The Eternal Edge Of Aether

by Nicola Claire

  “I’m sure she will, but she will only hear what a human hears. I need to hear more.”

  “You suspect Melita will not be truthful.”

  “I’m not even sure if Melita will talk at all.”

  Hip stares at me for a moment and then nods his head.

  “It is done,” he says.

  I didn’t even feel a ripple in the wind.

  “Melita is talking,” he murmurs, and I throw a Pyrkagia shield up around us as we walk away from the camp and towards the cliffs overlooking the bay.

  No one follows, but I feel the heated press of eyes as they watch.

  Hip stands still on the cliff’s edge; his head cocked to the side, white blazing from his eyes.

  “It’s not that I don’t want revenge,” he says, and I realise he is parroting the conversation.

  “Then what do you want?” That would be Sonya.

  “You would not understand. You are human.”

  “You know, I’m getting a little tired of you guys dismissing my humanity. That precious balance your god wants includes humans, too.”

  “Perhaps you are right. But you were not raised an Athanatos.”

  “And I thank your god for that, I truly do.”

  “Ha, ha,” Hippolytos says, and it takes me a moment to translate that to Melita laughing.

  The fact that Melita is laughing makes it easier to breathe. She has not been broken. And this human, we are all so ready to underestimate, has managed to reach her; to make Melita laugh again.

  “I was destined to serve,” Hip says. It is Melita speaking again. I can no further see Sonya serving anyone than I can see inside that tent right now.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Do not be. It is our way.”

  “It’s a fucked up way.”

  “Perhaps. Things have changed. But much was expected of me growing up. I knew my place. I did as I was told. Until Theodoros.”

  “Whoa! What’s he got to do with anything?”

  Sonya does not know, I realise. Casey has not confided in her friend. I wonder if this will change things. I wonder if Sonya will stop her attempts to get Melita to open up if she realises Melita once shared my bed.

  I have seen the way Sonya looks at Isadora. There is no love lost there.

  “Everything. He has everything to do with it.”

  I close my eyes and try to breathe normally. I do not wish to disturb Hippolytos. I do not wish him to know I am affected by any of this. A sword is meant to be sharp. But right now I have a dull edge.

  “Explain,” Hip says in typical Sonya style.

  “I loved him. At one time he loved me. And then I made a mistake.”

  “Mistake?”

  “I listened to another. I took advice from someone who had a vested interest in the outcome of our relationship. I did not know it at the time; I thought she was a friend. But she wanted Theo for herself, and I was only a servant. How was I to know politics were at play? I did as she suggested. My heart was breaking; I believed she was aiding me. That by spurning Theo then, he would respect me in the future.” This is not how I remember things. “He would be forced to breach the social gap between us and declare to all that I was his Thisavros.”

  “Casey’s his Thisavros.”

  “So it appears.”

  “She is. Once a Thisavros. Always a Thisavros.”

  “I am not arguing with you. I merely wish to demonstrate how I was raised.”

  Hippolytos is silent for a moment. I imagine the two women glaring at each other. It amuses me that I believe Sonya will win this contest.

  “I know my place.” Melita again. “I am a pawn. I am used and discarded by those of higher standing.”

  “Such as?”

  There is a pause. Even standing so far away from the tent, it feels weighted. But it is not the weight of anticipation I expected. It is different. Thicker. Sludgier. Perhaps it is the medium we are using to eavesdrop; I have not used the Air as ears before now. But something is different to this weighted silence. Something I do not like.

  “Such as Agents of Pyrkagia,” Hip whispers, mimicking Melita. She wishes to blame her betrayal on Isadora. “Such as Councillors. Such as Kings and Queens. You name it, human. They were all above me then, and they are all above me now.”

  “Who hurt you, Melita?”

  “‘Does it matter? I know my place.’”

  “Of course it matters. It always matters.”

  “In your world, perhaps.”

  “It’s a new world now,” Sonya says.

  Silence. Then, “All right. I’ll tell you. But it must not leave this tent.”

  Melita is not usually so naive.

  “I can't promise you that,” Sonya says. “I wish I could, but there’s more at stake here than keeping a secret.”

  “You are a pawn too, then.”

  “Hey! I’m no one’s pawn!”

  “Then promise me. Promise me you will keep this to yourself or suffer the consequences.”

  “Consequences?” Hip squeaks. I shake my head. But also hold my breath and wait.

  “Tell a soul, human, and you shall burn.”

  “Honestly? I don't need to know what happened that much.”

  “No one will hear me! No one will share my burden!”

  And now she attempts melodrama. This is not the Melita I fell in love with.

  I've heard enough. I do not need to hear more to know she is playing us.

  I raise my hand to interrupt Hip’s spell, but Melita speaks first.

  “I tell you because you should beware. I tell you because you are a servant too, whether you believe it or not. I tell you because you lie in a nest of vipers and sooner or later you will get bitten.”

  “Oh, freaking hell,” Sonya mutters. “Who then?”

  I know I do not need to listen further. I know what Melita says next will be a lie. But I must have all the evidence before me. The good and the bad.

  “So be it.” The words of a binding pact. “The King,” Hip says. “My Rigas did this to me. While the Queen watched.”

  I do not hear Sonya’s reply. I do not hear Hippolytos parroting. I do not hear a thing.

  Because this can't be true.

  Melita is lying, I am sure of it. But why, then, does the lie sound like the truth?

  Chapter Twelve

  I Smile

  I storm into the ruined Council Chamber, noting the guards my mother has at her back. Mikkos and Leon are absent, but then they are councillors, and this get-together was arranged for only one member of the Council to attend.

  My mother. The Queen. The woman who somehow released my father from his Alchemist chains and watched as he brutally harmed my former lover.

  I checked before coming here; my father is again contained. Noah is in consultation with the newly appointed Alchemist leader, ensuring that the chains can not be removed again.

  Not until the challenge at any rate.

  But before I left his side, he confirmed they had been tampered with. My father has not spent the entire time since the challenge was made restrained.

  Sonya has refused to speak to me. She has remained inside the tent with Melita. Upholding her side of the pact. There was no need to press for further information; I have enough already.

  The only thing that concerns me is why I still feel like Melita is lying when all evidence points to her words being fact.

  Noah informed me that Melita wears a brand on the inside of her thigh in the shape of a dragon. In the shape of the Petropoulos coat of arms. In the shape of my father’s ring.

  He marked her. So I would know. He marked her so she would never forget.

  I am furious. So angry that I am shaking.

  I come to a stop across the brazier from my mother and attempt to get my ragged breathing under some semblance of control. She watches on patiently. Aware I am incensed with rage.

  “Mitera,” I say.

  “Yios,” she replies cooly. Son. I have not been her son for de
cades.

  It takes everything in me to calm myself. I do not have my Thisavros to draw on, but I do have precious memories of her soft touch, her gentle words, her beautiful face.

  The next time I speak, I am peaceful, and I am rewarded with a small show of surprise on my mother’s face.

  “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.” Two days too late.

  “We must end this squabble,” she says.

  “I have claimed Right of Rule, Mother. This is no mere squabble.”

  “You can withdraw from the challenge. No one would doubt your allegiance then.”

  She wishes to question my allegiance to Pyrkagia? She can do better than that.

  “I will not withdraw. Father’s rule is at an end.”

  “He is the rightful Rigas. He is a direct descendant of Aetheros. How can you question that?”

  “How can you stand by and watch him perform atrocities?” I demand.

  “What atrocities?”

  “You know what.”

  “No, son, I do not. We are Athanatos. We are Ekmetalleftis. You are thinking as a human would.”

  “I will not back down.”

  “Then I shall be forced to watch you die. Because you cannot win, Theodoros. His blood is stronger than yours.”

  She is not wrong. But the knowledge changes nothing. My father cannot continue to rule. Pyrkagia will suffer for it. The world will suffer for it. I need her to understand.

  “We have entered a dangerous time, Mother,” I say. “The world is healing, but it is not fully healed yet.”

  “And you attempt to use such an imbalance as a means of attack?”

  “I attempt to ensure balance is maintained.”

  “Oh, this Aether’s sword nonsense?” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “What has that girl got you believing now? Such rubbish.”

  “Cassandra sacrificed much to save our world. The least we can do is ensure the sacrifice was worth it.”

  “Sacrifice?” My mother takes a step toward me, a look of utter revulsion on her face. “She is Gi. Always was. Always will be. What sacrifice has she made that she did not want to anyway?”

  “She is my Thisavros.”

  “Ah, you miss the tangle of Pyrkagia. Theodoros, son, you could tangle your Stoicheio with anyone. Why waste it on an imposter?”

  “Casey is my Thisavros.”

  “A Thisavros who is not Pyrkagia. Really? You think your father has not tangled his Stoicheio with another? You think I hold this against him? It is the right of kings to choose who they share that honour with. Why only two days ago he shared his Stoicheio with another.”

  It is like a record has screeched to a stop. I struggle to maintain composure. My mother watches me like a hawk. She is talking of Melita. She is casually talking of my father abusing another.

  “While you watched,” I say in a growl, my hands fisted.

  “I did not say I watched.”

  We stare at each other. Something is happening. I am not sure what. But I have misstepped.

  No one speaks. I barely breathe. My heart thunders in my chest. What have I done wrong? How has she trapped me?

  Because I know I am trapped. I know it.

  I have seen too many political battles not to know when one opponent is lost.

  And I have lost. I am just not certain whether I have lost the battle or the war.

  And then I hear it. A commotion. Out in the camp. Someone is screaming. Someone else is shouting. A chill races down my spine. The wind whips up. Little stones and chips of marble whirl at our feet. The brazier flares up in response.

  Air is here. Fire is answering.

  And then Hip’s voice reaches me on the wind.

  Come quickly. I do not think we can hold them off.

  I take one long look at my mother, realising that there will be no calling of the Council this day, and then I turn on my heel and run from the chamber. The path into Pyrgos had seemed clear on arrival, but now every cracked and broken obstacle seems to be in my way. I trip over rocks; I slide down crumbling walls; I even have to crawl under a fallen column.

  It is at that point, I realise my return to camp has been hindered intentionally. I am not meant to make it.

  At least, I am not meant to make it in time.

  I emerge from a recalcitrant Pyrgos into a silence that threatens the soul. The camp is packed. Aeras. Nero. Alchemists. But it is the Pyrkagia around me that lets me know I am in trouble. That what transpires here will have repercussions for years to come. That if I misstep again, I will lose the Right of Rule. I will lose the chance to maintain balance.

  That I will fail to be Aether’s sword.

  I slow my steps because there is no longer any reason to rush. They are waiting.

  They are waiting for me to fail.

  The crowd parts for me. No one says a word. Nor do they meet my eye. Our tent stands in the centre of a vortex, or maybe a black hole. Because I feel like it is sucking out my essence. I feel like it is sucking out my soul.

  Melita is outside of the tent. Mikkos and Leon stand at her back.

  And on the ground before her crouches the human.

  Sonya, I say to myself.

  “A pact has been broken!” Melita shouts.

  There is no weakness to be seen here. She stands tall, strong, impeccably dressed. If she wears bruises, she wears them with honour.

  I don’t look at Sonya. I know she needs me to, but right now Melita needs to see my eyes far more than Sonya does.

  Melita needs to see my rage.

  “What pact?” I demand.

  “The human entered a pact to keep my secret,” Melita sneers. “She broke it.”

  “She broke nothing.”

  “Do you deny your words to our Queen?” she snaps.

  I stare at her and say nothing; the conversation with my mother runs on repeat inside my head. The moment I knew I’d misstepped shining brightly. As if spotlit by a thousand suns.

  Or close to seventy of my kin.

  While you watched.

  I do look at Sonya then. She deserves to look the Athanatos in the face who has condemned her to her fate.

  Hip steps forward. I halt him with a raised hand. His words would not free Sonya of blame.

  The secret has been shared. The pact broken.

  Melita calls on her Pyrkagia; a ball of tightly curled flames.

  “A pact has been broken,” she repeats, softly.

  Twice now she has betrayed me. Once when my heart was involved. Now when my honour is.

  If I act, I condemn the world.

  If I don’t act, I condemn myself, and I will lose Casey.

  “Theodoros?” Isadora says softly at my side.

  “We’re here,” Nico offers at the other.

  They know what this will mean. They know what will happen.

  I smile.

  It shows a row of very sharp teeth.

  And then I act.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It Is Too Late

  It is Pisces who reaches Sonya first. I don't have time to consider his atypical behaviour; Water can protect her from Fire. He lets out a roar and changes into his monstrous form midair, his trident sweeping out in a circle, spraying down a wall of water around Sonya’s cowering form.

  I don't see what happens next because Mikkos is on me. Pyrkagia surges and clashes. He fashions a spear of flames and thrusts it towards my stomach. I manage to raise a shield of Fire before me, deflecting his blow. But he is fast. He attacks again with a pulse of Pyrkagia, managing to clip my shoulder and spin me away.

  I flick my hand out, and a sword appears in it; the metal folded over five hundred times; the blade wreathed in flames. I swing it at Mikkos’ approaching head and have it deflected off an upraised arm encased in a fire licking gauntlet. The ring of metal on metal sounds out. The crackle of Fire surrounds us.

  We circle each other. I am vaguely aware of Isadora in battle with Leon and Nico grappling with Melita. I’m thankful they have pai
red off that way. Leon was once a Scout; Isadora, though, can match him. I don't have time to locate Aktor and Sonya because Mikkos reaches down and scoops up a handful of dirt and then throws it in my eyes.

  A boot connects with my ribs as my vision is hindered. I don’t lower my sword tip, so when Mikkos follows through with a thrust of a dagger, the ring of metal allows me to gain my balance.

  I strike hard with my free hand; a closed fist that connects with cheekbone, and then swing my blade to meet his dagger. He fights swiftly, economically. With minimal effort. Once the initial shock of battle lessens, we both fall into an easy pattern.

  We come together with a clash of metal on metal and then spring apart with a flare of Pyrkagia heat. The crowd has pulled back, allowing us room to manoeuvre. The ground is scorched black, a few tents already reduced to ash. Mikkos may be quick and efficient, but he is also uncaring of where his Pyrkagia ricochets. Twice now his Fire has hit a bystander.

  He only laughs.

  I double my efforts to end this, drawing on that which makes me heir to the Pyrkagia throne. There are no other Ancients such as my father in Pyrkagia; long ago he removed any opposition to that claim. Mikkos is powerful, well trained, and arrogant enough to believe he can win this. But he is not my father. He is not me.

  I don’t allow the thought to shift my focus. Less powerful he may be, but he is cunning. A blast of Pyrkagia spins off the edge of my sword into the crowd watching, making me flinch at the screams. Mikkos notices and starts targeting the audience instead of me.

  Every cry of anguish makes me angrier. Every time someone screams, I rage.

  Mikkos knows this and is goading me, uncaring of who he injures in his attempts to reach me.

  I’ve had enough of these games; I need to end this.

  I increase my efforts to break his defences. My speed picks up, sweat beads my brow, my body is wreathed in flames. The sword blazes through the heated air between us, the clang of metal as it strikes rings out, the roar of Pyrkagia sounds as it flames. I draw blood on his right arm and then immediately after strike his left thigh. Neither hit is life threatening or even debilitating.