Awakening Arte (The Eldest Throne Book 1)

by Bernie Anés Paz

  “Yes—it’s time we brought our family together!”

  “You’re talking about Oyrivia and Fane,” Sethra muttered.

  “Of course I am!” He had already set the pieces on the board, considered his moves, and planned for contingencies. “But let’s not worry about that right now; Zareus will come to you when it’s time. In the meantime, I ask that you keep everything we’ve discussed tonight to yourselves until I’m ready to address the others.”

  The two youths stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded in acknowledgment with more than a hint of frustration. Kuro smiled.

  “Good! Once that’s done, all of our would-be coterie’s dirty laundry will be left out to air. You’ll all blush uncomfortably, laugh at each other’s choice in knickers, and then get over it. We’ll then ready you for your final evaluation, after which you’ll be sanctioned as official Grimoires of Avyleir.”

  The two gave him a shallow bow this time. “Is that all, Exarch?” Roun asked.

  “No,” Kuro admitted after a moment of thought. “You and Laeshiro still need to be ordained. I’ll grant you both titles after the coming week, but since I’m making you wait, here’s the second gift Yorin left in my care—the axe was the first, if you haven’t yet guessed.”

  Roun and Sethra watched Kuro as he paused dramatically and turned towards the side door. Zareus dragged the slender armoire he was leaning on the rest of the way to Kuro’s desk, then ran fingers along hidden script and fitted the key Kuro gave him. Rather than turning it, he simply again removed it and opened the armoire.

  Inside was a raiment set, not unlike what the two young Grimoires were already wearing, but these were soft blacks and such a deep shade of blue that it might have been mistaken as the same color if not for the contrast. Rather than the silky cloth that came from Hearth, these had a rougher texture. If one looked closely, they would find very fine venous marks through the fabric.

  A pair of black boots rested at the bottom, and at the chest hanged a closed mask that was a show of artisanship dripping with intent; whoever had designed it had been brilliant indeed.

  The mask’s motif was eyeless, but that was more than just decorative, because it didn’t even have slits for the wearer; an attempt at depriving observers of the comfort of knowing what they faced was even human.

  Yet the visage it offered was very much humanoid, or was at least a mockery of the shape; the mask’s false teeth were stretched to the extremes of a rictus grin. Surrounding it were the ghastly feathers of the caladrius, Sothis’s beloved friends who were said to now only flock around the peak of her Throne unless need sent them elsewhere.

  Sighting one was said to warn of the Eternal Empress’s gaze, be it beneficent or reproachful, but to find their feathers—or worse, witnessing one flutter to the earth—signaled the final note of a life, and that myth in turn adorned the mask with a crown of authority and death.

  Outwardly, however, the message was blunt and simple: a human face twisted beyond humanity, but not quite monstrous, and thus unfathomable. Kuro suspected that was the point.

  Roun and Sethra were staring at the mask, their faces a conflicting mess.

  “This set was specifically made for Roun, but I hope to have matching outfits made for all of you before long,” Kuro instructed. Both Grimoires nodded, their eyes still glued to the raiments. “Go, then, and listen to Zareus. He will explain what you’re to do with it.”

  Roun again nodded and went with Sethra to lift the armoire after Zareus shut it once more. Even without empowering themselves, it was probably easy to lift between them. Kuro watched them shuffle across his office and exit out into the waiting room.

  A boy had come into his care some months ago, but what had just left was truly a Grimoire, one among six he was already quite proud of, even if two of them had thorns that needed plucking. Kuro frowned and spun his parasol across a shoulder.

  It bothered him a little that he didn’t know what would return.

  19

  Another dawn found them seated in a circle atop the Blue Moon Tower, backs facing each other and eyes closed. As usual, the others had no problem absorbing the Eldest Throne’s dawnlight. He could see it soaking into them like fresh rainwater and watched as it vanished into their vessels.

  Their engorged spirits then brightened, and Farsight let him trace the élan pulsing through their bodies in symmetrical, curving lines. Sethra had told him cultivating her spirit felt like improving the intensity of fire by compressing stronger fire into it instead of adding things for it to burn, which really didn’t help his imagination much. Her description of cycling pure dawnlight wasn’t any better, because she insisted it was like consciously stitching her body, mind, and spirit into a more unified whole than it already was. She had finished by suggesting he wouldn’t understand until he experienced it, because it was as foreign an experience as everything else.

  Roun still didn’t know if he would ever experience it, though. He still couldn’t even see his own spirit, and the élan he took from wraiths and chimeras felt stagnant compared to dawnlight. They were the last pieces in the puzzle that was his existence as a Grimoire, but at least now his only worry was falling behind, which wasn’t as bad as being useless.

  Dawn’s hour passed in silence, leaving the sky blue and the Throne glowing with its usual intensity. They all rose and stretched before moving towards where Zareus and Yhul were waiting near the summit’s guardrails.

  “Librarian Exarch Kuro has given you all a holiday and coin with which to enjoy it,” Yhul announced. “All we ask is that you stay out of trouble and return before nightfall.”

  Zareus passed out bulging leather purses. Roun opened his and glanced at the coins inside; most were copper, but there were a lot of silver coins and even a few gold pieces. It was more money than Roun had ever held at once, and he could feel his eyes bulging. Sethra seemed to share his awe, but the other four regarded their purses with far less excitement.

  “Noble clans…” Sethra muttered after glancing at them. “So, where are we heading to first?” She paused and raised an eyebrow at Fane and Oyrivia, who were quietly arguing. “Uh, I don’t mean to interrupt, but would you two like to come along with us?”

  Fane and Oyrivia fell silent. An odd look passed between them, then Oyrivia stormed off towards the stairs while Fane let out a long sigh.

  “She isn’t in the best of moods today, so probably not,” Fane said. “But thank you for the offer anyway.”

  They nodded as Fane chased after Oyrivia, then turned towards their own plans. Or at least tried to.

  “Alright, I’ve had enough,” Sethra snapped as their indecision continued unabated. “If we’re going to waste time arguing, let’s at least do so while we’re eating.”

  Roun decided against saying anything, and both Laeshiro and Kamil seemed to be of the same mind. Instead, the three boys simply followed a humming Sethra as she descended the tower.

  An hour later, Roun stood outside the main gates of Avyleir Library. Unlike all the other times, he left bathed in the early warmth of the Throne.

  “Now,” Sethra said as she turned to look at them. “Can we settle on a place to eat without falling to our knees and cursing Fate?”

  “Am I allowed to say I want meat?” Laeshiro asked. “Maybe greasy, dripping bits of fowl browned over a fire or a moist bit of lamb roasted underground until it’s falling off the bone?”

  “She’s already drooling,” Kamil muttered. “Fine, so long as they also sell sweets.”

  Roun nodded in agreement. “My cravings are making up for the years I missed out on them, so sweets sound great.”

  With that settled, they began moving down into Rozaria City and found the crowd cheerfully giving way at the sight of their raiments, despite the streets being as lively as they always were. It gave the city a different feeling, though Roun mused most of that came from the upper rings being cleaner and better organized than the district he used to call home; the tiled pathways were wid
e and in good condition, and there were many parks filled with the azure cherry trees that covered so much of the demesne.

  By comparison, the outer districts packed its buildings close together. Hive-homes replaced manses and merchant towers below the city’s midway point, worsening the lack of space, and their haphazard network of catwalks made the districts seem more labyrinthine than they were.

  The northern edge of the city had escaped this, but only because it held the markets. It was still the most crowded region of the city overall, though the port at the opposite end came close thanks to its own unofficial market, where divers, anglers, and treasure hunters hawked their wares.

  Roun and the others chatted while they walked until Sethra called for a halt, glanced around in confusion, and asked where they were going. She didn’t look amused when everyone else responded that they were following her and said she had been following them with a roll of her eyes.

  A brief convening revealed that none of them knew the sovereign city all that well other than Laeshiro, whose clan had marched in and established a branch the moment Avyleir was chartered. Sethra was apparently from a town further out in the fringes, while Kamil admitted to never finding the motivation to explore the city. Roun himself was only familiar with the markets and the streets of the Zhalozi District, which Noban oversaw as one of its Guard captains.

  Noban… Guilt pulsed through him. He hadn’t thought about the Guardsman often since awakening. I should go see how he’s doing once I graduate from my probation.

  Laeshiro laughed and offered to take them to a little eatery in one of the middle districts he had frequented as a child; he reassured them it not only had the most delectable roasted meats in the city but also a vast selection of pressed and steamed sweets. They all agreed in relief and resumed their journey, but didn’t get far before Laeshiro slowly brought them to a stop again.

  Roun stood with Sethra and Kamil and watched in confusion as the Rhalgr clansman rubbed his chin and stared at a master luthier’s workshop.

  “Laeshiro used to play the lute, apparently,” Kamil said. “He told me he abandoned it sometime before his awakening, but I guess he’s thinking about picking it up again?”

  Roun raised an eyebrow, then gave the other two a mischievous grin as an idea struck him. “Maybe we should all pitch in and buy one for him so he won’t have to convince himself. Besides, his birthdawn is coming up soon.”

  Laeshiro returned in time to catch Roun’s suggestion. He frowned in confusion for a moment, then turned a deep crimson, which only further resolved the rest of them; Roun led the charge into the luthier’s workshop.

  The old lady that owned it didn’t seem very impressed by the fact that they were Grimoires, but her indifferent demeanor softened when it became clear that Laeshiro had more than a passing interest in lutes. She handed him a lute and asked him to play a series of notes that didn’t sound like music to Roun, but Laeshiro’s performance seemed to have impressed the luthier, because afterward she stepped through a curtain and came back with an old yet beautiful lute made with wood dyed a soft blue.

  Dried flowers and leaves also covered the instrument, all of it preserved with a clear coating of something. She also brought him a case and extra strings—then asked for what Laeshiro insisted was far less coin than the instrument was worth. No amount of arguing could get her to change her mind, and the gentle smile on her face as she pleaded for them to take it at her price soon left them guiltily portioning out the coin. Laeshiro himself looked displeased with the whole affair and cradled the instrument as if unworthy of it, but he bowed deeply to the luthier and thanked her.

  With that settled, they at last made their way to the eatery for what Roun figured might as well be their midday meal by this point. In fact, the eatery was busy for that exact reason, but that didn’t stop the owner from giving them a table out on a covered overlook that gave them a view of the sea.

  Laeshiro sat across from Roun and shook his head with embarrassment while they sipped on chilled drinks and waited for their orders.

  “You’re vile, my friends,” he muttered. His new lute sat on his lap. “That was an awkward mess, and I’m not really all that great of a lutanist.”

  “Then this is a chance to practice a little, isn’t it?” Roun replied, and both Kamil and Sethra grinned in agreement. “Will you play for us? We promise not to laugh.”

  Laeshiro snorted. “Give me a moment, then we’ll see if my fingers remember anything.”

  Roun watched him tune the instrument for a while, but couldn’t help but frown when he caught bits of gossip from nearby tables.

  “They’re just tense about the many black strokes of Fate Rozaria has been having lately.” Laeshiro shook his head when Roun gave him a surprised glance. “I’ve been sending my constructs out for practice since we left, and rumor mongering is all I’ve been picking up. Even folk in the upper districts were whispering about everything that’s been happening.”

  “I’ve noticed that too,” Sethra said, and Kamil nodded.

  “What exactly are they saying?” he asked Laeshiro.

  The other Grimoire shrugged. “Mostly speculation about the surge in chimeras and knots of night outside the walls. Of course, there’s still a lot of talk about when the Throne scared everyone half to death and a chimera appeared in the city.”

  Roun didn’t know what Laeshiro meant about the Throne, but he remembered the dream eater all too well. As for the rest, well, Noban had once told him that a merchant’s wares always hinted at Rozaria’s most pressing worries, and the stalls they had passed had been selling useless junk like charmstones, bone wards, and dreamcatchers that had nothing to do with honest alchemy and scripting. They suddenly made sense.

  “What’s worse is that somehow everyone seems to believe that Avyleir is ignoring it all, but you know how people are,” Laeshiro continued. “I wouldn’t take it too seriously.”

  “Are things around here really that bad?” Sethra asked. “My family lives out in the fringes, so we expected a rougher life, but…”

  Kamil snorted and pushed up his spectacles. “Most of the demesne is untamed, so the fringes aren’t very different from anywhere else. In fact, just about every demesne is more ‘fringe’ than not. Sure, imperial maps may proclaim that the entire world belongs to Sothis, and those same maps are careful to divide every scrap of land among the demesnes, but vast swathes still remain unsettled. There just aren’t enough Grimoires, and some regions are just plain headaches because of things like an eerie number of knots.”

  “Or brigand clans,” Laeshiro muttered, and Kamil conceded the point with a nod. “Most of the noble warrior clans have been battling against them for ages.”

  “That, I know. My family served alongside other warrior clans in the Caedarvan Demesne,” Sethra said. “Lots of brigands there, which is probably why we ‘gifted’ so much land to Rozaria.”

  Laeshiro nodded. “I forgot you were born in Caedarva.”

  “Right along what’s now Rozaria’s northern border,” Sethra agreed.

  “Why did your family leave?” Roun asked.

  She shrugged. “There are already a lot of warrior clans in Caedarva, including major branches of all the noble ones, so it’s hard to distinguish your family or yourself; especially in the Caedarvan Guard. Rozaria is still a young demesne though, so there’s a lot of opportunity here, no matter what your family does.”

  “We came here for the same reason,” Laeshiro said with a rueful smile. “Impressing a clan full of living legends is a challenge all on its own, so my father claimed a debt owed to him and asked to lead the Rozarian branch of the clan. He planned to leave the fruits of his efforts to me, so I’ve been training to take over the family and serve as the local patriarch since I was little.”

  “Well, it’s good for your clans that you’re both now Grimoires, right?” Roun asked them after taking a sip of his sweet, blue-colored drink.

  Kamil snorted, drawing Roun’s attention, but it
was Sethra who answered. “I became my family’s only heir after—” She paused, grimaced, and then continued. “After my older sister passed. Sure, you gain a lot of prestige from having Grimoires in your clan and especially in your family, and Avyleir will take care of them in exchange for my service, but my mother was hoping I’d inherit our dōjō and continue our bloodline.” She shrugged. “It isn’t easy for Grimoires to have children and it becomes even harder over time, so there’s a good chance our family will end with me. They already had my sister late and I was a complete surprise.”

  “I understand all too well,” Laeshiro said. “Luckily, I have plenty of siblings that can take my place, but there are also already many Rhalgr Grimoires.” He smiled wryly as he glanced down at his lute. “I won’t be able to head the local clan branch or distinguish myself as a Grimoire, so my father isn’t very pleased with me.”

  “Your father is an idiot,” Kamil snapped. “Especially for blaming you for something you had no control over.”

  Roun glanced between them. “I don’t understand…?”

  “My arte highlights me as a support Grimoire, Roun, and my father assumes Avyleir will assign me to a subterfuge coterie because of it.” Laeshiro shrugged. “He’s probably right, which means there won’t be many tales that end with an apostate’s heart in my hand.”

  Roun and Sethra exchanged a look.

  “I wouldn’t put too much faith in what your father believes,” Roun said carefully. “Besides, I agree with Kamil. How is any of this your fault?”

  “Because I never wanted to be a warrior,” Laeshiro answered, his eyes falling to the lute in his hand. “I wanted to be a performer. My family told me they would rather see me dead and refused to allow it, so I eventually gave up on the idea. Instead, I became quite the excellent bloodletter and resigned myself to the compromise of playing the lute as a hobby.” He shook his head and grinned, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in his face or voice. “When I ascended, they had to summon another Grimoire to cut me from my room, full as it was of spider silk, and I had been playing my lute when it happened. My family saw it as an omen and claimed I was only outwardly honoring my promise to follow our clan’s traditions.”