by Ree Soesbee
The broad door opened, and the woman in red stepped into the room without another word. The marines shoved the prisoners after, not caring if they stumbled or fell flat as they entered a large audience hall. The stateroom within was enormous, easily the largest hall Cobiah had ever seen within a ship. Wide, red-carpeted stairs flowed down from the main doorway to a ballroom floor, and to either side of the entryway, a shelflike balcony wrapped around the body of the room. The ceiling had been painted to look like a night sky, with glittering, enchanted stars illuminating the upper area, while lanterns hung in tidy rows along the edge of the balcony to bring a warm glow to the lower part of the room. Marveling at the opulence, Cobiah picked his way down the stairs in the wake of the woman in red, trying not to scuff the magnificent Elonian rug. The wall opposite the staircase held six large stained-glass windows, each patterned after one of the human gods, the whole looking down over a stagelike dais. On that dais stood a massive golden throne.
He was so overwhelmed by his surroundings that it took Cobiah a moment to realize there were people in the room. Indeed, there were at least fifty, all dressed in exquisite and expensive clothing, hair done in elaborate braids and decorative twists, their faces painted with the hauteur of nobility. Cobiah’s eyes widened as he realized he must have been walking through the crème de la crème of Divinity’s Reach. Although a few of them wore weapons, most were decorative, bejeweled—and had probably never been drawn. The music of stringed instruments faded and died to a hushed silence, broken only by soft, titillated whispers through the crowd.
Each step felt like it took an hour. The crowd parted, their eyes raking over him, hiding murmurs and smothering laughter behind their hands. Cobiah felt his face grow warm with humiliation; here he was in ripped breeches and an untucked linen shirt, bearing the obvious stains of sail and brawl, walking among people whose silken skirts and golden coronets were worth as much as his entire manor. An old anger pricked within his chest. He passed a table laden with punch and fluffy pastries, his stomach rebelling at the oversweet smell. These privileged idiots were dancing and feasting, playing politics while Lion’s Arch starved.
A herald at the front of the room sounded his trumpet, and the nobles quickly turned toward the dais, sinking into curtsies and bows. As Cobiah watched, Prince Edair, newly changed from his soldierly uniform into clothing more suited for a royal ball, strode into the room across the dais followed by three more blue-garbed Shining Blade. The crowd burst into polite applause at the sight of their prince, loudly admiring the pattern on the sleeves of his golden doublet, the deep color of a purple shirt made of rare Canthan silk, or the immaculate shine of his high black boots. Apparently, extravagance was in. Personally, Cobiah thought Edair looked like a dancing peony.
Turning away from the stage, Cobiah used the time to count his opponents. Two Shining Blade at the door. Three more onstage. Perhaps twenty Seraph marines standing guard around the room and, of course, the woman in red. Grymm noticed him glancing around and gave the commodore a tense smile. Isaye caught him as well, but her reaction was less approving. She kicked his ankle surreptitiously, saying, “They will kill us.”
Edair took the time to pause and speak with a few of his supporters at the edge of the stage. He smiled and shook hands, exchanging pleasantries with the nobility while the prisoners waited in a clump at the center of the room.
“What is Edair doing?” Tenzin stared at the prince in frank disapproval.
“Making an ass of himself, it seems,” Bronn grunted disparagingly. “Is that man seriously wearing silk to a war?” The norn spat on the floor derisively, causing nearby courtiers to shrink away and stare in disgust.
Cobiah shook his head. “No. He’s humiliating us. Deliberately. Letting the nobles stare their fill at his ‘prisoners of war’ . . . all the better to inflate his pride.”
After a few more minutes, Edair made a great show of draping himself onto the throne. “Bring the traitors closer. If they tell me all I want to know, I may choose to be merciful,” he said in a tone that was anything but. The Seraph escort dragged the prisoners to the front of the room, lining them up in a row before the dais. The exemplar climbed the dais, her red leather coat brushing the edge of the stairs, but paused before she reached the throne. She took up a position there, her eyes resting thoughtfully on Cobiah. Aware that he was the focus of her steady contemplation, Cobiah felt his neck heat and his cheeks color, and he turned away. He was too old to fall for such an obvious ruse.
“Very well, then.” Edair straightened the five-pointed crown on his head and fixed a stern glare at the captives. “You will tell me the best methods of attacking Lion’s Arch from land and sea. Where the defenses are positioned and a summary of their capacities.” Glancing at the woman in red, he finished graciously, “I will use the information to seize the city with as few casualties as possible. Your people will be spared and even allowed to leave. But they cannot remain in Lion’s Arch unless they submit to Krytan rule.” A smattering of polite applause rippled through the assembled crowd.
Before any of the others could answer, Isaye stepped forward to address the prince. “Prince Edair,” she began. “I served your father loyally for nearly eight years. He trusted me. Until a few days ago, you trusted me as well. I ask you to trust me now.” She stood, tall and proud, her dark hair tumbling down her back and the sober look of conscience weighing on her features. Although still in irons, Isaye had the bearing of a noble, her shoulders back, her chin held high as she looked Prince Edair in the eye. “I was there when your father forbade you to attack Lion’s Arch. I was the one who convinced him that attacking the city would not be worth the losses Kryta would take. Moreover, I helped your father understand the duty this city performs, for Kryta and for Tyria itself.
“These people are Kryta’s allies. They hold back the risen undead of Orr, and we should be supporting that effort, not removing their ability to defend us.” Isaye’s hazel eyes flashed. “I ask you to stop this. Now. Make a treaty that recognizes Lion’s Arch’s independence and make peace with her citizens. It’s the only way Tyria will survive the coming storms.”
Edair sat forward in his throne, thrusting his finger toward Isaye. “You’re defending them? After they burned your ship. Threw you out! By Balthazar’s fire, you cling to your loyalty like a child hiding under a cloak, thinking blindness will keep you safe.” The audience had fallen completely silent, watching the exchange breathlessly. This was exactly the kind of theater Edair wanted. “I don’t care what information you gave my father over the years. He was a fool to listen to you. Kryta should have attacked Lion’s Arch years ago.” Isaye’s cheeks flushed red, and Edair tapped his fingers rhythmically on the arm of his golden throne.
“Lion’s Arch is a Krytan city. For too long we have swallowed their fables about ‘the dangers of Orr.’ They tell tales of this mythical undead force so that we will be too afraid to attack the pirates and smugglers who stole Krytan land!” Leaning back easily, Edair let his gaze play over the room, taking in the opulent wall hangings and the golden decorations. He smiled to a group of maidens on the upper balconies and then returned his stare to Isaye. “I’ve heard men say that charr are twelve feet high with star beams shooting from their eyes. They can jump so far they might as well be flying, and when they hold their breath, they’re practically invisible. They have fur of iron and claws of fire, and they can’t be harmed by human blades.” The prince shook his head disdainfully. “I’ve fought in Ascalon. I know the difference between legends and truths. Charr are made of flesh and blood. They’re nothing more than animals, barely capable of walking on two legs.
“These pirates tell us stories of an undefeatable Orr. They say it’s a living dragon-island, that hundreds of thousands of undead roam there, unkillable, with magic so powerful we can’t begin to understand it. And we’re supposed to be grateful to Lion’s Arch for the ‘protection’ they provide.” He smirked. “I’ll tell you what else I know. Orrian zombies wash up
on the beaches in Kryta, too, and just like the charr . . .” The prince of Kryta took a deep breath and intoned harshly, “They can be destroyed.”
Edair rose, holding his hands up in reassurance. “Don’t listen to the lies told by these pirates. Orr isn’t a cursed kingdom; it’s nothing more than a waterlogged, desolate lump of stone. Yes, there is some magic within its shores, but it is old, withered, and impotent, or why else was it lost for so long? The kingdom of Orr was destroyed hundreds of years ago, cast to the bottom of the ocean, and it’s no more dangerous now than it has ever been.
“They say we should be grateful to Lion’s Arch. For what? Fighting off zombies? Sinking a few rotting ships? These traitors preen about insignificant victories won against feeble opponents. For that, we should give these brigands Krytan land and say thank you? I say no!” Several members of the audience raised their voices in agreement, and a wave of applause rippled through the nobility. Edair shook his fist and accepted their laudations with a calculating smile. The Seraph guards pushed Isaye back into line, warning her to keep silent unless spoken to again.
Cobiah clenched his teeth, his hands twisting against the iron manacles that held him bound. He was on the wrong side of this situation, unable to fight while every instinct urged him to attack. It was galling to stand silently while someone tore down his accomplishments, threatened his friends, and called him a liar. Yet Cobiah reined in his temper. Twice, Isaye had asked him not to attack the prince. He didn’t know her reasons, didn’t entirely trust them given their past, but something in the way she’d asked still gave him pause. There was more to this than he knew.
The exemplar swayed across the dais to the prince’s side, placing her hand on his arm. “Your Demetran crystal-wine is here, Your Highness.” She gestured to one of the Shining Blade, and the man approached, holding out a goblet etched with the sigil of the royal family.
Blinking away his spontaneous ferocity, Prince Edair lowered himself once more onto the golden throne. He took the glass from the silver tray and balanced it in his hand, smelling the fresh bouquet of the wine. “Ah, yes. Thank you, Livia.”
Livia.
That name was familiar. He’d heard rumors—everyone had. Livia was the self-appointed protector of the ruler of Kryta, and if whispers were true, she’d been so for generations. Some tales said she’d sold her soul to become an immortal lich. Others claimed that Livia sacrificed prisoners in the dungeons of Divinity’s Reach and used their blood to give herself eternal youth and beauty. He’d heard a hundred legends, usually during the autumn festival when children were trying to scare one another with spooky tales. Still, all the stories agreed on one thing: Livia was powerful. Cobiah felt a chill run through his body as the woman glanced toward him again, her smoky eyes obscured by the curtain of her white-streaked hair. Maybe she was the reason Isaye was so frightened.
“Commodore Marriner.” Edair singled him out. He paused to swirl his expensive wine while the Seraph pushed Cobiah forward. A shadow darkened the prince’s face as he considered his next words. “Once the majority of the Seraph, my army, is gathered to the north of Lion’s Arch, we will march on your city, and we will be victorious. If that happens, I assure you, Commodore . . .” Edair examined him as though he were an acquisition he was deciding whether to buy. “There will be a great deal of bloodshed.
“Although I would enjoy the excitement of honorable battle, I realize we would be marching seasoned military troops against civilian militia. Exemplar Livia has convinced me,” he said, setting the goblet down, “that we should first seek other ways of resolving this conflict. I’ve gone to great lengths to get you here in the hopes that you can help me avoid such an outcome. I had my loyal friend Isaye watched by spies. I intercepted her messages. I gave her good reason to think I had an assassin in your city, and to save your life, she did exactly as I’d hoped. She brought you here.” Edair laughed lightly. “Really, Cobiah. You should be flattered at the amount of trouble it’s taken to make you a guest aboard my magnificent galleon.”
“You should have saved the trouble and stuffed this galleon up your—” Grymm didn’t get any further. One of the marines rammed the butt of a spear into the norn’s belly, doubling him over and knocking the wind out of his words. The Seraph struck him across the back, forcing him to his knees, and shoved the point of the spear against his chest. Blood trickled down from a wound where the spear cut into the norn’s flesh. Bronn growled and tried to step toward his brother, but in a flash the guards had their swords at his throat. Around the ballroom, Seraph and the Shining Blade stood at the ready, weapons out and magic coalescing as elementalists concentrated their will in preparation for battle.
“Enough!” Edair snarled. His face had reddened, and he clenched his fists so tightly the knuckles turned white on the arms of his throne. Clearly, the prince was used to getting his way. “This is not a discussion. This is a royal command.
“Either you tell the Lionguard to stand down and disarm the city defenses, or I will show you why you should fear the Krytan throne, Marriner.” He rose slowly and took a step forward, using the height of the dais to tower over Cobiah and his friends. Edair’s body was as tense as a bowstring, his voice brittle with the fraying of his temper. “I assure you, I am not bluffing.”
“You can do what you want, Edair; the answer is still no.” Cobiah’s heart pounded, all fear replaced by the certainty of impending death. “I wish I could. I wish you understood what you were doing, and by Dwayna’s white wings, I’d like to find a way to keep my people from harm. But I’d rather have you kill them quickly by the sword than take the city and underestimate the Dead Ships. If that’s the choice, then I believe every living being in Lion’s Arch would wish for the death you’ll give them over the blasphemous unlife they’ll receive at Orrian hands.”
“You filthy, dishonorable blackguard!” At last, the prince’s control broke, and Edair raised his voice in a ferocious shout, like a child being denied a toy. “You will do what I tell you! If you don’t, your friends will suffer my wrath one by one.”
Bronn growled, low in his throat. Stiff and unyielding despite the weapons arrayed against him, the bearded norn declared, “My brother and I would gladly die rather than submit to a coward such as you.”
Edair reddened further. “I’ll kill her!” He pointed at Isaye. “And him!” His finger moved on to Tenzin. Seeing that Cobiah wouldn’t budge, Edair lowered his hand and paced across the stage. Livia tried to catch his attention with a subtle gesture, but Edair strode past her without even acknowledging the exemplar. “You’re so self-sacrificing. So very stalwart. I’m offering you a chance to save the lives of innocents—women and children—but you’d rather have a knife through your heart. Fine. Let’s see how much solace that is when the repercussions are staring you in the face.”
Spinning away, the prince made a sharp gesture. “Get the boy.”
The guardsman snapped a salute, hurrying across the dais to the door through which the prince had entered the room. A terrible light flashed in Edair’s eyes. Livia approached him, murmuring softly, but the prince dismissed her words with a quick chop of his hand through the air. Cobiah frowned. What cruelty was this? Thinking that perhaps Isaye knew more than she’d had time to reveal, Cobiah turned to whisper to her—but the words froze in his throat as he took in the pale, horrified look on Isaye’s face.
The door opened, and the pale-haired Shining Blade guardsman from before entered the stateroom, leading a small child by the hand. The child was young, a boy not more than three years old, with a mop of dark hair and bright blue eyes. Burbling happily to himself, he kept one hand in his mouth, the other wrapped around the Shining Blade’s fingers, toddling along despite his drooping eyes and sleepy smile.
“Commodore Marriner,” the prince said, his voice holding a note of cold-blooded pride, “may I present the Trident’s newest visitor? He arrived just two days ago.” Edair settled back into his throne, keeping his eyes on the prisoners standing
before his dais.
There was no chance for Cobiah to respond. Fighting to be free of her restraints, Isaye shoved her way toward the dais despite the Seraph, not caring if their swords dug bloody gouges into her skin. “Dane!” she called out, stretching her manacled arms toward the boy.
At the sight of her, the child brightened. “Mama!” He pulled the hand out of his mouth and waved at her eagerly. Spotting Tenzin, the boy tried to pull away from the Shining Blade and run toward them both, but the guard prevented him from escaping by sweeping the child gently up onto his hip. Tears leapt to Isaye’s eyes.
So this was what she’d been protecting.
Cobiah’s chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe, his heart pounding so hard that he could hear the blood thumping in his ears. It seemed as if the world around him had stopped turning, shrinking down to one small, dark-haired boy. He whispered a prayer to Dwayna and the Six Gods, begging for their forgiveness as he took in the meaning of the scene before him. Isaye’s son. Isaye had a son. His wife . . . had a child by another man.
All of the warmth that had been regrowing toward Isaye suddenly withered inside Cobiah’s heart. Justifications leapt into his mind. She’d been gone for years. He’d even called her his ex-wife. She deserved to be happy. But the one thing that kept returning and returning to his thoughts was the image of Isaye, meeting alone in an inn room with a Krytan agent, carrying copies of Cobiah’s council notes. How long had she been meeting with him in secret? Cobiah didn’t even know who the man was; he’d barely gotten a glimpse before the agent leapt out the window and escaped.
What if they had been meeting for more personal reasons?
Edair stared down at them as he spoke, lingering over the words with obvious relish. “I sent for him several days ago, Isaye. My spies had been watching you for some time to see if you were loyal, and you’d proven yourself to my satisfaction. As a reward and an apology for my lack of trust, I planned to surprise you with my thoughtfulness. Imagine my chagrin when my spies brought me concrete proof that you’d betrayed me and allowed a ship through the blockade with a message for Lion’s Arch.
