by Daryl Banner
“So then the Kingship is kind, and the Kingship is good,” states the Queen.
Tide isn’t sure whether those words were meant in humor—coming from a girl with a voice as flat and unexciting as a board—but Chole responds with an appreciative chuckle, then says, “I never knew the true weight that such words could put on the back of one person. It is certainly a lot of pressure, to maintain so many people’s happiness and comfort of life.”
“Indeed.” The Queen tilts her head. It’s only now Tide notices the girl isn’t wearing a crown. “So you have the people’s love. And how do you propose I earn that same love, Chole of the fifth?”
“It is simple.” He places his hands upon his hips. “Allow me the gracious pleasure of ruling alongside you as King of Atlas.”
The words seem to push all the breath out of the room. Axel, who was already looking rather peeved and uncomfortable, now has a look upon her face that could set the whole room afire. Dregor lifts his eyebrows in surprise, but says nothing. No one moves a muscle among the Court of Elders, except for one person who gasps.
The Queen’s face remains perfectly still and expressionless.
Chole, ever ready to diffuse the tension in any room, spins and gives everyone in the room a quick, innocent glance. “I didn’t expect my words to be so shocking. Are they shocking? Are we shocked?” He brings his humored gaze back to the Queen. “I figured it was a rather unsurprising, expected offer.”
“Why do you think I would consider it?” asks the Queen.
“Well, for one, I already rule half of the slums,” Chole points out.
“Four wards is not a half, but a third,” the Queen is just as quick to point out, her tone even, yet heavy. “Also, I have heard that the Guardian are not allowed among your wards—Guardian, who are Sanctum-based and Sanctum-controlled.”
“Aye, but not as of late,” Chole retorts with a shrug. “Guardian do not accept you as their Queen, either. I don’t mean to say this to hurt your feelings or be untoward, but the Guardian themselves are operating as a sort of … how does one put it? … a makeshift Sanctum located in the eleventh. They are building a base in the Core, I am to understand.” Chole shakes his head with pity. “They don’t take you for their Queen, either.”
“They will,” she states stubbornly.
“But if we were to unite our forces,” he goes on, as if she didn’t even speak, “I think the slums will have a turnaround about you. If they saw the pair of us ruling together on the broadcast, they may come to find that they live in a changed Atlas. Even Guardian might see the better—”
“It won’t happen.”
Tide shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his legs still weak and aching from the journey. He eyes Arry at his side, who looks close to pissing his own pants, then Ritney behind him, whose face of stone is softened slightly with fear.
Chole, impenetrable to the tension behind him, doesn’t give up. “Really, you have an excellent opportunity here.” His left hand goes into his pocket as he speaks and gestures with his right. “The slums, if anything, will organize and rebel against your rule. It’s as certain as the Slum Queen’s rebellion, and that one happened to a woman who could make anyone believe whatever she wanted. You don’t have such a Legacy, unfortunately. Queen of Truths, they called her, but really she was Queen of Her Own Truths. But with the both of us sitting on that throne—”
“You’ve spoken enough, Slum Boy Chole.” The Queen is on her feet. “Unless you have something else more reasonable to offer—”
“It’s the most reasonable thing you’ll ever be offered. Guardian will certainly make no offer when they storm you from beneath your feet, and my fellow slummer, you are not adequately armed.” Chole’s voice remains perfectly even and friendly, even as he argues with her. “The peaceful free folk of the Greens and the ninth will take no part in the war, if I’m to guess, and will resent whoever’s the victor if you continue to pay them no mind. Even they are not cooperating with the corrupt Guardian. It is our responsibility to save Atlas now. It is up to you, and it is up to me, to take this chance and—”
“I’m going to end him,” announces Axel, her eyes burning, her teeth bared. “I’m going—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” the Queen states, cutting off her Marshal of Order Axel once again.
“We all want the same thing,” Chole goes on, talking over the both of them. “We all want Atlas to rights again. I say we celebrate our common interests, set aside our egos, and—”
The Queen’s words silence all else. “I will make this very clear to you.” She descends the steps before her throne, placing herself in front of Chole. He has a whole foot on her in height, yet she stands as proudly in front of him as if she were the giant and he were the mouse. “Thrones, throughout all the history of Atlas, passed from one hand to the next via rightful descension, bloodline, or blood. King Greymyn’s reign ended via blood. Mad King Impis’s reign ended via blood. My reign …” She places a hand upon her chest. “… began as an act of rightful descension. I was named the Queen by those who remained of the last Kingship, no matter whose Kingship it was. I was selected for my Legacy and my knowledge and my connection to the slumborn. By all rights that any King or Queen in all of Atlas’s past would agree to and accept, I—me—Erana Sparrow of the sixth—am rightfully the ruler of Atlas. Not you. Not any of these people in this room. Not someone plucked from Impis’s Tours. Not someone who was standing by with nothing else to do with their day. Me.”
Chole says nothing in response to her speech. He merely stands there like a lump of a boy who’d just been denied candy by his mom.
Tide was annoyed at first by how bold Chole was acting, but now finds himself wondering where all that boldness and confidence went. He stares at Chole’s back, frustrated. Speak up! he’d shout if he dared. Stand up for yourself in front of this stupid girl Queen! Stand up for the Coalition and for those who count on you!
Instead, Chole gives the Queen a slight bow, a nod, then says, “I am regretful of your lack of openness, but certainly can relate to it. It is perhaps in all of our best interests to protect what we have. I … simply wished we could’ve …” He gives her a long, thoughtful look. “… entertained a convenient alliance.”
The Queen steps back, then returns his nod. “I suspect you will have no trouble returning the way you came.”
Chole gives her a lopsided smile, his freckles dancing. Then, in a kind voice, adds, “If you someday decide to change your mind …”
“I won’t.”
“… you will know where to find me, and you will be received like a friend in my Coalition,” Chole finishes anyway. “Your beauty is far more notable in person than it is on a cold broadcast screen, I hope it isn’t untoward of me to say.”
“It is,” the Queen retorts, shifts uncomfortably, then adds, “And you’re … not my type.”
The weirdly casual exchange goes by like nothing at all. “Thank you for accepting my audience. Queen, Axel, Dregor, and Court.” He nods stiffly at each, then turns and makes his way down the aisle.
Tide shifts his feet wrong, trips, rights himself, then continues on, flanked by Arry and Ritney and Shley as they escort their King.
Halfway down the way, Queen Erana calls out at their backs. “If you so wish to entertain an alliance …”
Chole stops and turns. “Yes?”
The Queen, far in the distance, her voice echoing all around them as she calls down the throat of the throne room, finishes: “… I perhaps might be swayed to add you to my Council, underneath me. But it will not be as my King and equal.”
After a moment of stillness, Chole gives a rueful smile. “I’m … afraid that offer is simply beneath my dignity.” He nods. “Farewell.”
“For now,” says the Queen.
And then Slum King Chole and his entourage depart the throne room of the Last City of Atlas.
The whole way down the tower, the words exchanged between Chole and this Erana
Queen bounce back and forth in Tide’s head. It only now occurs to him comically that he just paid witness to an exchange in the throne room of Atlas, high atop Cloud Tower, in the Lifted City. There isn’t a soul he knows from school, from the ninth, from any part of his life who could boast of the same experience.
Tide feels fucking important tonight.
Tide is an important person. He is a person who guards Kings. He is a person who stands at their side while they negotiate terms of things with Queens and Councils.
These thoughts, and perhaps others that haven’t yet occurred to him, make a smile of his wicked, wide lips.
He feels the pride as he struts across the courtyard of Cloud Keep and through its mighty gates, which suddenly look much taller and grander than they did coming in. He feels the pride as he walks with his King down the roads of the Lifted City, enjoying all the eyes that fall upon their party, eyes that are curious, that are fearful, that are admiring.
Tide puffs up his chest.
He is such a fucking important person.
The five of them reach the edge of the City where a mess of vines and stems and plants, blooming with glorious colors and lots of greens and yellows, awaits their long and tiresome descent. “Go on ahead,” says Chole, his voice low and strangely deflated of energy. “I will ensure the bridge stays intact as you four make your descent.”
“You’re coming with us, yes?” asks Ritney suddenly.
Chole gives her a tight-throated chuckle, then leans in. “This isn’t the part where I secretly ditch you and abandon my post as the King of the Coalition. No, I am truly staying behind to ensure—”
“I’ll stay,” announces Tide.
The four others look at him, Chole last of all, who seems oddly perturbed at Tide’s exclamation.
“I’ll stay,” Tide repeats. “I’ll watch that they don’t cut down our bridge or … or burn it with a … a torch … or, uh …” Tide’s run out of horrific possibilities to list.
Chole, after a time of thought, nods. “Very well. Onward.”
Tide gives him a queer look as he passes by, descending the long and twisting plants. What is with him? Tide wonders as he watches them go, his face scrunched up and pensive. Sure, he might be irked that the Queen didn’t accept his proposal. But so what? They have just shown the Queen—and all the False Sanctum fools—that they are not so untouchable or unreachable up here in the sky. With just a handful of seeds and a fallen Lord’s Garden, they built themselves a mighty bridge.
Twenty minutes pass before Tide is certain the others have made it down safely. Two of the Queen’s Sky Guard had escorted them from Cloud Keep, and it’s to them that Tide gives a sideways look and half a scowl before he begins his descent down the bridge.
His feet slip several times. The plants are less forgiving on the way down than they were on the way up, pulling at his toes and clinging to his heels as he carefully chooses each of his steps. He didn’t realize it would be twice as hard going down, for each of his footfalls threaten to take his feet right out from under him, more slippery with each passing step, and the whole way forces him to stare downward at the slums far, far below, which makes the descent dizzying, his heart racing from fear.
Before he knows it, his feet touch the bottom, and as wiggly as they are, he knows he is safe at last when he sees the faces of the four others awaiting him.
“Very well,” says Chole upon Tide’s arrival. “And we go home.”
Tide frowns. “That’s it?”
“Of course that’s it,” responds Chole tersely, making his way for the main road leading out of the square.
Shley, Ritney, and Arry follow him with blank faces. Tide does not know what to make of the King’s sudden mood swing, but it has him feeling a lot bolder than he was feeling up there in the sky.
“What is this about?” comes Tide as he brings himself in front of Chole, voice raised. “You act like a wimp suddenly, when up there—”
“Tide …” warns Arry, wide-eyed.
“—you were speaking your mind with confidence! You had the Queen in your fucking palm, Chole. That stupid girl Queen. You’re going to let her tell you what’s going to happen with Atlas? They are completely undefended up there.”
“Tide, stop,” cuts in Ritney.
Tide, like the wind, does not stop. “We shouldn’t have gone up and chatted with them. We should’ve raided the City and taken those fuckers over. They were scrambling when we arrived. They had no idea what to do with our like!”
It is Chole who finally speaks. “They knew exactly what to do with our like.” He turns on Tide with such sudden anger, Tide finds himself taking a step back. “They cast us back to the streets like five stinking rats, that’s what.”
Tide puffs up his chest again. “What’re you yelling at me for?”
“Because this whole stupid fucking idea was planted by you,” Chole spits. It’s the first time Tide has ever seen Chole get angry and lose his temper. Chole, the peaceful King, the calm-tempered King, the boyish friend, companion, and pal. “I knew I should’ve listened to my instincts. I knew it was too soon. I knew I should have played out the long game of slowly winning over the city. It was a mistake to go up into the sky and make a fool of myself.”
“You weren’t the fool,” Tide cuts in, matching Chole’s anger. “It was they who were the fools!”
“I’m the greatest fool in the end.” Chole shakes his head. “Me.”
“That isn’t true, you fool. I mean …” Tide’s sigh comes out like a growl. “I mean …”
“I was a fool to let your aggression persuade me.” Chole looks to the streets, his eyes averted from Tide. “Ever since I let you into our Coalition. You’ve … swayed me. You’ve … infected me with your …”
Tide wrinkles his face, frustrated, not following.
Chole doesn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence, so he doesn’t. He continues on his way back to the Coalition, and the three others, after a notably sympathetic glance at Tide, continue after him down the dark, damp road. Tide lets go whatever was left of his frustrations, kicks the side of the nearest building—some clothier of leather and fur apparel—then stalks off behind them, scowling.
When all are returned and safe behind the great gates of the first ward, Tide watches as the four disperse to their various homes. Tide at first considers returning to his own, perhaps to take out all his aggression on Dog, who would only be so fucking happy to be the brunt of Tide’s anger and attention, no matter how sick an obsession that silly boy has with him.
But Tide decides someone is far more deserving of his ire. He heads for the Ferns, ignoring the eyes that look at him, the faces who turn his way and try to greet him. No, these eyes are not like the Lifted ones that made him feel proud and bold and important.
Right now, they just piss him off worse.
When he reaches the Ferns, descends the muddy stairs, and comes to the deepest basement, he finds a turned over chair, an open door, and one lifeless guard on the ground in a pool of blood.
Tide’s skin prickles with fear.
He steps over the guard’s body, rushes up to the ajar cell door, and peers inside. Nothing is there but what appears to be the guard’s severed arm, lying bloody in the corner of the cell.
Gin is gone.
0280 Halvesand
The hum of the chrome caravan is soothing as they glide down the streets of the eleventh. Other than the front windshield, two long slits of glass run along either side of the cabin, showing the buildings race past them as they go. For the longest time, all Halves hears is the clean, gentle hum.
“The Lifted do have their gifts,” murmurs one among his crew, a woman called Bee with long, straight hair and deep-set hooded eyes. She was among the crew of Guardian tasked with transferring his mother from the headquarters in the sixth to Eleven Wings.
“What? You mean this chrome?” asks the boy by Halvesand’s side, who is, against all measure of reason, the fourth crew member handpicked b
y Lead Officer Forrest. He looks twelve, he has arms like half-cooked noodles, and can’t seem to hold a gun without his hands trembling. No matter Halves’ opinions, the boy was also one of the ones who escorted his mother safely from the sixth. His name is Cope. “Yeah, chromes are pretty smooth. A lot smoother than the likes of slum vehicles.”
“Smooth as air,” Bee agrees. “Like we’re floating.”
“Like we’re … lifted.” Cope smirks. “Lifted. Get it?”
Bee rolls her eyes and turns back toward the windshield where she was watching. The three of them sit on long bench-seats that line either side of the cabin. Only one control chair is at the nose of the vehicle, operated by Forrest herself, who keeps her opinions out of the conversation completely, her full focus on the road. She stops for clusters of folk crossing the street, though most keep well out of the way, quite accustomed to chrome caravans and freight vehicles passing down this very lane. A few ignore the vehicle. Some show disgust on their faces, assuming them to be Sanctum or Lifted folk traveling through the eleventh. One pair of kids even take to throwing their shoes at the caravan, both attempts of which miss entirely, or else the chrome has a defense mechanism that evades projectiles somehow. Despite all his studying in the dormitories and the Guardian labs, Halvesand still finds himself sorely lacking in understanding how Lifted tech actually works.
