The twin ceremonies had taken forever, but they were over faster then Nolyn expected. Forever, he discovered, was brief when measured against eternity. The plodding coronation ritual, invented on the spot with no handbook for such a thing, ended and launched the rest of Nolyn’s life. The moment the crown was placed on his head and the presiding official shouted to the masses, “All hail Emperor Nolyn Nyphronian, Ruler of the World,” he knew he was at the dividing moment bisecting the two halves of his existence. What came before and what followed would be as different as an acorn was from an oak.
Standing on the platform before the multitude, he saw his years to come spreading out before him. As with any view of one’s own future, it was hazy, lacking detail, but the slope of the landscape was clear enough. He would trade the real for the imaginary. His foes would be ideas, movements, misunderstandings, and lies. His sufferings, no longer physical, would be frustration, regret, and boredom. He felt as if a door had been locked, and he imagined hearing a snicker before the person with the key tiptoed away. In an instant—which a moment before he’d perceived as “forever”—not only had the world changed, but so had he. As emperor, he had been robbed of his birthright to complain. From now on, he would be the hook upon which people hung their grievances. With the revelation, Nolyn felt his first stab of remorse, as if by some miracle or evil curse, wearing the crown had allowed him to start to understand his father better. He witnessed his own ignorance, and he saw his former self as childish, arrogant, and stupid.
“When the fate of the world is in your hands, gambling is an unaffordable luxury, and idealism is often burned on the altar of reality.” Nyphron’s words were true. And Nolyn realized they applied equally to becoming emperor and to just growing up.
Eight hundred and fifty-five years old, and only now am I becoming an adult.
Feeling the impact of the roaring crowd, Nolyn took comfort in two things. The first was a distant, dreamlike memory of his mother on a snowy morning when Suri had introduced him to a white wolf.
“This is Minna. Minna, this is Nolyn.”
“Does he bite?” Nolyn asked, concerned.
“Only if you call her a he,” Suri replied.
“Can I—can I pet her?” he asked.
“That’s up to Minna.”
“Is it safe?”
Suri shook her head. “Nothing is safe. Nothing worthwhile, that is. Minna will either let you or eat you.”
“Life is full of risk, Nolyn,” his mother said. “But you should never let that hold you back. You can’t let fear stop you from living. Just make certain the chances you take are worth the peril.”
He had reached out, put a tentative hand on Minna’s head, and rubbed. She nuzzled him, and he had grinned from ear to ear.
Nolyn wasn’t certain why that fleeting fragment of memory made him feel better, but it did. He took even more comfort from the woman beside him, whose hand he squeezed as if it were his last fingerhold on a cliff’s edge. She had been the one constant in his life. Together they were a unique pair, marooned in that world from another reality, providing reassurance to each other that neither was insane.
They moved through the crowd, lost in a sea of people who reached out to touch them, drowning among the waves. In the future, those oceans of hands would be reaching out for another reason, looking for an audience so their petitions could be heard.
The two managed to reach the palace gate and the sanctuary of the courtyard. And while not nearly as crowded, it, too, was filled with well-wishers—these being the more influential and affluent sort. Nolyn recognized the First Minister, the imperial treasurer, several provincial governors, even Ronelle Sikaria—son of the still-bedridden governor of Merredydd. Nolyn also spotted one surprisingly small, well-dressed Belgriclungreian anxious to speak to Sephryn. She didn’t appear quite so pleased to see him.
“I’m sorry about . . . ah, Bartholomew,” Sephryn said. “Errol—”
The dwarf raised a hand, stopping her. “Consider it a wedding present. I really just wanted to offer congratulations and to say that I saw you.”
“You what?”
“The Belgriclungreian Empire had plans to enter a chariot team in the Founder’s Day Grand Circus Event for the first time this year. I was in the West End around dawn on Founder’s Day, checking on last-minute details, when I saw you run into the arena with Audrey. I thought you might be going in there to practice. I couldn’t help myself. I chased after you, but I don’t have your long legs and never managed to catch up. Still, I was on the third-floor rail when your arrows flew.” The dwarf grinned. “You, Your Most Esteemed and Serene Imperial Eminence, are a wonder of modesty.” With that, he bowed and kissed her hand. “You are, in a word—incredible.”
“Who was that?” Nolyn asked.
“Belgriclungreian ambassador,” she replied.
“He probably wants something.”
“I don’t think so. He’s already received the only thing he wanted.”
When they reached the entrance hall, they started up the stairs toward the residence, but Sephryn paused to search the crowd below. They were toasting the newlyweds.
“Looking for someone?” Nolyn asked.
“I’m surprised my father isn’t here.”
“It’s likely the Teshlors have cornered him somewhere. I know Amicus would love to talk with him. He has a lot of questions about Tesh, Brigham, and the rest.”
Waving good night to the crowd and feeling rather drained, the two slipped free of their admiring guests.
They were in the residence of the palace, alone together for the first time as husband and wife and as emperor and empress.
“Hello!” Sephryn called out, hearing her voice echo in the vast stone chamber that was the first room of the imperial residence. She presented an awkward, sarcastic smile. “I like a place that talks back. Makes it seem so . . . cozy.” She looked up at the vaulted ceiling. “I hear that Persephone roams the corridors at night. It’s wonderful imagining your mother-in-law keeping watch over your wedding bed.”
“Let’s not forget my father’s sarcophagus in the next room. That adds a special touch.”
“Oh, it’s in there?” Sephryn’s smile became more forced. “How . . . nice to have family around.”
Nolyn noted the stands of armor, swords, and shields lining the massive marble walls. “Not exactly homey, is it?”
“It’s . . . okay,” she said.
Nolyn had seen cats cough up hairballs with less effort. “You don’t like it here, do you?”
She shrugged. “What’s not to like? I’ve always wanted my own—” She pointed at a weapon mounted on the wall. “What is that?”
“An ule-da-var. A traditional Fhrey weapon from around a billion years ago.”
“Oh, well, then sure, we need one. I’ll bet all the best families have these, right?”
Nolyn frowned at her. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For chaining you to my nightmare.”
She stopped looking at the walls and ceiling and focused on him. “It’s a nice chain.”
He smiled back. “Still, this place is horrible. It’s what happens when you cross arrogance with insecurity.”
“The Belgriclungreian builders?”
“No—my father.”
She held a finger to her lips and jerked her head to the side, and whispered, “He can probably hear you.”
Nolyn smiled, but he realized it was funny because, on some uncomfortable level, it felt true. Except for that first hello! of Sephryn’s, they had spoken in soft, quiet, indoor voices. They didn’t feel alone or welcome.
“We don’t have to stay here.” Sephryn gave him a playful smirk. “I’m pretty certain I heard someone say you were emperor now. Doesn’t that position come with—I don’t know—unlimited power or something?”
Nolyn took the crown off his head and held it to the lamplight. “Huh. I thought this was just a crappy party hat. You’re right. I am the emper
or. That has to have some perks, right?” He glanced at the door, grinning and hoisting his brows with a wickedness he was certain was unbecoming for an emperor. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Although consummating our love under the gaze of your mother’s ghost sounds hard to pass up, what did you have in mind? I mean, it’s not like we have a lot of choices. I don’t like this festively decorated mausoleum of cold stone and weapons, but it’s not like we can get a room at the local public house, right?”
“It’s warm tonight. Do you recall how we used to chase spring fireflies in the Hawthorn Glen?”
“I remember lying on the grass next to you, looking up through that gap in the leaves at the endless stars.”
“Ever make a wish on one that fell?”
“I did.”
“Was it this?” He waved a finger at the stone around them.
She smiled. “It was this.” She leaned in and kissed him.
Although not officially the first of their married life—they had engaged in a proper peck at the conclusion of their wedding vows—this kiss was different. The press of soft lips, moist and welcoming, caused his problems to fade, and Nolyn was reminded that he was lucky to be alive. If Sephryn was with him, being the ruler of the world might not be so awful.
“Follow me,” he told her with a mischievous grin and pulled her along by the hand.
They went into a servant’s dormitory and plundered a few wardrobes. Nolyn stole a ridiculously large tunic with a hood that he raised. Sephryn traded her ornate dress for a baggy white palla whose size didn’t matter because of how it wrapped and hooked with brass pins. Or maybe she just looked beautiful in everything she wore.
“Should we leave them a note or something?” Sephryn asked.
“Doubt they can read.”
Sephryn shrugged. “I just don’t want to be accused of stealing.”
Nolyn laughed, then stopped. She hadn’t laughed with him, and there was an earnest look on her face.
She’s not kidding.
“I mean . . .” she began with a self-conscious rise of shoulders, downturn of eyes, and a bobbing head. “I know you’re the ruler of the world and all, but it’s still theft, right?”
Dear Mari, I love this woman.
“I’m pretty sure the palace provides clothing to those who work here, which means we already sort of own these.”
She thought on that a moment. “We haven’t been rulers for more than an hour, and already we’re taking liberties with our people.”
“I honestly can’t imagine anyone will be upset, but if you want to spend the night here—”
“No! By every god, no. You’re right. I just want to be sure we are always aware—constantly conscious—of how we wield power. I think that the longer the pole you hold the more care you need to use when swinging it.”
“Quit it,” he scolded her with a smile. “You’re ruining this awful day by reminding me how much I love you.”
“Sorry.” She straightened up, bowing her head in mock shame.
“C’mon.” He grabbed her hand and led her out the back of the palace.
The celebration outside was ongoing and would likely continue until dawn. The plaza was a sea of people in colorful clothes, dancing in currents around bands of wandering minstrels. Nolyn and Sephryn each had a wooden cup shoved into their hand as they passed by a group of men handing them out from a tray set on a barrel, as if the men were high priests and it was a sin for a reveler not to have one. The newlyweds sang along with the rest in between swallows of tremble wine. Nolyn pulled his hood lower as a few celebrants peered at them suspiciously. When they found a gap in the crowd, the two dashed around a set of carts loaded with more barrels and disappeared into the city streets. With fermented tremble spilling over their hands, they ran down one road and then another until they came to a masquerade shop, where Nolyn stopped.
“We need masks!” Nolyn grinned at her and panted for air. He reached for a purse that wasn’t there. “We have no money. A fine state. I should raise taxes.”
It didn’t matter. The mask shop was closed.
Nolyn took a sip of tremble. The drink was just as sweet as ever. As a kid, the once-a-year treat was amazing; as an adult, he could hardly bear it.
“Where are we, anyway?” he asked. “This is Ebonydale, right? I always get turned around here.” He looked back toward the plaza. He couldn’t see it, but the sound of singing, laughter, and cheers still reached them. “The bad news is that we have to go back at some point. Although I suppose we can always build another palace.” He said it as a joke but realized it might not be. “Unfortunately, the best place would be on the north side of Imperial Square, except that’s where Nyphron’s tomb is slated to be built. Everyone agreed that was the best spot. They want to create a whole shrine where people can go to pay respects for years to come. You should see the drawings. They want to put up this massive gold dome, bigger than the top of the Aguanon. I suppose our dream house will have to wait, but maybe we can build something outside the city. What do you think, Seph? Seph?”
She was crying.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He looked at her hand where he had pulled her along, thinking he must have been too rough.
She shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”
“What?”
“This is . . .” She looked at the mask shop. “This is the corner where Seymour Destone . . . where he . . . well, this is where he always got lost on his way back from the records hall.”
“The fella that reminded you of Bran?”
She nodded. “He was no one, just a kind man who believed in the written word, and who comforted me when I needed someone the most. Now he’s dead, and no one even knows his name.” She set her cup down and wiped her face with both hands. “He got lost here every night because he always missed the turn. I tried putting a flag up for him once, but someone took it down. He wasn’t buried with a stone, and now . . . now I’m afraid Seymour will remain lost forever. I fear he’ll never find his way home.”
She began to sob into her palms.
Nolyn pulled her close, cradling her head. “He won’t get lost. And people will remember him. I’ll see to that.”
“How?”
Nolyn studied the intersection. “This is a big crossroad. I’ll have a pillar placed here, a big stone ten feet high, so no one can miss it. And it’ll be so heavy that no one can ever move it. We’ll name it Destone’s Pillar, and there will be a directional arrow so your friend can forever see which way to go.” Nolyn looked left then right. “Which way should it point?”
Sephryn nodded toward Ishim’s Way. “West. Toward home.”
“Consider it done.”
“I’m starting to like this empress thing. Am I going to get everything I want?”
“Knowing you . . . probably.”
She smiled.
Nolyn looked around to get his bearings and heard more crying. “Seph, are you still—” But it wasn’t his wife. The sound came from the side of the mask shop. They both approached and found a little girl huddled in a niche between the emporium and the alchemist store. She couldn’t have been more than five or six.
“What’s wrong?” Sephryn asked.
The girl said nothing.
“Where are your parents?”
Something in his wife’s tone mirrored the same dread Nolyn felt.
“Dead,” the girl said. “Killed.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Sephryn reached out and hugged the girl. “How long have you been here?”
The girl shrugged. “When those creatures came, a tall, thin man told me to hide over there.” She pointed. “Our house is gone—burned down—so I stayed here. Don’t know what else to do.”
“You did fine. That was very smart. What’s your name?”
“Alina Baker.”
Sephryn gasped and stared wide-eyed at Nolyn.
“What?” the new emperor asked.
Sephryn didn’t answ
er. Instead, she held out her hand to the child. “You need to come with us, Alina. We’re going to help you. You see, there is someone—a very special someone—you need to meet. A woman you used to know, a mother who loves you and has been searching for the child she lost for so long it nearly made her crazy.”
The girl took her hand with an expression that was hopeful but bewildered.
Turning to Nolyn, Sephryn spoke so softly that he almost missed it. “Malcolm did it again.”
“Did what?”
“A miracle.”
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
She smiled at him. “We found the bread—Arvis’s lost loaf.”
Afterword
Hey, all, it’s me, Robin. I’m Michael’s wife and “helper bee.” You probably don’t know me or what I do, but I see myself as having two primary roles. First, I’m here to take as much of the administrative burden off Michael’s plate so we can get more stories. To that end, I manage the Kickstarters, organize and run the beta and gamma reader programs, and I also coordinate with . . . well . . . everyone: agents, copyeditors, printers, narrators, designers, and distribution partners. Second, I’m Michael’s alpha reader, which means I get to read the book before anyone else—one of the perks of being married to the author! Hopefully, I’ve made the story better through my early feedback and the editing support I’ve provided throughout the creation process.
For people who have read my other afterwords, you know this is where I get to “dish” about my favorite (and sometimes disliked) parts of the book, so let’s dig in.
Michael often teaches new authors that writing a book is similar to flying a plane. By that I mean that the most critical times are the takeoff and landing. I couldn’t agree more, and I think he nailed it in this one. It’s not easy starting a new series. There is so much to convey, and you want to do so efficiently while still being entertaining. For me, I felt a connection to Nolyn right from the start. But the best part of the opening was watching the unspoken communication between Jerel and Amicus that had me gleefully anticipating when I would find out what they knew that I didn’t.
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