Awakening Arte (The Eldest Throne Book 1)

by Bernie Anés Paz

  “By kidnapping her?” Sethra asked. “Not that I’m opposed, but would it really help Oyrivia?”

  “Kidnapping her from whom?” Fane demanded. “She’s a Grimoire, and what’s going on here goes against the laws of the Imperial Cantons. They won’t be able to make a fuss without revealing what they’re doing.”

  Sethra nodded. “As long as Avyleir doesn’t look the other way, though I somehow doubt that our exarch wants this any more than we do.”

  “Then why did he just send you two?” Fane challenged. “Why not use his power to punish Jeane or send the Canton of Dawn after her?”

  “I don’t know,” Roun admitted, “but there has to be a reason he can’t. Maybe he wants to downplay our involvement as the stupidity of young friends and insist we’re being punished behind the library’s walls. This way, both Avyleir and the Nymth clan get to preserve their honor.”

  “That won’t give Jeane what she deserves,” Sethra said hotly. “I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I, but Oyrivia is more important.”

  “True,” Sethra agreed with a sigh.

  “The other Nymth matriarch should arrive shortly,” Fane said. “That’s when I want to make our move.”

  “Why?” Roun asked.

  “Because I assume they’ll get in each other’s way while going through the motions of their game. It’ll also look less suspicious with a third party there instead of just us and Jeane.”

  “We’re still going to talk to her first, right?” Sethra asked.

  Fane nodded. “I’ll separate her and try to get her to see reason, though I don’t want you to back down if we end up having to drag her out.” Fane glanced away. “I know her well enough now to know she’s going through some dark thoughts.”

  Roun and Sethra both nodded.

  “Then let’s head back. We’ll have to suffer through Jeane for a while, but hopefully not for too long.” Fane rose and stretched as he regarded the sleeping Throne. “Here’s hoping it’ll be as easy as walking out with her.”

  Roun shrugged. “It’s not like they can stop four Grimoires.”

  Fane didn’t appear comforted by that, but he nodded in agreement. With one last look shared between them, they made their way back to the dining room.

  23

  The rest of dinner passed as awkwardly as it began, with Oyrivia alternating between fits of anger and moments of quiet discomfort while Jeane applied her tongue the way a veteran fencer wielded a sword. It was easily the most awkward meal Roun had ever had in his life, and he wondered why they weren’t at least insisting that Jeane focus on something—anything—else besides her daughter’s misery, especially since this was their last meal together.

  Fane, however, said nothing unless spoken to, and Sethra focused on her meal and then Roun’s when he found himself without appetite. He slid his plate towards her and ignored Jeane’s wrinkling nose.

  It took the arrival of a breathless servant to silence Jeane, but only after he raised his voice to announce her expected guests. The Nymth matriarch paused mid-quip to regard the servant, then rose and followed him to the door.

  Fane gave Sethra and him a meaningful look, then the three of them stood in unison. Oyrivia continued to stare at her plate.

  “Talk to her, but make it quick,” Sethra said.

  Oyrivia glanced up with a frown. Her frown deepened when Fane motioned her towards the corner, but she slid from her seat and joined him.

  “Should we take our weapons out of your vessel?” Sethra asked him.

  Roun shook his head. “The last thing we want to do is appear threatening. Let’s just hope Jeane lets us walk away without a fuss.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Sethra said, rolling her eyes.

  “If Oyrivia ignores her mother, then it won’t matter.” He glanced over to the dining room corner where Fane was still speaking to the now wide-eyed girl, one hand on her shoulder, while increasingly nervous-looking servants fluttered around.

  “Well, let’s go buy them some time or something,” Sethra muttered.

  They walked after Jeane, moving down a hallway despite the protests of several guards and servants. One even tried to stop them, but even the lowest Grimoire was a great deal stronger than any mortal, so Roun barely felt the hand extended out to stop him as he continued on by.

  His heart was thudding by the time they emerged into an extravagant greeting chamber and found Jeane seated with a far larger group than Roun had expected. The chatter died as soon as they entered, and both Roun and Sethra froze.

  “Oh? What do we have here?” an old woman asked. She had long hair that had been dyed black judging by the deep lines of age across her face and the depth within her emotionless eyes. She wore a simple dress free of jewelry or decorations other than a brooch displaying the sphinx moth aside a lily that was the Nymth clan emblem.

  Another entourage of guards stood around her, but it was the guest behind them that made Roun’s breath catch.

  “They’re Grimoires,” the strangely dressed man said. “The better question to ask is ‘why are they here?’”

  Age had weathered his face as well, and his hair and neat beard were both gray. He leaned closer in between both Nymth matriarchs while balancing himself on a great staff that looked nothing like Sethra’s bō. Dazzling inlaid script made from gold wrapped around the staff, and an abstract replica of the Eldest Throne crowned its top, complete with halos wrought in white gold that were attached to the center by thick stems.

  The staff matched the sword and splinted dalmatica he wore, which were also imperial red and gold. A spire-like mark from which beams of light radiated outward perched on the man’s chest—the emblem of the Canton of Dawn.

  Roun couldn’t help but stare as the man’s lips curved up into a smile. Why is the Canton of Dawn here? Maybe they wouldn’t have to do anything after all.

  “These are my daughter’s friends,” Jeane replied with a shrug. “Does it matter? Avyleir hasn’t intervened before, so I doubt they will now.”

  “Actually,” Sethra said. “That’s exactly why we’re here.” She balked when everyone frowned and settled their narrowed gazes on her, then elbowed him. “And… my partner Roun here is going to explain what I mean.”

  He rolled his eyes, but nodded and gestured at Jeane. “She’s been manipulating her daughter and bribing our library, and now she’s being blackmailed into handing Oyrivia over to be used by the rest of her clan.”

  “Blackmailed?” The older Nymth woman frowned. “Hardly. We pointed out that her handling of such a valuable asset was both self-destructive and careless. Such being the case, we demanded that she give up the girl before something unseemly happened. We’re also reimbursing Jeane for every coin she spent, with interest, and since I’m not a petty little shit, I imagine poor Oyrivia will be happier being mine.”

  “She doesn’t belong to anyone,” Sethra snapped. “I don’t know who you think you are—”

  “Oh, I know exactly who I am, dear,” the woman interrupted with a haughty laugh. “You’re the ones who lack the education to even realize the depths of your own stupidity. Arbiter? Can we still count on your help?”

  The old man with the staff sighed. “Very well.”

  He moved towards Roun and Sethra with a sizable number of legionnaires dressed in red and gold padded armor. When the group halted before them, the arbiter gave Roun an inquisitive look.

  “We wish to speak to the girl. Will you move aside or will you insist on being difficult?” the old man asked.

  Roun hesitated, but decided it was better to avoid a confrontation until they had no other choices, so he stepped aside; Sethra mirrored him. The arbiter and his escort continued down the hallway towards the dining room.

  “You three really are idiots if this is what you came for,” Jeane said as Sethra and Roun turned back towards her.

  “They’re young Grimoires,” the older matriarch said. “Newly awakened and still within their pro
bationary period, I imagine.” She spread her hands. “Let this be a lesson for you, then: the truest and purest form of power is control, because no matter how great something may be, if you can control it, then you are superior.”

  Sethra shook her head. “No one controls us.”

  “And that is why you’re a fool, dear. Don’t mistake ignorance of your collars for freedom.” She shrugged. “Go to your friends and you’ll see what I mean.”

  “I will,” Sethra said to the woman. Then, to Roun, she whispered, “Don’t let them come get in the way. We’re walking out with Oyrivia one way or another.”

  Roun nodded and watched her hurry down the hall.

  “Oyrivia murdered many innocent people, you know,” Jeane said, sounding more amused than anything else.

  “Not by choice,” Roun spat, “and you know that.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact though, does it?” Jeane waved a hand at the passageway behind Roun. “What if your adorable friend accidentally killed someone dear to you? Your mother, perhaps? A son or daughter? Could you really continue working alongside her as if nothing had happened?”

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’d like to think I’d forgive her.”

  “Half an honest answer.” Jeane sighed and leaned back on her lush couch. “Which is more than most would have admitted. The other half, however, is just the hope. What everyone expects you to say.”

  “This is different, though.” Roun shook his head. “Oyrivia is your daughter. I don’t understand how you can hate her so much.”

  Jeane chuckled and stared at the ceiling. “As a Grimoire, Oyrivia can’t inherit everything a family heir deserves, but I still put to ink everything I could leave to her, and it’s not like I beat or starve my daughter.” Jeane laughed again. “Not physically, at least. All I want is justice. For her to undergo penance for what she did, and this is the only way I know to make that happen. Not that I expect you to understand.

  “You didn’t have to bury your little boy and don’t have to look your daughter in the eye knowing she killed him. You didn’t lose the only man you’ve ever loved, a man who whispered the same lies I’ve spent my entire life hearing, yet somehow also made them all come true. Oyrivia spilled their blood, and what did it earn her? Centuries spent as young and beautiful as she is now while I grow old and eventually die alone. How is that fair?”

  Roun said nothing more, realizing his opinion wouldn’t matter to her, and Jeane didn’t look interested in continuing the debate. Taking shelter in her own spite. He had hated life on the streets and was ashamed of some things he had done to survive, but he didn’t blame his father for it. Yorin had been far from perfect, but he had always tried and that had meant everything to Roun.

  Jeane was neither trying nor cared that Oyrivia herself was.

  “What’s your name?” the older woman asked after studying his face for a moment.

  “Roun,” he replied after a moment, crossing his arms. “Just Roun. I’m clanless.”

  “Ah,” the woman said, ignoring Jeane’s snort. “I apologize for not introducing myself earlier, but I’m Matriarch Ilana, second to the grand matriarch and head of the Hearth branch of our clan.”

  The matriarch’s voice was full of measured self-importance, but if they had chosen her as the matriarch of the Nymth clan’s main branch, then she had likely earned it; he resisted the habitual urge to bow low and instead managed a polite nod.

  “So this isn’t being kept a secret from your grand matriarch?” Roun asked.

  Ilana gave him a wide smile. “Of course not. I bow before her just as deeply as many bow to me. Everyone bows, Roun. Always to Fate, but also to our clans, our professions, parents, lovers, friends—society as a whole, really. And, in spite of her absence, we all continue to obey the Eternal Empress, don’t we? Even you Grimoires, and are you not also beholden to your library and demesne?” When Roun didn’t answer, her smile widened. “Oyrivia already belonged to the Nymth. As a clan of merchants, we know better than to pay for something we already own. This is something else entirely—the better among poor choices.”

  “There’s nothing ‘better’ about buying Oyrivia like she actually was a book you could keep on a shelf,” Roun insisted, arms still crossed.

  It was Jeane who answered, and her answer was a long, mocking laugh and a roll of her eyes.

  “Bringing Oyrivia back to Avyleir without our protection will get her killed, you know,” Jeane said casually. “Call me cruel, call me a bitch, but I’m the one keeping my stupid daughter alive and you and your friends are the ones who will see her dead.”

  What? Roun glanced between the two matriarchs and frowned.

  “I would be lying if I said I didn’t hate my daughter—and oh, how I wish I could say otherwise,” Jeane continued. “But no matter how much I might hate her, I’ll never be able to hate her as much as Oyrivia hates herself. Why else do you think a Grimoire would allow herself to be treated like this? Why do you think she doesn’t seek the aid of Avyleir or the Cantons? It’s because she believes she deserves what I’m doing to her.”

  Ilana sighed. “As blunt as ever.” She glanced at Roun and waggled her eyebrows. “By the way, your little friend has been gone an awful long time, hasn’t she?”

  She has. Roun froze.

  “Go and see,” Ilana said. “That arbiter is not here without reason.”

  Roun whirled from the warning and glanced down the hallway. The Nymth guards that had been filling it were already standing aside; their gazes followed as he sprinted down the corridor.

  He emerged back into the dining room and… wasn’t sure what he was seeing. The legionnaires stood with their short blades drawn around the old man, who was rubbing his beard as he looked over the slumped body of Oyrivia. Fane groaned beside her, clutching a wound in his belly that leaked ichor.

  Roun stared wide-eyed as everyone turned to regard him, then he began wildly searching for Sethra. The arbiter gave him a humorless smile and gestured to the far corner of the dining room near Roun. His gaze darted there and found Sethra kneeling, one hand on a knee and the other pressed against the floor. Her body trembled as if under strain, and her skin glistened with sweat; her raiments were already soaked.

  The arbiter bowed. “I am Desantil, an Arbiter of Dawn in service to our Eternal Empress.” A touch of pity crossed the man’s face. “I have decided to command your denouncement. Death is a grisly process for the ascended, but I promise to make it as painless as I am able.”

  The words sunk into Roun’s mind as he took the scene in, but it took longer for their meaning to hit him. He conjured his bloodhawk axe and dragged it out from his chest while the arbiter looked on what with appeared to be genuine curiosity. None of the legionnaires moved or showed the slightest bit of concern.

  “Your friends were Grimoires too,” Desantil commented, head cocking.

  That was what left his heart thudding. What happened here? He glanced back over at Sethra’s trembling body.

  “Why?” he finally asked. “Why are you helping them enslave Oyrivia? Why are you killing Grimoires?”

  “Because though a Grimoire must strive to live as a hero, they always die one. This is because the Eldest Throne claims the spirits of fallen Grimoires, ensuring Sothis can continue to protect humanity and push back the Nightwall. An apostate, on the other hand, offers humanity nothing more than the potential for misery until they are at last slain. Better to feed the Throne than take the chance.” He glanced down at his feet and waved a hand at Oyrivia’s motionless body. “A Grimoire like her, full of self-loathing and lacking drive, would never have passed your exarchs’ evaluation. As a result, her spirit would have been inevitably returned to the Empress.”

  The better of poor choices. Roun thought back to when he had first joined the Blue Moon Tower. He had acknowledged that there was no such thing as a failed Grimoire, but he still hadn’t ever imagined that Avyleir outright executed them.

  “As for Oyrivia,
” Desantil continued, “I would have preferred to return her to the Empress, but enough of the Nymth clan’s coin flows my way to afford them a favor or two, so long as it’s reasonable.” He shrugged. “They wanted a chance to save the girl and make something useful out of her. Foolish, if you ask me, but they have bought their chance, and if they fail, well, they will either bear the dishonor of harboring an apostate or quietly hand her back. For you and your friends, however, there is only one end to the night.”

  Roun frowned. “But we’ve done nothing—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Desantil interrupted. “You have seen me here and already know more than a Grimoire of your rank should. Go knowing that I prevented you from ensuring Oyrivia’s death, though it’s unfortunate you only traded her life for your own. Such are the fickle strokes of Fate.”

  Roun shook his head at the arbiter. Exarch Kuro had seemed to believe Fane and Oyrivia were worthy of more than death. Roun himself didn’t know them all that well, but what he had seen tonight alone would have convinced him to bet on them. After all, Fane had cared enough to risk everything just to try to help Oyrivia, while Oyrivia was drowning in her own misery and being manipulated because of it. They deserved the same chance to overcome their struggles that Exarch Kuro had given him, and even he hadn’t been able to do it without help.

  And I suppose that’s why we’re here, now that I think about it. Roun closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed his hesitation. Exarch Kuro had sided with them, so Roun would choose the exarch in return.

  “We’re going to bring Oyrivia back,” Roun said, his voice steady and full of simple confidence. “What happened to her isn’t a wound that will heal easily or quickly, but we’ll help her through it. Some day, when she’s one of Rozaria’s greatest heroes, our exarchs will sit and wonder how they could have been so wrong about her.”