by Sever Bronny
“Ten thousand years or so, from my understanding,” the emperor answered on Esha’s behalf, guiding Katrina to her seat, as if afraid the conversation between them would embarrass him.
“Fascinating,” Katrina said in a flat tone, not bothering to hide how unimpressed she was. Augum knew she only cared about Von Edgeworth history. Everything else was a waste of time.
The emperor gracefully left Katrina at the empty place reserved for her between the Lord High Steward and Gavinius Sepherin, both of whom bowed deeply upon her arrival. People began taking their seats only after she sat down, taking her time doing so, careful not to crease her expensive gown.
“Lord High Steward,” Katrina said rather detachedly, inclining her head slightly and allowing the weasel to kiss the backs of her fingers, though she turned away before he even finished. “Ah, and my sweet future brother,” she said, her sharp features lighting up warmly. “Congratulations on attaining your 14th degree, Prince Gavinius.”
“Thank you, my royal sister-to-be. I only pray that your future husband—and my unfortunate brother—will be freed soon from the clutches of our ignoble and blasphemous northern neighbors. As well, of course, your dear uncle, who suffers alongside my brother in little-known yet undeniably cruel silence.”
Augum’s group stiffened at the insult but had the tact not to respond.
“Thank you, Prince Gavinius, let us later pray together for their health and safe return.”
“I would be honored, and will reserve a place at my side at the sacred altar tables.”
Katrina manufactured a small smile and inclined her head, though Augum knew that she would consider such a thing a dull and complete waste of her time, for the last thing Katrina had was any sense of piety.
As meek servant girls began placing washbasins on everyone’s laps, her ash-gray eyes once more found Augum’s. She looked at him with the cold and detached gaze of someone who pretended she now saw him as far beneath her consideration. Yet Augum knew that she still fantasized about crushing him in a proper way as vengeance not only for the things his bloodline had done to hers, but for the humiliating defeat she had suffered before thousands in the Black Arena. As long as he lived, she would be reminded of that insufferable defeat that burrowed its way through her soul like a poisonous worm.
Augum accepted a linen cloth and a basin of steaming water from a woman with an absentminded “Thank you,” for he was recalling Katrina diving after him high above Solia. He could almost picture her face in that fearsome engine, glowing with exhilaration.
The servant stepped back, though Augum noticed that her hands had lightly brushed his shoulder on the way—and they were trembling. When he looked over at her, he saw a fragile creature with red-rimmed eyes and a pale, gaunt face. His gaze made her wither where she stood, making him feel terrible for drawing attention to her, as well as wonder why a royal servant was in such a state.
“We meet again, Dragoon Stone,” Katrina said with an amused air, drawing his attention. “Face to face,” she added as a frightened servant girl removed Katrina’s gloves and began carefully washing her hands with a small cloth. The servant girl was about the same age as Katrina yet there could be no greater divide between the pair—one was arguably the most powerful woman alive, and the other, judging by the absolute attention she gave washing Katrina’s hands, was terrified of making even the smallest mistake.
Augum, sensing that Katrina wanted him to acknowledge her title again, only inclined his head a little. He washed his hands, dried them off himself despite the servant girl reaching to do it for him, and handed the basin back, once more thanking her, though careful not to make eye contact. The young woman accepted the bowl with a small curtsy and scurried away like a mouse.
“A shame about your friend,” Katrina noted, staring at Augum, goading him to ask who she was referring to. When he did not take the bait, she added, “They had a hard time figuring out if it was an illusion or not. That is, until they dug out a hand.” A corner of her mouth curled upward in a sly smile. “Or what was left of it.”
Many of those assembled—including some of the old nobles—stirred uncomfortably.
“Her name was Naoki Tenzay,” Augum replied in a steel voice. “And she had more courage in that hand than you will ever possess in your entire body.”
Katrina snorted. “You have no idea what I am capable of now. But you will learn. Oh, yes, you will indeed learn … much to your misfortune.” She glanced over at Bridget and finally Leera, who glared back with a curled lip. Katrina acknowledged neither of them and returned her attention to Augum.
“His Royal Highness has been exceedingly gracious,” she said for all to hear as she absently waved for the girl to take the washbasin away. “In my humble opinion, of course. If it were up to me, I would have had this lot put to the question, pinched with hot tongs, and finally quartered and burned before their own kingdom while begging to be put out of their miserable miseries.” She smiled cheekily down the table and the old lords dutifully chortled at the grotesqueness of her wit.
“Then we are fortunate it wasn’t up to you,” Augum shot back, silencing the table. He had formulated some key questions to lob like fire arrows upon hay carts, but the timing was crucial so he bit his tongue, waiting for the enemy to reveal a little more.
Katrina’s ash eyes narrowed slightly. “You do not know it but your little outlaw gang has been condemned to death. I do believe that His Highness has seen fit to have this announcement published in tomorrow’s heralds now that the kingdom has been … massaged in preparation.”
Heads swiveled to the emperor, who was pressing a cloth to his mouth. He withdrew it, artfully hiding the blood stain behind his hand, and surrendered the slightest nod. “Indeed that is the case,” he said, though his voice held a hint of annoyance, as if he’d been hoping to reveal this news himself.
Augum wondered if the man regretted inviting Katrina. And which of them held more power? Obviously Katrina alone could control the siege engine, having tuned to it and no doubt taken measures to make herself indispensable, perhaps at the counsel of her cunning aunt. Otherwise Sepherin would have installed one of his sons, maybe even Gavinius, as the one to control Orion.
What mystified Augum was how Sepherin reconciled ceding so much power to a woman. The man wanted to annihilate and punish women, even unleashing The Path upon them. He wondered if it had anything to do with the small pearl that controlled the Orb of Orion, which in turn controlled the siege engine. Katrina must have ensured its safety. He supposed it didn’t matter, because his intentions remained the same—he and the others would attempt the dragon trials and, if successful, return to free their kingdom of the Canterran scourge and destroy the siege engine altogether, something that would have to happen regardless.
“You are only alive by the grace of His Grace,” Katrina added in a deadly whisper. “Never forget that.”
Augum did not reply, and his side continued to sit quiet and composed. Some of the servants brought silver bowls of food—sauced oysters, monster crab, fish cake and salmon stew—and used silver ladles to carefully dollop them onto their plates or bread bowls, while others poured ale and white wine. But no one touched their food, as it would be improper prior to the traditional courtesies taking place. Instead they stared coldly at their enemy. Yet few from Augum’s side dared to look at the emperor, not so much because of his title, but because his grotesque visage was counter to enjoying one’s meal.
The most senior female servant, a woman in her mid-twenties with a bun of auburn hair protruding from under her servant hat, brought a loaf of Canterran bread on a silver tray, which she extended before the emperor with bowed head. The emperor stood, prompting everyone else to follow suit.
His son Gavinius splayed his hands above the bread and closed his eyes. “May the Unnameables bless this humble loaf of bread on behalf of The Sacred Path.”
“The Sacred Path is the only path,” the other Canterrans chanted.
Augum was carefully watching the emperor’s face. The man’s golden eyes had fixed themselves upon him for the occasion. A tiny cynical smile graced his lips, lips that did not repeat the mantra. The emperor was still using the cult of The Path for his own ends—and he wanted Augum to know it.
After the blessing, the emperor picked up the loaf and tore it in two, placing one half back on the platter. The servant then hurried around the table, only to trip on the hem of her gown. The tray clattered to the hay-strewn floor and the bread rolled away, hitting a soldier’s foot.
The emperor’s eyes flared as the woman scrambled to her feet, whimpering, hands wringing before her, body shaking with near convulsions. He cast a fierce glare at two nearby guards, who grabbed the woman roughly, pinning her arms back and shoving her neck down so that she was fully bent over. Then they marched her out in that swan position.
Augum wondered what would happen to the poor woman. The answer came when Sepherin, still holding his half of the bread, glanced over at his chronicler, who in turn withdrew a separate parchment and made a small entry onto it with his black quill.
Augum felt a cold wave wash over him, for he instinctively knew that that particular parchment signified the tally of women the emperor was annihilating to achieve his so-called balance, a balance personified by his personal motto, Del servi o tei ancro balan—In service to the sacred balance.
Augum and Bridget and Leera, the latter pair coming to the same realization, looked over at the other servants and saw that they were visibly shaken, especially the younger ones. Their breathing had quickened and their faces were as pale as porcelain.
“Alas, I fear Solian women are not as trainable as Canterran women,” the emperor said, causing many of Augum’s group to inhale sharply.
Augum’s nails dug into his palms as he leaned forward. “Using Solian slaves during a Hallowed Trust is a profound insult to that covenant.”
Every Canterran at the table hissed at him.
“Such an insult needs to be recorded in history!” Augum spat over the hisses, glancing pointedly at the pair of chroniclers, only one of whom took a note of what had transpired.
Sepherin glanced over at the chroniclers and smiled to himself, then tore the piece of bread in his hands. “Let us not concern ourselves with trivial matters. History is afoot, and we are about to make the greatest bargain since your Theodorus Winkfield purchased a castle in the heart of Antioc and converted it into one of the finest libraries in Sithesia … for a mere chest of gold.”
The emperor extended one half of his broken bread to Augum, a symbolic act that custom demanded he accept in order for the meal to commence in good faith. Augum, understanding this well, snatched the bread from the man’s hand, receiving more outraged hisses, and waited.
As was customary, Sepherin took the first bite, chewing it properly as he stared at Augum with those calculating golden eyes. Augum, for his part, tore the bread with his teeth, chewing it with venom while the nobles at the table stirred and exchanged looks of annoyance, their powdered heads wobbling with insulted airs.
Sepherin at last sat back down, allowing everyone else to do the same.
Augum didn’t even finish his bread, tossing it onto a porcelain plate emblazoned with the Canterran crest. “You speak of a bargain,” he snapped. “What sort of bargain?”
The elder nobles bristled at his lack of decorum, for he had not used the man’s proper title, a pointed insult. But Augum thought it was the least the man deserved for insulting Solia by using slaves.
Gavinius leaned forward, spittle shooting from his mouth, goatee shaking with fury. “You try our patience with your barbarities, blasphemer. I will personally put you in your place when we next meet on the field of battle.”
Augum tapped at his own throat and tilted his head. “How’s it feel? Still a little red?”
“You impertinent little worm—”
The emperor calmly placed his portion of the bread on his plate and sighed wearily, which was all it took for his son to straighten and fall silent. He glanced to Esha and a brief and mirthless smile graced his lips. “Please excuse our gracelessness. I am sure you find all of this quite decadent anyhow.”
Esha looked to him, his son and Katrina, then swept the table with her lioness gaze. She seemed to be studying them as much as they her.
The emperor’s lips pressed with disappointment, as if he had been hoping she would enlighten them with wisdom. He flicked a finger and waited for a terrified Solian servant to ladle salmon stew into a bread bowl. Then he smoothed a cloth onto his lap and looked to Augum.
“You came here thinking this—” He indicated languidly down the table with a scarred hand. “—all of this, is a favor to you.” In a surprisingly vulgar display, he cleaned his front teeth with his tongue as he stared at Augum, making his lips bulge. “But I chose this evening to pay my respects to the traditions of old, the traditions of parlay. My son is impatient to spill your blood. Many at this table are. The ideas I have had to suppress …” He shook his head slowly in an If you only knew fashion. He leaned forward, voice almost a whisper. “I could have easily laid a trap.” He sniffed, dabbed a cloth to his lips, and raised a scarred finger. “But let us track the day backward, if we may.”
The emperor stood, indicating for everyone to remain seated. He placed his hands behind his back and strolled around the table, the embroidered flames on his garment slowly licking up his chest. By leaving his food untouched, he subtly tortured the companions, who longed to eat even a single morsel of the divine fare that sat before them, taunting them with its mouth-watering scent.
“You see,” he began, “what brought you to me was hubris. Hubris. A man, his honor besmirched, announced that he had discovered who he had come across.”
The companions exchanged perplexed looks. Who in Sithesia was he talking about?
The emperor stopped pacing behind Bridget’s chair and lingered there. “A man beaten in nothing more than a match of the arm.”
She, in turn, whimpered and weakened where she sat, forcing Olaf and Leera to grab her by the arms to hold her up. Her head fell forward and she was breathing quickly and shallowly … and couldn’t stop. It was as if her nightmares had come true.
“Easy, Bridge,” Leera whispered soothingly. “It’s all right, they would have found out from the drawing anyway.”
“Perhaps, Dragoon Jones,” the emperor said with a chortle. “But considering the man tasked to teleport the drawing was still lying in a puddle of his own vomit, it is highly likely that we would not have tracked you down in time had that route been the only option.”
The remark drew cruel but delighted sneers from Katrina and Gavinius, who enjoyed watching Bridget stew in the agony of guilt.
“Alas, fate had other plans. Allow me to continue.” The emperor resumed his stroll behind the tense companions. “That man, who was suffering mightily from enduring such a public defeat in his hovel of a town, did indeed end up drawing attention to a certain double portrait drawing, which confirmed the identity of the fugitives. But what you could not have known—”
He wagged a single finger and repeated, “—what you could not have known, was that I had tasked some of my best and most ambitious scholars and arcaneologists—who were already quite busy with other things, as you shall soon discover—to meticulously study Arcaner history.”
Augum recalled seeing Gavinius hurtle over his Mirror of the Dragon simul. He had been expecting it—he had trained for it. He had known.
“And the knowledge they uncovered allowed me to train my men up. They succeeded most gloriously. And then—” He raised a firm finger. “And then—” He flicked that finger and, like a parlor magician, briefly lit up his face with a burst of fire. “—I had a flash of brilliance. Utter brilliance. I asked those scholars to uncover exactly how Arcaners got into Ley. Lo and behold, my scholars solved the puzzle. Arcaners, as it turns out, had a dark means of entering Ley, using it as a stepping stone to enter the supposed drago
n realm.”
He paused to cough a little into his cloth, then calmly put it away and stopped behind his son, placing a hand on top of his shaved pate. “And before I go on, it should be noted that some of the pieces to that puzzle had been put into place by the questioning of figures hoarding that knowledge all—” He gave his son’s head a shake with each word. “To. Them. Selves.”
Augum stiffened, for he instantly knew that the man was referring to questioning people in the Antioc Library. Had Senior Arcaneologist Ning and Secretary Klines been caught? Were they all right? And what of Leland and Mr. Goss?
“Yes, they are fine, Dragoon Stone. They are all fine. If there is one thing you should already understand about me, my young opponent, it is that I respect the knowledge keepers, even if they can occasionally be somewhat … misguided.”
Sepherin moved on to stand behind Esha, where he paused to idly glance over the shoulders of both chroniclers, comparing the two texts as they scribbled away furiously. An amused smile came to his deformed lips before he once more resumed his stroll.
“My task was to draw the great picture and bring it all together,” he went on, opening his hands grandly. “That picture told me that some of those later Arcaners used nothing short of a witch ritual to enter Ley. Ironic, is it not? They did not use portals or gates or invitations to Ley, but simple pacts with a witch—of course, from what we have discovered, they had little choice, though that fact does little to refute the irony. But all of this … is academic. What matters—” This time he stopped to stand behind Katrina, who sat relaxed, enjoying watching the companions squirm. “What matters is that these rituals took place around ancient cairn stones.”
The emperor placed his gaze on Bridget, who was still breathing shallowly, face obscured by her long hair. Leera and Olaf continued to hold her steady, Olaf’s blond brows furrowed with deep worry and love. “The problem was that there are numerous sorts of cairn stones strewn about Sithesia. So which one were our infamous fugitives headed to? And thus the answer, as if the Fates had smiled upon my cause, presented itself in the form of hubris. And now we come full circle—a man, his pride wounded, revealed to us where the fugitives were, and in turn I instantly knew which specific cairn stones they were headed to.”