by Terah Edun
He sounded thoughtful; there was even a hint of wistfulness in his voice, as if he should have told the story to others, to have his great deeds memorialized by poets and lore tellers. Never mind the fact that he had murdered his own family, stripped his nephew of any signs of his birthright power, and crippled the people of his empire with policies that did everything from creating a physical schism between the east and west to treating all kith as second-class citizens and thorns in his proverbial side.
Ciardis felt bile rise in the back of her throat as she fought the urge to throw up all over the Emperor’s shiny white shoes.
She thought it would have been an appropriate response to whatever it was he had to say, if not exactly an honorable one.
Still, she gritted her teeth and held back on the temptation. She needed him to move on with his story, they all did, so she simply encouraged him to get on with it.
“Now may be the perfect time,” Ciardis said.
“I have sat on this throne for eight long years,” Maradian said as he gave her a cold look. The wistful remembrance, if it had ever been there, was gone. Ciardis mused that it may have been a flicker of her imagination, but she didn’t think so.
“Before you begin, perhaps it’s a good time to be honest on all fronts,” Thanar said with a smooth interruption that made her want to strangle him.
The Emperor had finally begun to tell them whatever secrets he held so close to his chest.
What is Thanar thinking? she wondered. They had elicited these confidences in part due to Thanar; to have their plans derailed again because of him was a bit too much. Especially since he refused to confide what he knew in them, if he knew anything at all.
That was the trouble with Thanar. Even when Ciardis could read his emotions like an open book, he still kept a chest of secrets locked so tightly within him that the emotions she saw on the surface were more like suppositions than actual commentary on his current state. It was as irritating as it sounded to be bound to someone like that.
Ciardis wasn’t the only one questioning the daemoni prince’s logic; she saw Sebastian throw Thanar an irritated look. But none of the triumvirate elected to speak outwardly.
“Take off your mask,” Thanar said to the Emperor with a lazy grin as he sauntered forward. “And we’ll hear your truncated story about how sitting on a throne and ruining lives for eight long years was such a hardship.”
Maradian’s eyes glinted like diamonds, and anticipation flickered on his face.
Ciardis’s eyes widened at the flicker. It was just for a moment, no more, but she would swear to her dying day that the man actually looked…relieved.
“That is something that no one has ever asked,” Maradian mused. “To speak to the man behind the mask. The true man.”
“Perhaps because no one ever knew,” Sebastian said spitefully.
At the same time Thanar purred, “A testament to just how convincing your glamour has been for the past decade.”
Decade? Ciardis wondered in surprise.
He disappeared before the Empress’s death, did he not? the daemoni prince cautioned softly. Oh, this prince has much to tell us. Much more, I suspect, than you and I will ever know. After all, what does a dead prince heir do for two years when no one is watching?
If Ciardis had felt uneasy about Maradian’s past before, she felt flat-out wretched now.
Nothing good, she thought back at the daemoni prince with a shudder.
Exactly, said Thanar.
“You flatter me so,” Maradian mused, as if they stood around at a dinner party instead of at his confessional before his impending death.
Perhaps he thinks he won’t die, Thanar said in her thoughts.
Now why would he assume that? Ciardis demanded ironically. She could feel the power of the nexus growing stronger as the foundation that divided this realm from the Aether realm kept slipping away.
She didn’t think the Emperor was intentionally stalling them in order to gain more time and therefore more power. But the effect felt very much the same.
Ciardis frowned. “If you’re going to speak, do so.”
Sebastian added flatly, “And if you wish to show us the true face that you’ve hidden for so long, then do so as well, but this dancing around the subject will not stop your death.”
Maradian snapped his eyes to the prince heir’s face and dropped his hand from his jaw.
If he had been at ease before, even idle in his thoughts, he was no more.
“Watch your tongue, boy, or lose it,” the Emperor said. “You stand before me only because I so will it. You are not surrounded by my imperial guardsmen because I have ordered it. But I may change the way this story ends before this is through, and believe me, you would not want that wrath to fall on you.”
Sebastian shifted at the threat in the Emperor’s voice and the violence in his tone.
Ciardis had to wonder what was going on. They surrounded Maradian three to one, but he acted as if it was he who was doing them the favor of not removing their heads from their bodies.
Sebastian spoke to her softly. For years he has had the upper hand. I cannot doubt that if he says he is the master of this little tête-à-tête, then I should believe him.
You think he planned this? Ciardis asked, shocked.
Not so much planned, Sebastian admitted. Not even desired. But now that we’re here and he’s here…he is ready.
And so are we, the daemoni prince snarled in their heads. Do not underestimate your power or my own.
Sebastian looked over Maradian’s shoulder and directly into Thanar’s eyes. It’s not so much our gifts that I am second guessing, but his own. He has had the skills to suck my powers dry for years through the thinnest of connections. A locket, no less. With the power of the Aether realm and the nexus behind him, what is stopping him from annihilating us right now?
“Pain,” Ciardis responded aloud. She didn’t even really have to think about it. It was there like a glimmer in the darkness. Not physical pain. But mental anguish. Hidden just behind the carefully calculated glare that always graced the Emperor’s face. Pain that you couldn’t see even if you were looking, because he was malicious enough to rip you to shreds if you got too close, and strong enough to deflect you with a viperous command if that didn’t work.
After all, who would dare to stare into the Emperor’s gaze and look for something that was…dare she say it, human? Human emotions. Human feelings. He was not an automaton but a man. And for the first time, Ciardis realized that she actually believed that.
Because every time she had stood before the Emperor before, she had known that she stood in front of a semi-divine presence. It was a concept drilled into her, into all of the citizens of Algardis, a tenet that could not be broken.
When he had danced with her on the fateful event of her return to the imperial courts, she had felt that divine presence.
When she had sprawled before him covered in mess after Sebastian had managed to drag them from the grasp of one set of enemies directly into the midst of an active court chamber, she had felt that presence then as well.
But today, as she stood before him, that overwhelming desire to kneel, to cower, to beseech him for his blessing or his forgiveness, it was gone. And that was because his emotions were showing through.
Not the righteous anger of a ruler giving an edict.
Or the cold calculation of an emperor manipulating a subject barely worth his notice.
But the pain of a man faced with his legacy and perhaps finding it wanting.
6
Ciardis briefly wondered if either Thanar or Sebastian could understand what she saw at this moment that seemed to last for an infinite period of time. But she knew that it was private. A concept that was almost laughable when you considered who she was almost sharing the moment with, but neither of them could see what she saw.
Maradian as a man.
Rather than Maradian as a corruptly divine being.
Not even his own
nephew.
Especially not his own nephew, she realized. Because to anyone else and particularly family, Maradian’s actions could only be justified by saying he was not human. That only a being that was beyond a mortal’s ken would be willing to act as Maradian has done. Shed the blood and massacre the heart of his own family in an effort to gain only one thing—power. More power, everlasting power.
She, however, understood that desire. Or at least she understood the concept of why he had done what he did.
Ciardis Weathervane would never risk her family for material or immaterial gain. Or rather, what was left of her family. But she was beginning to understand why a creature such as a dragon found her an appropriate associate, a companion even, a sarin.
Because dragons and humans have a few things in common, she thought with narrowed eyes as she took in the Emperor standing before them. A desire for power is chief among them.
And suddenly she understood more about Maradian than when she had stood before him just moments before on the balcony above and she was glad she had held herself back. Back from attacking and killing without first considering. He still deserved it, but the implications of what the man had done all this for were stunning in her head.
Ciardis licked her lips and said, “That’s it, isn’t it? You have an end goal. Something that you think is worth all this pain. All this tribulation. Something you needed the power for.”
She saw shock cross the Emperor’s gaze.
Thanar laughed, possibly at her, as he said, “He already has his throne.”
“And yet he never stopped grasping for power,” Ciardis countered. “The kind of magical power that it would take an entire empire to feed. First a prince heir’s power. Then the power of a nexus. Perhaps finally the power of a god?”
She felt Sebastian’s confusion even before he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Thanar for his part was a riot of emotions—curiosity chief among them. She was voicing thoughts that even he had not considered, and that intrigued him.
She was a bit annoyed that the thought of an emperor grasping for the true powers of a god didn’t concern him more, but this was Thanar, and she was no fool.
As for Sebastian, she couldn’t look at him, not right now.
Her entire being was focused with a hawk’s precision on the Emperor in front of her.
Maradian didn’t bother to try to dissuade her of her notion. In fact, his gaze was locked on her own.
He stared back at her with a thoughtful face and said, “Oh sweet, kind girl. How have I underestimated your skills?”
“My power, you mean?” Ciardis asked with a raised chin and a defiant look.
The Emperor tutted and waved his finger at her.
“Oh no,” Maradian said in a soft croon. “Never that. Your social skills, however, were somewhat lacking when you first came to court. I see they’ve grown since then.”
Ciardis raised an eyebrow at the compliment. She didn’t thank him. She had the feeling that he wasn’t talking about her calm demeanor.
The Emperor smiled. “For that alone, I will discuss this past, my past—” He paused and looked directly at Sebastian. “—our past as I should. With honor. Man to man.”
As he said that last word, the Emperor of Algardis dropped the glamour that had fooled his imperial courts for so very long.
And they stood not in front of the hale Emperor known as Bastian Athanos Algardis but instead the withered husk of a man the world once knew as Prince Maradian Athanos Algardis, the mirror image of a younger Cymus, or so she had been told.
Ciardis swallowed briefly and carefully took in the weathered face. A face that had seen power and been bowed before it. A person didn’t get a face of deep lines, hollowed-out cheekbones, and cracked lips from old age. He looked a step from death’s door, only still standing by sheer force of will. Ciardis wondered if this was because he stood too close to the nexus, acting as a gateway to its power, or if it was something else. Whatever it was, the change in his features alarmed her. It was nothing like the face she had seen only once before. The face that had convicted her mother of the late empress’s murder and was seared into her mind.
What had Maradian done to himself in the intervening years to change his appearance so drastically? It almost looked as if he had addicted himself to milkweed and was now suffering the consequences.
If Sebastian had any comment on Maradian’s new appearance, though, he held it back.
Instead, Sebastian let out a harsh sigh and said, “This entire charade bores me. You’ll get no sympathy from any of us, Uncle. In fact, I’ve decided I don’t want to know. I don’t care.”
Ciardis almost cried out in protest. She did care. Very much so. Maradian was hording and grasping for this much power for a reason, and she would be damned if she didn’t hear what it was.
But Sebastian apparently was way ahead of her.
Wait, let me finish, he quickly chided her mind-to-mind.
She held back her protest, literally biting her tongue to stop words from spewing forth just in time.
Sebastian continued speaking aloud as if she hadn’t almost interrupted. “In fact, I already know three things. Nothing you could say will bring my family back. Nothing you could say would give me or my citizens closure. Nothing you could say would prevent what I’m about to do to you.”
“All true, Nephew,” Maradian said in a hoarse voice, one that was very different from the smooth, youthful tones he had used before.
That voice had been controlled and polished. This one had seen better days.
Ciardis felt a tiny bit impressed. She hadn’t known it was possible to glamour both your physical body and your vocal intonations, but it was clear that was just what Maradian had done to make sure that his body-stealing farce was never discovered.
“Oh, I have no doubt you want your revenge,” Maradian said with a spiteful hacking cough. “But you’ll be glad to hear this. And when you draw your last breath, you’ll remember that I was kind enough to give you some closure before you did.”
Ciardis grimaced internally. It sounded like Maradian was still quite sure of his supremacy in this fight. She wondered if he was wrong. But if he wasn’t, what good was telling them of his exploits now if all he planned to do was kill them anyway?
What good is a victory if no one knows of it? Thanar answered her question dryly. He can’t tell anyone else what he’s done. With a captive audience such as ourselves, he feels like he finally has someone to tell of his exploits.
Even if we’re dead in an hour’s time, and dead men tell no tales? she replied.
Especially if so, was the daemoni prince’s prompt response.
“Speak and we will listen,” Ciardis said carefully. “But I would hurry up if I were you, because despite what you think, you will be dead before another hour has passed.”
Maradian smiled. “I am as eager as you are for this tale to be done.”
Ciardis let a cold smile of her own grace her face. It even reached her eyes. It promised retribution and pain. No matter how long it took.
She said, “No, not nearly as much as I.”
7
Ciardis could still feel her magic pulsing through her. It was getting stronger. The magic of all of them were. Sebastian’s ties to the land were building. Thanar’s grip on the darker aspects of his gift was a throb that raced through her even from almost a dozen feet away. Her own magic was arcing and pushing to be let loose, like live fire trapped in a room. She so wanted to wrap her lightning around Maradian’s throat right at that moment, but they needed more time.
Just as the Emperor was stalling as he drew out his tale and, for the last minutes, even revealed his true physical self, so too were they stalling in their own way. Everyone was gearing up for a battle. But only the Emperor seemed more morose about it than anticipatory. It was strange to think about, actually. He had threatened to kill them all for so long, it would seem that he should be eager to follow through with his words.
But just as Ciardis had seen the pain in the Emperor’s eyes before he had carefully concealed even that brief glimpse into his psyche, she could sense that he didn’t want to necessarily kill Sebastian.
Just teach him a lesson he would never forgot, Ciardis thought with a wince as she eyed the Emperor who stood before them, as enigmatic as the first day she had met him.
The difference between then and now was that she didn’t just consider him a ruler with a haughty demeanor now. She knew for a fact that he was a sociopath. But that sociopath had answers, and as she had learned from Vana’s revelations in the underground city, sometimes you didn’t even know what the right questions were until the answers were in front of you.
Ciardis didn’t relish going into any situation blind, but she was beginning to get used to it. Unfortunately.
While the Emperor segued into his own revelations patiently, his nephew was not so languid about the time passing with every second—even if it increased their capabilities in the meantime, perhaps even enough to give them an advantage. Sebastian shifted his stance impatiently and placed his hand on his sword pommel, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. She couldn’t blame him.
The Emperor wasn’t exactly known for being a conciliatory person. He had more than once outflanked them with his well-planned manipulations that made her own actions seem like child’s play in retrospect. The only difference between now and then was that they all were standing together and against him—face to face. She had to hope that would be enough when it came down to it. They all did.
But Ciardis Weathervane had seen something in the Emperor’s eyes. It was in the pain that he had briefly shown her, and it was that something, whatever it was, that made her hesitate. It wasn’t just her, though. She knew that whatever it was that she was sensing, and that Thanar also felt—it was enough for them to question their actions.
The very fact that Thanar didn’t move to attack the man who had caused them all such pain was proof of that. The daemoni prince waited for no man, not even an emperor; he would have loved nothing more than to separate Maradian’s head from his body with a whip of black power.
