by Anna Eluvae
They proceeded through the crowds with the sailors accompanying them. The crowds were oppressive, and more noisy than they'd been in Genthric. The people of the Sovento States were well-known for being self-assured, confident, and oftentimes even boastful; that was part of their cultural charm, and Dravus had grown up hearing jokes and stories where the men from Genthric, Triana, and Ponticelli were always trying to top each other. The Soventian peoples were often compared to an excitable dog by foreigners, which Dravus had never taken to be terribly insulting.
In contrast, the Toric people were simply loud. It was perhaps unfair for him to judge a whole nation by their reception in the capital city, but the voices weren't as expressive as they were in Genthric, despite the volume. All the questions, even the pleasant ones, had a slight undercurrent, as though it would be an affront for no answer to be given. Many of the questions weren't pleasant at all.
"Did you work with Zerstor?" screamed one of the men who got too close to Lexari. The man was shoved back by the sailors, and Lexari kept walking, addressing his answer to the crowd.
"Zerstor is dead, and I've lost the use of my hand," said Lexari. "Kendrick Eversong is a petty, bitter man looking only to muddy clear waters in pursuit of his own fame. After the tale you'll hear tonight, there will be little doubt of that."
The crowd didn't just want answers to their questions. They tried to tell breathless stories past the guards, with desperate faces that barely paid attention to the road. Men shouted marriage proposals to Nemm. Dravus had seen the hangers-on who followed Nemm around in Genthric, but that had been after nine days, when she was no longer a novelty in the city. It wasn't just adoration, or curiosity, it was a rawness of emotion that extended all along the spectrum; hatred and despair were readily apparent, and not just directed in the ways that Dravus would have expected. A few people were calling Lexari a coward, or a traitor. Perhaps Torland was worse than other places, but Dravus could scarcely imagine putting himself through this same reception every time they made port. Yet that seemed like what it was going to be, if he made it through the duel.
All along the way to Grayhull, the only time they paused was when a mother thrust her son before Wenaru. The boy was a weak, and sickly looking. It was a matter of two minutes for Wenaru to fix the boy's heart. The procession began moving again shortly afterward, but not before Dravus heard people shouting unkind things at the woman.
Grayhull Palace was an enormous building that stretched its three wings wide across the city, each the same size and shape as the others. It was given its name from the flat gray of it, which matched the visage of Laith's Face looming in the distance behind it. It was ornamented with gargoyles and shaped stone, and the vast walls were marked with immense bas reliefs which depicted scenes from the history of Toric rule. The palace was surrounded by carefully manicured grounds and expansive gardens, which gave a buffer of defensible space and privacy for the royal family. The Queen of Flowers was well-known for inviting commoners in to visit once a week in order to see the majesty that her domain had produced. The crowds were left behind at the front gates, and a half dozen guards became their new escort. It was a display of ceremony and nothing more; if the illustrati had been attacked, the guards would be nearly useless, and if the illustrati had been attacking, the guards would quickly die. The last nine days had impressed upon Dravus the gap between the illustrati and normal men.
They were led into a tastefully appointed receiving room to wait for the Flower Queen's attention. When the doors closed, Lexari sagged and staggered to lay down on a chaise lounge with floral embroidery. He was sweating and slightly pale. All of the pent-up conversation came flowing out.
"You should have let them carry you," said Wenaru. He rested his hand on Lexari's. "Six weeks at a minimum, I was clear on that, showing a little humanity wouldn't have been the worst thing."
"You doubled down," Nemm said to Lexari. The pretenses had dropped, and there was no compassion. "We need to have a plan in place for when Dravus dies, a way to mitigate the disaster and ensure that Wenaru isn't killed. We shouldn't even let it get to that. We'd take a hit if we back out, but there's nothing compelling the duel besides honor and pride, and I could take Dravus's place —"
"It was a masterstroke," said Lexari. He groaned slightly as he shifted. "The Blood Bard set it up. He insulted us. He brought the Peddler's War to the forefront with his song. The siege of Arronbach? Just the name of it is enough for the veterans or their widows to feel a stirring. Most likely the Blood Bard has been whispering into ears since the moment we left. The song was a direct challenge to me, with Wenaru as a proxy, bringing up old memories and forcing my hand. I could have beaten him soundly in a duel, but no doubt he was prepared for that, either to make himself a martyr, or because he would know that clemency was expected of me." He turned to Dravus and smiled. "The Blood Bard had a plan, but the masterstroke was Lightscour's."
"I only took the opportunity when I saw it," said Dravus.
"If he touches you, flesh to flesh, he'll be able to move your blood," said Nemm. "The first thing he'll do is to draw it down from your head. You'll go light-headed then unconscious in a matter of seconds, and from there he'll desecrate your body before killing you. So you'll wear armor to prevent that. He'll force blood through the cracks and gaps in it. He'll push blood down your throat until you choke, just like Cerulean Bane tried to do to me. I can make my armor airtight, but you can barely make a breastplate for yourself. Even if you could find or produce armor with few enough gaps in it that Kendrick couldn't push blood through, how would you hope to defeat him?" She clenched her teeth together. "He doesn't bleed unless he wants to. You could give him a thousand cuts and he wouldn't spill a drop of blood. Stab him through the heart and he'll use his domain to keep his blood moving. He'd die when he went to sleep, but that would still give him more than enough time to beat you. He can restore the vital essence to his blood without needing to breathe, and that means that he's not going to tire out, not until his muscles start physically failing him, and you'll have dropped long before that happens. In a fight to the death, he doesn't need his lungs, or his heart, or his vital organs. You'll have to break his bones and slice through connective tissue to stop him, and he knows this, so he can just dance back and forth all day while spewing insults and wearing you down."
Dravus felt his stomach turn. He hadn't realized how dire the situation was, in part because he'd known little about the domain of blood. He was trying to find a loophole somewhere, a way that he could ensure that he would win. A single decisive strike to the head would do it, but the Blood Bard would know that too, and defend against it —
Lexari gave a weak laugh from where he was lying. "I appreciate the theatrics, but these are problems that can be overcome," he said. "I have every confidence in Lightscour's ability to triumph over the Blood Bard. He's disrupted whatever plans were in motion, and turned the narrative in our direction."
"Until he loses," said Nemm. "What do we do when Dravus's blood is dripping through the floorboards of the stage?"
"The path is set," said Lexari. He waved his hand in an idle motion. "The first half of the story has been told, and unless you have a better idea for how we might conclude it, we must continue on with what we have haphazardly planned. The story has a natural flow to it. You must remember that the Blood Bard is not so strong as Sanguin was; Dravus is not in so much danger as you would have it."
It seemed as though Nemm was about to offer a retort, no doubt about how quickly Dravus would die, but the doors to the room opened, and an attendant with a ruffled collar stepped in.
"The Flower Queen, Her Majesty Gwyndellon Gloriana of the House Walton, will see you now."
* * *
The throne room was enormous, and took up three full stories in the center of Greyhull. The walls were the same smooth gray of the building's exterior, curved where they met the floor to give an impression of trees, and the ceiling was an elaborate creation of iron and glass that l
et through the morning sunlight. The floor was covered in flowers, and flower petals, in a wider variety than Dravus had ever seen in his life; the air smelled almost sickly sweet with their fragrance. It was a riot of color, and laying on the throne, with her bare feet up in the air, was the Queen of Flowers. She kicked her legs and smiled wide when they walked in, showing pearly white teeth.
While they were announced by the attendant (with "His Illustriousness", save for Nemm, who was technically a Queen and followed that styling) Dravus looked at the Flower Queen's court. The Flower Queen was a slim woman with slightly elfin features, and a youthful, girlish look that couldn't possibly have been natural; she was nearing fifty years old. She wore a dress made from orange and purple flowers which left her shoulders bare, and her hair was down and flowing freely. To her right was her husband, Darkheart, who was more clearly showing his age with a gray mustache that matched the walls and slightly red cheeks that spoke of too much ale.
Ringed around them were more than a dozen illustrati, most of them clad in their domains: a woman with hair of fire, a man with yellow eyes flanked by two hounds, elaborate metal armors and bright colors on everyone he saw, each trying to be distinct. Dravus had been made to memorize the details of two hundred people, and was thankful that he wasn't being tested on his study just yet. He was sure that the woman whose head was on fire was Flame, and he could make a fair guess at rest, but he would be in trouble if he was throw into freely mingling with them.
"Sunhawk!" trilled the Flower Queen the moment the attendant was done with his droning introductions. The Flower Queen leapt up from her gilded throne and strode towards them with her hands on her hips. "It has been far, far too long." She reached towards Lexari and wrapped him in a hug, then pulled back and look at his maimed hand. Her eyes went wide for a moment as she tried to focus on it, then she blinked once slowly. "But whatever happened to your hand? And your sword hand at that!" She shrieked slightly, as though she had just seen a mouse.
"A fight with Zerstor, Your Majesty," said Lexari. He held the hand up and flexed the fingers of light with a fair bit of concentration. "I'm on the mend, you need not worry about that."
The Flower Queen's head turned towards Nemm, and her body followed sluggishly afterward. "And my fellow Queen, of the poor, misbegotten country of Geswein. You look as lovely as my flowers, as you always have."
"Your Majesty," said Nemm with a small curtsy. "We had heard there were troubles, and came to lend our aid."
"Oh, plenty of time for that later," said the Queen, "I would hate to talk business so soon after you've set foot on Toric soil, it would be terrible form, especially before I've talked to Wenaru." She smiled towards the physician and stepped close to him. "Wenaru, I've received the most interesting book on botany from the algalif of Maskoy, 'Meditations on the Heart of the Palm', but I've been having a little trouble with some of the terminology, and I'd like a little of your time. In private, shall we say?" She gave an exaggerated wink that had to be obvious to anyone paying the slightest bit of attention. "You are so knowledgeable in matters of natural philosophy, if you catch my meaning."
She turned towards Dravus, and he realized her pupils were too wide. "And that brings us to this new young creature," she said slowly. Her words were not quite slurred, but it was a close thing. "Lightscour. From the Sovento States, I can always tell a man from there, and you are a fine specimen, aren't you? Another student of natural philosophy, if I dare to say it."
She turned to Lexari. "A stranger in our midst, in these troubled times." She blinked slowly at Lexari. "Did you know, I bought you a hawk?" She pouted slightly. "There was a merchant in from the far east, and the hawk he had looked just like you. Very brown, if you'll forgive me saying so. I thought it would be a wonderful present, but we fed it too many grapes, and it perished after only a week."
The throne room went silent, save for a polite cough, but there was nothing more to that story.
"If you're feeling unwell, ma'am," said Nemm, "Perhaps we might speak with your advisers and allow you to rest."
The Flower Queen sagged. "Oh yes, of course, the matter of the Council of Laborers, such a dreadful thing. A small dispute over trade and they think that they have some leverage over me, as though I'm a boulder they wish to stick their pole under and shove out of the way." She tittered slightly and bit her lip. "Perhaps they do not know how often boulders crush people?"
The Flower Queen wasn't drunk, Dravus was fairly sure of that. It wasn't malum either, because that put people straight out and left them incapable of rational thought. Yet he was certain that he wasn't far off the mark; the Flower Queen had ingested something that was making her act like this, and given the reactions he'd been glimpsing in those moments that he took his eyes off the Queen, this was embarrassing for everyone involved. For all that he had etiquette drilled into him, he was unprepared for this situation.
"There will be a show tonight, ma'am," said Lexari. "Just after sunset at Amare's Theater. If you've had a chance to have something to eat by then, we would appreciate if you would come, but in the meantime we have much to prepare for, and a number of people that we will need to meet with, including your advisers."
"Yes," said the Flower Queen with a distant voice. "Yes, yes, I see." She drifted back to her throne, where Flame took her by the elbow. The Flower Queen began to cry.
The Flower Queen's husband caught up with them just outside the throne room.
* * *
"She's gotten worse," said Darkheart. His gray mustache did little to conceal his frown. Dravus couldn't remember the man's age, but the illustrati almost certainly looked older than he was, in contrast to the queen. "Flame has been helping her to make a concentrated form of the flower, a tar instead of a syrup, and my wife's desire grows by the day. This business with the Laborers has only pushed her harder, and there's talk that the Iron Kingdom might seek to reignite the war."
"We should have been told, your Royal Highness," said Lexari. "We're to understand that this is a continuous condition?"
"No," said Darkheart. "No, but the moments of true sobriety — the moments when she choses to be lucid — are getting further apart. There are diplomats and advisers, and the other illustrati, and I do my best to help run the kingdom, but to usurp my queen entirely is something I could never do. Once this business with the Laborers is cleared up we can try to bring her down gently, to wean her, but with the stresses being as they are, I think you can understand the difficulty we're in."
"We will do what we can," said Lexari.
"There is the unfortunate matter of payment," said Nemm. "Your Royal Highness, I mean no disrespect, but we are at your service for several things, and fully internal matters are not one of them unless we can strike a new deal."
Darkheart looked between the two of them, and his frown deepened. "This matter is quite a bit deeper than that," he said. His eyes met with Nemm's. "I should think that you of all people would understand that a kingdom is never too far from being torn down by its subjects."
"The king of Geswein spent too little time on administration," said Nemm as she folded her arms. "He was more concerned with doting on his wife, and that was to the detriment of his subjects. Geswein is my home, of course it is, but I do feel some sympathy for those who felt that they could do better. If the fate of a country is at the whims of someone who would rather eat flowers, then perhaps your subjects deserve —"
"It's barely noon, and we've had a long day already," said Lexari. His hand rested on Nemm's arm, and she shrugged it off. "If it wouldn't be too much of a burden on your hospitality, might we be able to find some meats and cheese while we speak with your advisers about this trouble with the Laborers?"
Darkheart narrowed his eyes, and his mustache moved back and forth. "Yes, of course."
They were set up in a large room with windows that overlooked the gardens and statuary outside, and plate of food was brought to them shortly afterward with a wide variety of food on it. Wenaru excused him
self shortly after eating to go set up in Meriwall's hospitals. Before he left, he pulled Dravus aside.
"Thank you," he said. Wenaru was fidgeting with his apron. "Even if it was just a ploy, just cynicism to increase your own fame, the words were meaningful to me. No one but Lexari has ever stood up for me before."
"I — it wasn't, you're my friend," said Dravus. Yet there was a small part of him that recognized that his actions had little to do with Wenaru, and the Blood Bard's song had been echoing through Dravus's head enough to wonder how much of Wenaru's past was yet to be revealed.
The advisers came in, and a long meeting began.
The central conflict was between the Council of Laborers and a small group of merchants, and this was about where Dravus lost the thread. It wasn't that he wasn't trying to pay attention, it was that a glorified trade dispute seemed to have little to do with him, and all that aside, Lexari and Nemm seemed ready with all of the questions.
The table they sat at was finely made, with matching chairs. It showed the imprint of an illustrati; there were no joints in it, and nowhere that they could have been hidden, which was a way of making the craftsmanship more obvious. The patterns of the lacquered wood were like nothing that you would find in nature, with warps and whorls that caught the eye and held an artistry of their own. As Dravus understood it, craftsmanship was looked down on by the illustrati save for when it could produce something with an aesthetically pleasing appearance. A fair number of the statues in Genthric had been shaped by someone with the domain of stone, and the Zenith was a product of illustrati hands, which was part of the reason that it was so quick across the seas. As a general rule, illustrati made armor for individuals, not armies, and it wasn't solely because most of them didn't have the ability. Nemm could have gone to work repairing windows or crafting glassware, but for the most part she devoted her time to the business of being an illustrati.
