To show such weakness to someone who was a threat mere months ago is insane.
And then I realise, as the wind whips up around our bodies and then dissipates…
The Air has ears.
I meet Marcus’s eyes, ensuring he understands what has just transpired. And then I turn away.
Chapter Two
She Does Not Smile
I find Aktor in a tent with the human. Somehow I have missed that the humans have been returned. I need to get my head back in the game.
My gaze flows over the quaint little setup she’s acquired; bedroll, backpack, food sachets, bottled water.
“We need to talk,” I say to Aktor.
Sonya visibly pales.
“I’ll, ah, I’ll go see if Nico needs any help with finding more food,” she mutters.
Aktor reaches out and touches her shoulder in passing, but does not remove his eyes from my face.
Cassandra’s friend exits the tent, and I realise the food supplies piled beside her sleeping platform were no doubt sourced by my cousin. He’s clearly distracted, but I can't seem to bring myself to complain.
At least Nico has Sonya to distract him.
I only seem to have my heartache.
“Theodoros,” Aktor says carefully.
I scrub a hand over my face.
“I’m not coping well,” I whisper.
Aktor’s shoulders relax marginally as if he was waiting for me to go into a rage.
“It’s only been a couple of hours,” my old friend says.
I nod my head and stare around the tent.
“When did she arrive?” I ask.
“Ten minutes ago. It seems Aetheros is still playing.”
I let out a slow breath of air.
“He will want to interfere for some time,” I offer.
“Yes,” Aktor says, reaching into a pack and pulling out a familiar bottle of ouzo. “I remember him as a playful god. Always teasing and provoking.”
“Unstable.”
“No,” Aktor corrects thoughtfully, retrieving two cups. “Not unstable, merely mischievous. As the wind is mischievous when it steals the leaves from the trees. As the rain is mischievous as it slips down between your shoulder blades. As the flower is mischievous as it releases its pollen and makes you sneeze.”
“As the fire is mischievous when it licks your body into a blaze.”
Aktor laughs. “Well, maybe Pyrkagia has always been a more demanding Element than the others. Who’s to say?”
He pours me a small portion of the liquor and hands me the cup, then repeats the action for himself.
Turning to me, he toasts, “To a new world.”
We drink in silence.
Finally, my old friend asks, “What troubles you, Theodoros?”
I stare at the empty cup for a moment, gathering my thoughts.
“I think there will be opposition,” I eventually say.
“From whom?”
“Leon and Mikkos.”
“Are they still causing problems?”
“I don’t believe they ever stopped.”
“And your plan?”
“We need to call a meeting of the Council. Only then can I get a feel for where we stand.”
“There’s more, though, isn't there?”
“The Aeras and Nero have not left,” I say, voicing my real concern. Pyrkagia politics I can handle. I have done so since birth. But influence from outside Pyrkagia is more troubling.
“They wouldn’t dare,” Aktor says, indignantly, immediately sensing why I am concerned. “After everything we have been through? Never. Cassandra has brought them together, Theodoros. Aetheros has returned.”
“When has life ever been so black and white, my friend?” I ask.
Aktor stares at me for a long moment and then shakes his head. “They won't do anything until we deal with our dead.”
“So, I have until sundown, is that it?”
“You are buying trouble where it does not yet exist.”
I nod my head. Perhaps I am. But the look Leon and Mikkos offered earlier is enough to make me cautious.
“I must speak with my mother,” I say and stand.
Aktor immediately looks worried.
I laugh; the sound bitter.
“Rest easy, Aktor,” I say. “Without my father manipulating her, how bad can she be?”
Aktor shoves the bottle of ouzo to the bottom of one of the packs and fusses with the cups for a moment, his back to me.
Then finally he turns and says, “I’ll take a walk amongst our people. Perhaps an overheard conversation or two will help to settle our nerves.”
“Our nerves, Aktor?”
He waves me off with a wrinkled hand. “Pish,” he says. “You always did have a way of making me nervous.”
I exit the tent laughing, which I think is Aktor’s goal. Several pairs of eyes, some Pyrkagia, others not, turn towards me. I don’t stop smiling. Let them think of that what they will.
Aktor emerges, his back bowed further than mere seconds ago. His frame appearing weaker.
“Are you sure you don't wish for a walking stick, old man?” I whisper.
He waves two gnarled hands at me and rasps, “Go play.”
If anyone can walk unobserved through a throng of paranoid Athanatos, it is he. People see only what they want to see and Aktor makes sure they see only the frail.
A falsehood I am more than happy to encourage.
Cassandra has high ideals. She believes balance can be maintained because inherently we are all honest creatures. I have lived a life of deceit and betrayal. Court politics in a mad King’s domain. The Nero are broken people. The Aeras beyond insular. The Alchemists consumed with stolen powers.
I do not doubt Cassandra’s words of wisdom. To save the world balance must be maintained.
I have never hidden a truth from Casey. I don't intend to now.
But she has her own battles to wage and if this is something I can do before my time is up to aid her; I will. I will ensure balance is maintained.
But Pyrkagia must heal. The Nero must swim above the waves. And the Aeras must climb down from their mountain.
In order to do that, I must play a game.
A dangerous game for a crown I am not sure I want and a performance that has to keep them all entertained.
My eyes scan the crowd of people pretending to set up their camps outside the broken Pyrkagia Pyrgos’ walls. Their eyes watch. Their bodies hang suspended. Their hearts beat a little too fast.
We are hungry beasts; Athanatos.
But we are not quite as hungry as some.
I spot Marcus, head bowed, lips barely moving, talking to Noah, the Alchemist doctor. I sense the Alchemists’ unease at his presence in their number.
This will not be an easy battle we wage. But I am not alone. I have allies. Cassandra’s allies.
My eyes flick across the various castes and land on Pisces and Hippolytos respectively.
I will need to seek them out and soon. But first my mother.
I walk through the rubble-strewn Pyrgos, aware of where she will be. It might be destroyed, but it is still a place of power. A fire burns in a brazier. Soft murmured words are whispered just out of reach.
I pause at the edge of the light cast by the flames. My mother’s eyes lift to greet me.
She does not smile.
And then out of the shadows walks a figure I have not seen for fifteen-hundred years.
My heart beats one solitary beat.
My lips form one name.
“Melita.”
Chapter Three
I Want Nothing Of It
“Theo,” she says, a soft smile gracing her perfect lips. A flash of awareness only an intimate acquaintance can claim flares in her eyes briefly.
She glides across the debris of the Council Chamber, her white robe disturbing the dust at her feet. Fire flares in the brazier; a welcome and acknowledgement all in one.
Melita had always had
such fine control of her Pyrkagia.
I glance at my mother, but I see only expectation in her cool gaze.
My eyes return to the immediate threat before me.
“You have returned,” I say.
“I had no choice in the matter. Aetheros has decreed it.”
“We are diminished in numbers,” I agree.
“Such a saddened time for a reunion.”
I stare at the woman who once held my heart and feel nothing. My eyes return to my mother.
“I need to speak with the Councillor,” I say. “Would you excuse us, Melita?”
Saying her name is easier than I had expected, but then, this woman lost claim to my emotions centuries ago. She and my mother should have known better.
“Melita is my Zoste Patrikia,” my mother announces. “I will not be parted from her.”
I arch my brow. “This is Council business,” I declare. “Even a lady-in-waiting is not permitted to overhear.”
“You are no longer in a position to call the Council,” my mother says with all the finality of a Queen.
So, this is how she intends to play this? Claiming my exile still stands despite Pyrkagia falling? I had hoped without my father to whisper in her ear, my mother would be more circumspect. But one does not survive millennia of madness at the hand of a corrupt King without mastering the act of manipulation.
I smile. It shows teeth.
Melita stands poised at the side of my mother; a serene figure, demurely following her mistress wherever she may lead. Her presence here is not coincidental.
I just cannot decide if my mother aims to merely wound me or has a more nefarious plan using Melita in store for me.
I bow low. My mother is still the Queen.
“Mitera,” I say as if trying to soften the blow. “Mother. I have declared Right of Rule and as such have the authority to call the Council together.”
My mother lifts her chin and stares down her nose at me.
“You shall fail.”
It saddens me; I will admit it. But I am also not surprised.
“One day,” I advise. I look around the tumble of palace walls around us and add, “Here will suffice.”
If she has laid claim to this location for her personal base, then stealing it out from under her will send a message I have no choice but to deliver.
I turn away but halt at the edge of the light from the flames. The brazier flares; I too have fine control of my Pyrkagia.
“And, Mother? Your Zoste Patrikia is not permitted to attend.”
I walk into the shadows before she can retaliate.
The sun is low in the sky as I emerge from the Pyrgos’ ruins. The Hauraki Gulf is turbulent with Nero’s grief. They have lost some of their numbers, but they still outnumber Pyrkagia at least by forty. This is a time of recovery, and yet I feel tension in the air; the build up of anticipation.
Right of Rule is a bloody affair and we Athanatos are nothing if not bloodthirsty.
I need to seek Pisces out before our dead are cremated. I glance towards the north and take note of the multiple funeral pyres. Tonight, Aetheros’ skies shall burn with Fire. And Ekmetalleftis shall grieve.
I scan the Alchemists, but I cannot locate Marcus. I have to hope he plays his part in this theatre of politics. I have to hope we all do.
I step out of the shadows of the Pyrgos just as Melita makes her presence known. I had not heard her following me, but then my thoughts are disjointed and more than just a little distracting.
I long to speak with Cassandra. To ensure she has arrived in Brazil safely. Seeing Melita, I admit to myself, makes the urge to reconnect with Casey that much stronger. I do not have time for petty games such as this, but part of me acknowledges that this may not be so much as petty as it is dangerous.
Just what is my mother planning?
“Theo,” Melita says in her softly lilting voice. “I am sorry.”
An apology is not what I had expected.
“For what?” I ask, my tone clipped.
If she is apologising for what transpired fifteen-hundred years ago, she is a little tardy.
She glances back at the ruins of Pyrgos, her bottom lip firmly between her teeth.
“I had no idea what she intended when she asked me to become her Zoste Patrikia. Had I known she intended to use me against you, I would have refused.”
“Refused the Queen?” I doubt it.
Melita lifts her chin and looks directly at me.
“I will not be made a pawn in someone else’s game,” she declares.
I wonder if she is willing to be a pawn in her own games.
“Commendable, I am sure,” I say coldly. “But you have forgotten one thing.”
She frowns at me, her brow furrowing delicately.
Everything about Melita’s appearance is aimed to please. Her exterior that of fine porcelain or exquisite jewellery. It is when you peel back the layers that you discover the Fire within. Melita burns with an intense heat internally. At one time that contrast had been an allure to me.
“What one thing?” she asks.
Unfortunately for my mother, Melita no longer stirs the embers within my heart. That privilege belongs to one other.
And only one other.
“You mean nothing to me,” I say and watch a plethora of emotions scatter across a beautiful canvas.
“Theo,” she finally manages to whisper. “You don't mean that.”
I step closer, let Melita feel my heat. It scorches; she winces.
“My mother plays a dangerous game,” I whisper. “You have either inadvertently stepped into the arena or have made the same grave mistake as she. But know this, Melita Petrakos, I will fight my father for Right of Rule, and I will win. And those who oppose me will face my wrath in the aftermath.
“Are you ready to burn, Melita? For I shall bring down the flames of Pyrkagia upon those who move against me in such a fashion as never before seen. Genesis will be child’s play compared to me. The End of Days a mere playground spat.”
I reach up and run a hand softly over her hair, then cup her cheek.
“You once meant something to me and I to you,” I murmur. “But betrayal is a two-edged sword, my lovely. And I have sharpened mine over the centuries. Fair warning; your only warning. Walk away. Before you are no longer able to leave.”
My thumb strokes over her pale cheek, my eyes flare gold, my body vibrating. Pyrkagia flares; hers and mine. And for a moment I am lost without Casey.
I push Melita away and turn my back to her; a more obvious dismissal of this woman as a threat I can not perceive. But as I step further from Pyrgos and further from my immediate family, it is Melita’s Pyrkagia that reaches out to soothe me.
I want nothing of it. I want only Casey. But Casey is Gi, and no longer Pyrkagia, and a part of me is so devastated at the loss that I can barely breathe.
It is with no small measure of disgust that I make my escape too quickly. There is no sedate princely departure to be had; only a rush to distance myself from that which I no longer can have but long for desperately.
For a brief moment, I actually believe I can beat my father. For the rage that consumes me in that instant is so intensely hot and unforgiving, that it would fuel a thousand fires and lay waste to what is left of Auckland City.
Chapter Four
Nutcases
I run headfirst into Dora. We bounce off each other with a burst of expelled air and a few choice expletives.
“Where’s the fire?” she asks.
I can’t help but smile. An old Pyrkagia joke and entirely unexpected coming from Isadora.
I glance back at Pyrgos, but Melita has vanished; melted into the shadows as if a ghost come to haunt me.
“Theodoros?” Isadora asks.
There is concern there in her eyes; worry mixed with her ever present impatience. It is the latter which finally makes me able to draw breath enough to breathe.
“My mother plays games,” I tell her succinct
ly.
“When has she not?” Dora offers, dusting herself off after our collision.
“Melita has returned.”
Isadora pauses in her movements, hands hovering over her thighs for a second. And then they fist, and she reaches for a dagger at her hip. I step forward and wrap a hand around her wrist, stalling her actions.
“Exactly what they would want us to do,” I whisper.
“How can you be so calm?” Dora spits.
“You think I am calm?” I enquire mildly.
She looks up at me, her eyes narrowing, gold already blazing from deep within.
“No,” she finally says, relaxing her rigid stance and allowing me to release her.
It would be amusing in other circumstances to know Isadora is relieved that I am not calm.
I look past my friend’s shoulder at Pyrgos and where I know my mother and Melita scheme.
“This is not going to be as clean-cut as we at first believed,” I say thoughtfully.
“You believed Right of Rule would be clean-cut?” Dora scoffs. “Perhaps Casey has softened your head somewhat.”
I grin down at her.
“I am her sword,” I say simply. “Sharp and lethal. She has honed me to perfection, without her touch I would not be quite so deadly.”
“You challenge for Right of Rule because of her?” Dora sounds incredulous.
I will admit to myself that I may not have made the challenge if not for Casey. For the balance, she insists on. For the chance at a life with her by my side.
I have not given up on our dream. On the promise, I have made her. I will find a way for us to be together. A way that no one can ever challenge again.
But part of me always knew that to do so would mean I’d have to take out the one obstacle only I am honour bound to remove. My father. The Fire King.
To Dora now, however, I merely say, “I do this for all of us, but especially for Pyrkagia.”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“You are out of practice, Theodoros,” she says. “If you wish to win anyone over with smooth talking, practice a little more in front of a mirror first.”
The Eternal Edge Of Aether Page 2
