Cursebreaker

by Carol A Park

  There was a smattering of applause and one loud whoop from the crowd.

  Vaughn swallowed. He had known that would be the verdict. At least he hadn’t had to be the one to pronounce it.

  “Shame,” Ivana muttered under her breath from where she stood to one side with Danton, Driskell, Tania, and Thrax. “I was hoping for castrated, tarred, feathered, then drawn and quartered. Then again, I’m not nearly as magnanimous as you.”

  Vaughn flashed her a tight smile and then glanced at his mother, who stood next to the three other Gan. She was stiff and unmoving, her face tight, her lips pressed together, her jaw locked. She said nothing and looked nowhere else other than straight ahead.

  The grief she was suppressing must have been enormous. At least she didn’t have to see another son die today. She would just never see him again.

  Gan Anque seemed to feel he had enough order and quiet to continue. “Our new Ri has asked to address the representative body before we disperse.”

  There was a murmur of assent.

  Vaughn swallowed again, his throat dry, clutching the clean copy of his speech in sweaty palms. This was it. Oh, gods, he wasn’t meant for this.

  Anque looked at him. “Your Excellency?”

  Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

  But he stepped forward all the same. Looked out on the sea of faces.

  So many of them. There was curiosity, hope, awe, and yes, there were more than a few faces layered with disgust.

  So he looked back toward his friends. Driskell, arm in arm with Tania, gave him an encouraging smile. Danton winked. Thrax stuck his tongue out.

  And Ivana.

  Ivana, whom he had woken up beside this morning, who had returned with him to his own rooms and stayed with him while he’d attempted to put something in his stomach, listened to his nervous ramblings, and convinced him not to rewrite his speech at the last minute. Who had eventually decried him as altogether “ridiculous” and marched off in irritation.

  She met his eyes. She didn’t smile, or wink, or stick her tongue out. But she looked at him.

  He took a deep breath and turned back to his audience. He fingered his speech. He had tried to memorize it, but he didn’t trust himself without the words in front of him.

  “Ferehar is part of a long tradition,” he said. “A tradition of struggle, of bloodshed, of power changing hands and sometimes being taken. Even before Setana, Ferehar joined its neighbors in its squabbles over who the next chieftain would be. Setana, for all its faults, introduced a system that, in theory, could have mitigated some of this power struggle.” He ran his eyes over the crowd. “We all know that for the lie it was. I stand before you as not only the son and brother of two previous Ri, respectively, but as a descendant of a line of corrupt, selfish, and often downright cruel leaders. When my father, Ri Gildas, usurped the position from his predecessor—a distant cousin—none of you cheered. And yet none of you dared to challenge him, either. Just as none of you dared to challenge Ri Airell when he seized upon the opportunity that the disappearance of Ri Gildas afforded him.”

  The crowd was still and silent.

  “But I did.” He took a deep breath. “And unlike my predecessors, I challenged him not because I wanted to, but because it was what needed to be done.

  “I am only half-Fereharian in heritage. But my mother and her family are Fereharian. I have Fereharian friends. I lived here for the better part of my childhood—until I was driven out. I know what it means to be Fereharian, in my own way: to be mocked, disdained, hated, through no fault of my own.” He pressed his lips together. “And just like Setana cares nothing for me and my kind, you know that Setana cares nothing for Ferehar, other than the wealth it can give it.

  “You have, incredibly, elected me to be your new Ri. Yet my very existence is illegal in the Setanan Empire. This puts us in a bit of a bind, doesn’t it?

  “I can only assume I’m standing here because I represent something that you want. A change.” He shrugged and veered off his script. “Either that, or rumors of my glowing during the recent battle have you so terrified of me that you didn’t dare vote differently.”

  There were a few titters, but most people shifted as though uncomfortable. Too soon for jokes, apparently.

  “As your Ri, I have sworn to do what is best for Ferehar.”

  The only sound was the chirping of birds. Well, here went nothing.

  “And what is best for Ferehar is that we reject the oppressive thumb of the new Setanan Empire, now under control of the Conclave. I will not serve masters who preach that my kind is born from demons and who would seek to bring a city to its knees simply for us being amongst you. I will not serve hypocrites, who do these things with one hand and with the other use us as objects to further their own power. Together with Donia, Venetia, and Fuilyn, we declare independence from the Setanan Empire.” He took a deep breath.

  “We don’t expect this decision to go unchallenged by Setana. We will be supported by the Xambrian Empire, with whom Ferehar will be formalizing an alliance as soon as our new Xambrian ambassador arrives.” He swept his eyes over the crowd, gauging reactions. There was shock on many faces. Even the representatives hadn’t realized that much. And yet there were others who were nodding slowly, as if they’d realized the necessity of the decision. “I know that many of you are unsure about this decision. I know many of you, though it’s what you want, are unsure about my leadership. I know some of you, despite the protection demonstrated by myself and my companions this past week, still harbor hatred and misunderstanding about my kind and will whisper about the new demonspawn in charge of Ferehar at the tavern tonight.

  “I hope in the coming days and weeks and months to gain your trust. To prove the lies of the Conclave about Banebringers wrong. To show you that while we are, at heart, just like you, we can also offer more—to Cohoxta, to Ferehar, and to our new allies.”

  He drew in another breath. “Yes, there will be changes. Some welcome. Some difficult. But I promise I will do my best, as long as I am Ri, to administer Ferehar with equity and compassion.” He looked at his mother when he said the last. She gave him the tiniest of nods. “Thank you.”

  There was no thunderous applause as he stepped back to the side, but when Gan Anque stepped back to the front, he nodded in Vaughn’s direction. “Ri Teyrnon. Thank you.”

  And there was a murmur of agreement.

  For now, that would have to be enough.

  That night, Vaughn sat at a long table in the private dining room. His mother, Ivana, Danton, Aleena, and Thrax sat around it; Driskell and Tania were preparing to return to Donia.

  He cleared his throat and stood. “Since I can’t get drunk, I’ll try to act properly so for the occasion,” he said, smiling at them. “We’re here not only because of me, but because all of us together did this. So I have an announcement. Henceforth, we’re no longer to use the term Banebringer around here, which I admit, I myself have continued to use. From now on, we will use the term most of the Ichtaca prefer: ‘Gifted.’”

  Thrax grunted—which Vaughn took to be a sign of approval.

  “We have a lot to figure out about what happened to Ivana and me when we went to the abyss,” Vaughn said. “About her powers.”

  “Why you were glowing?” Thrax offered. “Seems unfair that the rest of us can’t glow.”

  Vaughn shook his head, smiling. “About how to distill some of Danton’s newfound skills to be more beneficial. We also have external and internal pressures. I have no idea what’s going to happen going forward; tonight we feel hopeful, but none of us are stupid or naïve. We know this is only the beginning, a small victory at the start of a rather desperate-looking long view.” He raised his glass to them. “But I’m glad that all of you are at my side.”

  They all raised their own glasses. “Hear, hear,” Thrax called loudly, clinking his fork against his glass.

  “Thrax, all of us are listening,” Danton said.

  “I’ve always wanted to say that,”
Thrax said. “Sounded good, didn’t it?”

  Vaughn sighed. Since when had he become the responsible and mature one?

  If nothing else, that was a sign his life was falling apart.

  He looked at Ivana. She gave him a small smile.

  Everything except her.

  For now.

  Epilogue

  A little way down the Atl River, Airell took shelter under an old fisherman’s lean-to. The lights of Cohoxta could be seen in the east; otherwise, the night was dark and still.

  He clenched his fist as he stared at the lights of the city that should have been his. The city that was still, by all rights, by every Fereharian tradition, his.

  He was still fuming over the news one of his contacts inside the city had smuggled him two mornings prior. That upstart brother of his—a demonspawn of all people—had stolen the position of Ri right out from under him, and now Airell was in exile from his own home.

  He had underestimated his brother and his resources.

  “Lord Airell,” a soft voice said from behind him.

  Ri Airell, he wanted to spit back, but he refrained. Instead, he turned and faced the newcomer with a congenial smile. No, newcomers. Bherg had a cloaked and hooded friend with him.

  “Holiness Bherg,” Airell said, bowing slightly. The priest, who had returned to Weylyn City after being relieved of his position with the army outside Marakyn, had immediately travelled to Cohoxta once news of Teyrnon’s little rebellion had reached his circle of Conclave higher-ups. There, he had found Airell already imprisoned, coordinated a rescue during the chaos of the battle, and then given him instructions to stay in hiding and meet him in this place, on this date, if the election results didn’t turn out favorably.

  Bherg didn’t smile. “I didn’t know whether you would show.”

  “Ferehar is mine,” Airell said, keeping his voice pleasant. “It was promised to me, and I will do whatever it takes to get it back.”

  “Then our purposes align,” Bherg said. He stared at the city for a moment himself. “That commander had the gall to suggest to my cohort that I was doing an inadequate job of handling Marakyn. And then what did he do? Botch the job and get himself killed anyway.”

  The Conclave needed Ferehar. Airell wanted Ferehar. Bherg wanted to restore his reputation.

  It was a strange but hopefully profitable partnership for all involved.

  “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Airell asked Bherg, nodding toward the other man.

  “No,” Bherg said. “I don’t think just yet. Suffice to say that he claims to have a vested interest in our success.”

  Airell raised an eyebrow at the mysterious man.

  “The woman,” the man said softly, “that the new Ri has at his side. She’ll need to be dealt with before you can succeed.”

  Airell chuckled. “That whore who couldn’t even manage to kill me when she had the chance? How in the abyss—?”

  “Don’t underestimate her,” the man said, his voice cold as ice.

  That drew Airell up short. Well. He wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating someone again. “Very well,” he said. “And how do you suggest we deal with her?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” the man said. He turned his eyes on the city as well. “I’ll take care of her.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Carol lives in the Lancaster, PA area with her husband and two energetic boys. She loves reading (duh), writing (double-duh), music, movies, and other perfectly normal things like parsing Hebrew verbs and teaching herself new dead languages. She has two master’s degrees in the areas of ancient near eastern studies and languages.

  Also available:

  Banebringer (The Heretic Gods #1) – May 2018

  Sweetblade (A Stand-Alone Heretic Gods Novel) – Dec 2018

  Coming soon:

  A World Broken (The Chronicles of the Lady Sar #1) – Q2 2020

  Stay up to date with me via

  Twitter: @parkcarola

  Facebook: facebook.com/parkcarola/

  My Website: carolapark.com

  My Newsletter: carolapark.com/newsletter-sign-up/