. “If it weren’t for Berric here, I fear I might still be lost in the aether.”
An Endran boy stepped forward; a thin, scraggly thing slightly younger than Nima. He was quite unassuming, with soft eyes and thick, brown curls. Nima recognized him. He was the sick little boy Mr. Mathan had watched over some years ago. He looked different now to be sure; his skin wasn’t as pale, and he’d grown a bit, but it was definitely him.
“Berric Mathan?” Nima whispered. In the absolute silence of the room, her quiet words carried far.
“Quite so,” Dr. Halric said. “I didn’t realize Victor had introduced you to him, a rather unusual thing for him to do.”
Vexis broke in. “Taro pushed you into the fires of the Arclight. I saw your body rip apart.”
Halric seemed to sense the story would take a moment to explain, and he moved to the corner of the four-poster bed and took a seat opposite of the girls. Berric stayed put, quiet as a mouse.
“The fires did consume my body. The pain was unimaginable. Not just my flesh tearing asunder—” he touched his finger to his temple, “—but the fact that I remained conscious through the whole ordeal. I’d been bested by a nobody. A nothing. I should’ve gutted the boy the moment he stood in my way, but my temper got the best of me.”
“That’s my brother you’re talking about,” Nima interjected.
Halric waved the comment away. “My connection to the Netherlight extends my life considerably, but as the Shahl knew, it cannot grant new life. Ironically, it was the power of the Arclight that allowed my rebirth. When my flesh reformed, I found myself younger, stronger. I stumbled through the vast maze of the Magisterium, my skeleton and insides exposed as my flesh tried to regenerate.”
Halric motioned to Berric.
“The Arclight had also healed Berric of his affliction, as Victor intended. When he awoke, confused and frightened, he stumbled upon me, as lost as I was. He recognized me as a friend of his grandfather, and trusted me to lead him out. We eventually stumbled upon Victor’s body, mangled beyond reason. With no place to go, I took him in. He’s proven most useful.”
Vexis leaned forward, lacing her fingers together. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, I believe that load of bullshit—”
“I assure you, I’m being quite honest.”
“It’s not what you’re saying that I don’t believe. It’s what you’re not saying,” Vexis countered quickly.
Dr. Halric gave another wide, toothy smile. “I must say, I expected more aggression on your part. I did try to kill you.”
Vexis shrugged it off. “Most people I know try to kill me at some point. Besides, I found out later that you were telling the truth about sending Kadia back home to Helia.” She gave a mock salute. “Good on you for that.”
“A minor misunderstanding.” Halric nodded toward Nima. “Her brother was trying to drive a wedge between us.”
“He’s good at that,” Vexis said.
“I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. However—and forgive me for saying this—your current decision-making process seems flawed. Leaving Helia in fear and disgrace? That’s not the Vexis I know.”
“I had a plan, my plan failed. Now Craetos is flying around unchecked.”
“I heard. I wish I’d gotten to you sooner,” Halric said. “Admittedly, you showed great cleverness in combining the life-magic of the Arclight, and the death-magic of the Netherlight. The Shahl had a similar idea, though not quite on such an…ambitious scale. An army of obedient, immortal soldiers. But without a fragment of the Arclight, the plan was doomed to failure. Even then, we wouldn’t have been able to control them without the final piece to the puzzle: the Deeplight.”
“Deeplight?” Nima said.
“One of five primordial magics that forged the world,” Halric said. “It is control. It’s order. The balance of all living and nonliving things. It can give consciousness to the lifeless, or bend the minds of men to the wielder. It was used against me—” He seemed to catch himself, and changed his words. “Rather, it was used to bind Nuruthil’s dread-lieutenants centuries ago. By Craetos himself, ironically.”
“So there is a way to control Crae
tos?” Vexis said.
“Oh, sweet girl, there is always a way to control someone. Thaedos Mathan uncovered a small fragment of the Deeplight beneath the city years ago, in the hilt of an ancient sword called Raethelas. It once belonged to Sacrolesh himself. Unfortunately, it seems to have gone missing, which complicates matters.” He cleared his throat. “However, that’s neither here nor there. We have more pressing issues to attend to, notably your impending deaths when the Shahl’s garrison learns you kidnapped and killed him.”
“I have no men. No allies. I can’t fight everyone in Helia alone,” Vexis said.
“You’re not alone,” Halric said, standing and smoothing out his white coat. He ran his fingers over a few of the vials stitched into the cloth until he found the one he was looking for. He pulled it free, and tossed it to Vexis, who caught it midair.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“An alchemical solution of my own devising. Use it on your injuries, and they should pass quickly and without infection.” He smiled. “A wise move saving your Arclight fragment for something more serious. Once separated from the whole, a lightshard will not endure forever.”
Vexis looked at the vial, then back to Halric, as if she weren’t sure whether she could trust him. A moment passed, and she went to work stripping off her bandages again and applying the thick paste to her cuts.
“There’s enough there for Miss Nima as well,” Halric added. “This is a unique situation. Your father is dead, and Helia is without leadership. A cunning, ambitious girl like you should seize the moment.”
“Nobody will follow me when they find out what I did.”
“What you did?” Halric said mockingly. “You mean what your brother Praxis did.”
Vexis looked up from applying the medicine. “What?”
Halric gestured with an open hand, smirking. “Praxis was the Shahl’s chosen successor, and clearly he was growing impatient waiting for his birthright.”
“Nobody will ever believe that,” Nima said.
“They’ll believe what the High Inquisitor tells them to believe, seeing that I’ve miraculously returned. You have limited life experiences, Miss Nima, so I don’t think less of you for not understanding this fine point on humanity: people believe what is most convenient for them to believe. If we move now, consolidating lords and their armies behind us, few will oppose us. And we’ll have one more thing, something your brothers and sisters will never have.”
“And what’s that?” Vexis asked.
“Why, the support of the people, of course.”
Vexis seemed intrigued by this, and her eyes brightened a bit. “And how do we get that?”
Dr. Halric steepled his fingers, looking supremely pleased with himself. In the darkness of the room, his eyes flickered with dark delight. “That, my dear, is why I came to you. We’re going to make you a hero, Vexis. We’re going to make them love you.”
Chapter Three
The Last Mercy of Vexis Andurin
When stories get old, facts get mixed, and people tend to sort unlikely truths with myths and legends. One such story was of how the Shahl acquired his lordship over Helia: by granting Emperor Rutharan eternal life, but not eternal youth. As the story went, decades passed, and eventually the Emperor was a shell of his former self, unable to die but trapped in an ever-decaying body.
Common people told the story often, but few sincerely believed it. However, Vexis knew it for the truth. When she was younger, she’d actually seen Emperor Rutharan for a few fleeting seconds through a cracked door as she waited for her father. To her young eyes, he’d seemed like a monster, emaciated and horrible. Even now she felt the grip of fear clutching at her heart as she approached the Rutharan Manor.
There was a quiet calm about Helia Edûn in the early hours of the morning. With few merchants on the city streets, the sounds of the various docks were most prominent. Sailors shouted far in the distance, and the smell of water and dust filled the morning air.
While there were a smattering of palm trees near the River Cardaeros, the only truly lush area of the city was the courtyard around Rutharan Manor. It was, in a word, beautiful. Fresh, lively soil had been transported from Endra, as well as seeds from a dozen kingdoms brought to give it its unique appearance.
In his youth, Emperor Rutharan was a decadent man, spending his empire’s money on his own lavish living. The courtyard was a testament to this, filled to bursting with vibrant yellows, reds, and purples spread across a sea of green. Flowers and vines crept up every iron fence and sandy brick wall. An aqueduct system had been constructed specifically to bring in fresh water, keeping the courtyard vibrant all year long.
Vexis had to admit it was stunning as she and Halric passed through on their way to the manor. They’d left Nima behind for the moment; having an Endran along, even one of low birth, might complicate matters.
“You’re sure about this?” Vexis said, feeling more anxious than she’d expected.
“It’s the best way forward. We need the law of succession on our side,” Halric said, tapping his cane as they strolled through the gardens. “The Emperor’s great-great-grandson is Prince Lethen. He’s seventeen or so, if memory serves.”
Vexis nodded. “I met him once at a court dinner.”
“He is the last lawful heir to the throne. Your father kept him alive for some semblance of legitimacy, and likely because he didn’t consider him a threat to his reign. Now, he tends to his decrepit ancestor. Do not expect a warm welcome here. You represent the man who robbed him of his birthright.”
Rutharan Manor was the rival of the Imperial Palace itself. High, smooth stone walls were decorated in elaborate hues of purple and gold. The gates were guarded by imperial soldiers, two in all. They were not ceremonial guards—each was armed with a longsword and wore functional chainmail. Their weapons were sitting propped against the gatehouse when Vexis and Halric approached, and the guards themselves on an overturned, moss-covered tree trunk, playing poker. They must not have gotten many visitors.
When they spotted Vexis and Halric, they stood to attention and gathered their equipment.
“Who goes there?” the taller of the two called. He had a thick, lower Helian accent that grated Vexis’ ears.
Vexis was in her white Inquisitor garb, though it’d been torn and burned, making her look shabby. Based on the sour, spiteful look the guards gave Vexis as she approached, they recognized her immediately.
“How can we help you, m’lady?” the tall guard spoke the last word with considerable hostility.
Dr. Halric answered. “We’re here to speak with Prince Lethen on a matter of extreme urgency.”
The guard looked up. “And you are…?”
Most Helians knew Halric by reputation alone. Few had ever actually met him outside of the Shahl and his immediate family.
“High Inquisitor Anton Halric, if you please,” he said, straight-faced.
The guard looked him over with a suspicious eye. “You look a mite younger than I’ve heard.”
“I’m older than you could possibly imagine,” Halric said in an overly pleasant tone. “Now, allow us to pass.”
“Y’don’t give the orders here, friend,” the guard said.
“We’re only here to talk to the prince,” Vexis interjected. “We have a message for his ears only.”
The guard raised an eyebrow. “Er, what would this message be?”
“Are you deaf? I said ‘his ears only.’”
“With respect,” the guard said, “I heard you wasn’t an Inquisitor no more.” He pointed a finger to Halric. “And I ain’t never seen this man in my life.”
Vexis rubbed her forehead, feeling the onset of a headache. “Listen, I’ve had a rough night, and I already have to kill a man today. I don’t really feel like adding two more.”
&nbs
p; “Is that a threat?” the guard said, drawing his sword clumsily from its sheath.
Before Vexis could respond, the front door of the manor rattled, and an older boy appeared. He had messy dark blond hair, pale skin, expensive-looking clothes, and an aggressive look in his eyes. Vexis thought it might’ve been Prince Lethen, and when he spoke, it removed any doubt.
“What the hell are you idiots shouting about out here?” he said, rubbing his eyes. His sounded much like Praxis, and his voice dripped with piousness. “Gods below, I can hear it all the way in my rooms.” When his eyes were clear, he squinted out across the way, and his eyes fixed on Vexis. The façade of self-importance faded away. “V-V-exis? What are you d-doing here?” He sounded genuinely afraid.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” the shorter guard said, bowing low. “We’ll send them off right away.”
Prince Lethen raised a hand. In his nervousness, he had a persistent stutter that he fought against constantly when he spoke. “T-T-That’s one of Valros’ children,” he said. “Let h-her pass. You couldn’t stop her anyway.”
Vexis grinned, and skipped past the guards. “It’s good to see you again, Lethy.”
Lethen closed the door slightly, wincing. “P-Please, whatever you want, just t-t-take it.”
Vexis slowed down. “I just want to talk, Lethy.”
“T-t-o who?”
“To you.” She looked around. “Could we find a more private place? Without these blithering idiots?”
Lethen hesitantly pushed the door open and motioned for Vexis and Halric to enter.
From the outside, the manor was so impressive that Vexis expected an equally decadent interior. Perhaps, at one time, it had been, but it had since fallen into disrepair and clutter. It was a mess. The stone floors were covered in old furniture, busted canvases, broken candelabras, and old, moth-filled clothing. The polished redwood staircases that extended up into the various wings of the house were being used for drying laundry. Just moving through the foyer required climbing over a jumble of broken chairs and a butler cart.