Shadow Call

by Michael Miller

  “Indeed,” I said. “What about her?”

  “As we feared, being reminded of her is what galvanized you to continue fighting. You fight for her sake. You lose motivation when you fight for duty’s sake. This behavior in a military commander isn’t fitting—”

  “He may be the first fit candidate I’ve seen.”

  That voice drew everyone’s eyes, stopped the words in our mouths. It was the priestess who’d interrupted us. Surprise rippled through the others.

  “Why?” Gavros demanded. “A priestess hasn’t approved of someone in living memory.”

  “It’s happened only once before,” she agreed. “What we look for we seldom see in anyone: humility.”

  “He isn’t displaying a great deal of humility, priestess,” one of the other generals grunted. “Seems proud something fierce to me.”

  “I never said he was perfect,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp. “But he didn’t shy away from my questions when he had no idea who I was. He refused to impose his own will on the test before being pushed to a breaking point, a breaking point born not of a desire to win, or a fear of losing, but caring for someone else. Whatever is driving him, it isn’t pride.”

  Gavros considered her carefully. “He’s willing to bloody faceless subjects but cannot bear to see someone he cares about hurt? That is more selfish than it is moral.”

  The priestess nodded. “It won’t be if he grows past that, and instead uses what he cares about as inspiration to do what is right at all times. I believe he will.” She paused, a curious expression on her face. “It would change everything.”

  My father had advocated what amounted to ruthlessness to achieve the greater good. I had chosen to respect the individual. I didn’t see how, but the priestess seemed to believe that the two could intersect.

  If that was true, I might have a way forward.

  Qole caught my gaze and jumped off the stone platform to stand at my side. “I think you are all forgetting something else.” Her voice was loud against the canyon walls, without a trace of uncertainty.

  “Ms. Uvgamut,” Gavros said with strained patience. “You were invited here as a courtesy to the Alaxan…government. And because”—he paused, looking at Talia—“people insisted. But that doesn’t give you permission to speak.”

  “I didn’t ask for permission,” Qole said flatly. “But I mean no disrespect all the same. I’m just reminding you that you’re bickering over details.” She raised her hand to me like a blade. “The question is: can he lead an army? You aren’t voting for who rules you in peacetime. You’re voting for someone who can keep Solara from crushing us. You’re voting for someone Alaxak will ally with, trade with.” She shook her head. “This isn’t about who got the highest score on a test. You’re voting for a chance. For someone who can beat the odds.”

  There it was again—the gravity that drew everything that was real, centered it and anchored it. I could feel it working on me, on everyone around us. Qole looked at me. “Speaking from experience, I don’t know anyone who is better at beating the odds.”

  She believed it, believed in me. In that moment, so did I.

  Devrak chuckled, and Gavros looked to either side, as if seeking help.

  I walked forward and put both my hands on the table, looking each of the generals in the eye, one by one. “By right and by birth, I am the king,” I said quietly. “That is not in dispute. Whether by force or law, I claim the throne. As for the results of the Forging, I will respect the laws of our people and let you decide.”

  I turned and staggered closer to Devrak and Qole. My vision swam. “Huh, I think I might need a medic,” I slurred.

  The last thing I saw was Qole and Devrak, catching me.

  * * *

  I was unconscious in the med bay when they decided that I had passed. The decision was unanimous in the end. Whatever reservations Gavros had possessed, he’d apparently changed his mind.

  Shortly thereafter, I was up and walking through the hallways—no longer an exile interloper, but a young man in his own domain. After a full scan, medics had replaced ligaments, regrown tissue, drained fluid, and siphoned away pain, so that I now felt as if I had experienced only moderate exercise. I’d felt worse after a day of regular work on the Kaitan.

  I rubbed my temple absently. I was going to be king. I had grown up knowing this day would come, and I had known it would be a grave one, depending as it did on the death of my parents. But as events unrolled around me, it all seemed much too fast and large to properly grasp—a meteor wiping out everything that had come before, heralding a new age.

  Whether I fully understood them or not, I had to trust my instincts, and that meant I had to talk to Qole. I consulted my wrist-comm to locate her room. I had a small window before advisors and assistants descended upon me, planning my unveiling and our next moves. I had to talk to her alone, first, to explain our new situation as best I could. The problem was, I had no idea how. If I couldn’t explain it to myself in a way that didn’t upset me, how could I to her?

  I still had to try. There was a part of me that hoped she wouldn’t care. The other part of me knew I’d be hurt more than relieved if that was true.

  I found her room easily and held my breath as I knocked on the door. I didn’t know if she would be there, but I knew that when Qole needed to think, she would be by herself. The door cracked open, and Qole peered out warily, reminding me how unlikely it was for her to feel safe here.

  I tried to smile. “Hi. May I have a moment?”

  To my relief, she nodded and stood back. “Of course. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thanks.” I stood in the middle of the room. “Your suit is very flattering.” It hadn’t been what I wanted to say, but in the absence of useful data, my brain had decided to go with what was first on my mind. The outfit was more than flattering; the military cut was striking, composed of precise strokes that broadcasted the powerful mind and body within.

  “Thanks,” Qole said hesitantly. “I’ve heard that a lot. I guess everyone thought I would be dressed in dirt and dripping blood.”

  “Cloaked in Shadow.” I spoke without thinking.

  Qole smiled despite herself, then sighed. “I wish it were just a cloak. Then I could take it off.” She sat on the windowsill of her room. Beyond, the spires of the military barracks shot into the air, creating a staggered blue pattern of visible sky.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “I heard the good news. You’re going to be the next king. What’s next?”

  “I’ll announce my resurrection and gather supporters. Find allies.” She winced, and I knew then that she’d heard how I was supposed to go about finding allies. “Look, Qole, I’m sorry.”

  Qole crossed her arms. “For what?” But her tone said she knew exactly what. I grimaced, and yet felt a guilty thrill. She did care. She had been imagining a future with me, like I had with her.

  And now…I didn’t know what now.

  “I assumed you knew about…about my need to marry. I shouldn’t have, but you’ve already been exposed to how royal politics work.”

  Qole narrowed her eyes. “Is this how it’s going to be? Assume your allies are fine with however you want to use them?”

  I blinked. Allies? Use? I had expected a more personal approach. “I, no. You must know this isn’t my choice.”

  “It is your choice. You’re the king,” Qole snapped, the color in her cheeks rising. “How you treat people is how you will rule, Nev.” She swallowed and turned to the window, putting a hand on it as if she could escape. I couldn’t respond, because what she said felt right.

  Her voice was quieter when she spoke again, sounding as vulnerable as she suddenly looked. And there she was—Qole, my Qole, not the captain or the planetary leader. “You led me to believe we had something. That there was hope.”

  “We do have
something,” I said desperately. I will fight for it, I wanted to add, I haven’t given up.

  “I’m not ignorant.” Qole turned on me, her hands turning to fists. “I knew things would change. I knew they would be harder, or maybe impossible. But I was trusting that we’d tell each other when things became impossible, like you tried to do in Chorda. I trusted you.”

  I gestured uselessly. I knew I shouldn’t be frustrated, or angry. I knew how hard it was for someone like her to trust anyone like me. How hard it was for her to trust, period. But I was tired of being the person in question all the time, whose position or past made everything about him suspect. “Very well, then. I am telling you. If I am to be king, if I am to protect Alaxak, then I will be forced into a diplomatic marriage. We can’t…we can’t have everything we both want. But that doesn’t mean we have nothing.”

  Hurt registered on Qole’s face, and anger. She hesitated, then walked to the door, opened it, and gestured toward the opening. “Great. Thanks. Devrak has set up a strategy meeting later today. I’ll see you there.”

  Now there was no thrill. Only a feeling like I was falling. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

  She waved a hand in the air. “Oh, this conversation again? How could it not be, Nev? Tell me.” Her words were derisive. “I wait for you to sneak away from your royal queen once a year to visit your common mistress on her far-flung frozen planet? Well, how about I tell you something?” She squared her shoulders. “I can’t. I can’t do that to myself, even if you could. I have more pride than that.”

  “That’s not what I want.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  I wanted her, but I couldn’t have her. I stood, searching for words that could salvage the situation. But there was nothing. Maybe she wasn’t my Qole anymore. She might have been, once, without my fully realizing or appreciating it, but not anymore.

  “I…,” she started. “I can’t keep doing this, Nev. I can’t keep pretending.” She pressed her palms into her eyes. “It’s going to tear me apart.”

  “I know. I understand.” But what I knew or understood wasn’t in line with what I felt. What I felt was that this road we were walking down now, away from each other—that would tear me apart.

  And there was no reasoning with that as I walked away from her.

  The great bells of Tenérus’s golden towers rang out at the tragic news. It was, to hear the whispers that were both subdued and perversely titillated in the Belarius palace halls, the most daring assassination ever carried out, against a person no one thought could be touched, by an assassin who might have been sent by the last royal family anyone expected. I felt quite proud of it all, but the tolling went on so long that it began to give me a headache.

  There was no escaping the sound, especially not where I was headed. The palace lifts took me most of the way, but there was still a long, austere hall to traverse before reaching my destination.

  There, coming the opposite way, I bumped into Daiyen Xiaolan.

  Her long black hair fell around her shoulders and over a more conservative, long-sleeved traveling gown of midnight blue. Her loose, unadorned tresses made her look more like a little girl, more innocent—a look as calculated as mine. But a hairstyle wasn’t nearly enough to combat the rumors, in her case.

  She stopped a few paces from me, meeting my eyes levelly. “Mother and I are leaving Embra in an hour, but his guards won’t even let me offer him my condolences.” There was no sadness in her tone, but had there been, I would have taken it as fake. Her smooth mask was the more convincing indication that she might be feeling out of sorts.

  “That’s such a pity,” I said with a concerned scrunch of my brows. “But you must understand their concerns.”

  “That was no Xiaolan assassin.” Her fury, all too real, was now barely contained. “And you know it.”

  Of course I did. It had been Suvis, dressed as one. The Xiaolans didn’t even have a strong motive to make such a move, but most everyone was so laughably gullible, believing only what they saw on the face of things.

  “I’m afraid I only know what I’ve heard in the palace.” Everyone is gossiping about it, I didn’t add. About you. “But I have no doubt your own intentions are pure.”

  A wonderful nonstatement, that. Pure what? Pure malice? Pure greed? Pure jealousy? One could read anything into it.

  Her sharp eyes narrowed. Even amid what might be a truly disappointing and grievous situation for her, they were as perfectly black-lined as ever. I grudgingly respected that.

  “In fact,” she murmured speculatively, “I wonder why the assassin didn’t come for me.”

  Because then it would have been far too obvious who had sent him. “That would have been equally tragic. Heathran would only be mourning you instead of his father.” Besides, I’d be happy to have her killed eventually.

  “There will be no mourning my absence now, hm?” She cast her gaze down to the gold-streaked marble, her tone falsely pensive.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t think you responsible.”

  She didn’t bother to dignify that with a reply. Even if no direct ties linked the assassin to her, she was suspect, to be forever associated with the Elder’s death—an assassination so astounding it surpassed even my parents’. Heathran would have a hard time ever looking at her again without thinking of it. Any relationship between them, or their families, had been effectively poisoned.

  “I hear Nevarian is alive and has declared himself king,” Daiyen said, as if in passing, not like it was explosive news.

  Nev, the stubbornly persistent bastard, had revealed that I’d been the one to assassinate my parents and then frame him for it. At least, so far, no one seemed to be taking the accusation seriously, other than the generals on Aaltos. In this case, my past reputation was serving me well. Solara Dracorte, the bubbly social butterfly, the conniving mastermind behind the second-greatest assassination in recent memory? It was ridiculous.

  And it had occurred to almost no one that I could be behind the greatest.

  But perhaps one person knew better. Daiyen had raised her eyes to hold mine again, this time with sharp, seething hatred. But then her gaze drifted over my shoulder.

  I turned and cursed inwardly. Shadia Belarius was headed toward us—worse, toward her brother’s quarters. Now that I’d seen her, it would only be proper for me to cede Heathran’s time to a grieving member of the family. But this was my precious window, and I couldn’t let her occupy it.

  But Daiyen swept by me without another word. When she reached the girl, she took her into her arms. Over her shoulder, Shadia’s face crumpled, and she wept.

  Shadia, at least, didn’t believe her at fault. For the moment, I didn’t mind. In fact, I almost could have thanked my erstwhile rival. In trying to prove the genuineness of her sympathy, Daiyen was helping me still.

  Taking advantage of Shadia’s delay, I continued down the hall to reach Heathran before his sister could. Now that she was in the middle of what could be deemed a social engagement, I wasn’t breaking decorum, and she would be if she intruded upon my private moment with her brother.

  Guards flanked the gilded double doors, which were towering, unadorned, and imposing, like the rest of the palace’s features. Even the guards themselves were the same.

  I clasped my hands demurely in front of me. “Please let His Highness—excuse me, His Majesty, the Elder—know that Queen Solara Dracorte is here to see him, if he will have me.”

  One of the guards touched his ear and murmured into a comm. The gesture acted as a reminder, and I discreetly reached up, as if toying with my hair, to shut off my own. I didn’t want anything interrupting.

  The guard’s eyebrow twitched in surprise at whatever he heard on the other end of his comm. Good. I’d done well enough before, but now would be the tricky part. After another “Yes, Your Majesty,” he turned back to me
. “He will see you.” He bowed his head as he opened a door.

  The interior was dimly lit, golden lamps glinting off the gilded furniture and trim. The white marble floor was pooled in light as I stepped over it, to where Heathran was seated, head bowed, on a simple purple-upholstered divan with golden legs.

  I needed him to look up at me in this perfect lighting. I paused in front of him, hugging my arms in a vulnerable stance. A sob hitched in my throat, the sound delicate but audible in the silent sitting room.

  He looked up in surprise, since it was certainly no noise Solara Dracorte had ever made in public. His red-rimmed eyes widened farther. My plain white gown of mourning glowed in the lamplight, modestly covering me from wrists to toes with a high neck and long, wide sleeves. My only concession to his taste was a thick gold collar that clasped my neck. Otherwise, I was what he would least anticipate.

  Heathran wasn’t stupid. His father had just died. He would expect people—especially someone like me—to appeal to him in any way possible to get what they needed. To take advantage.

  In our distrust, at least, we were alike.

  “Heathran,” I choked. “I’m so, so sorry. Words cannot describe…”

  He had to blink several times and clear his throat before he could speak himself. “Thank you, Solara. Please, sit.” He nodded to the spot next to him on the divan.

  I slid shakily next to him, not so close as to be indecent, but not too far.

  “I know only too well how you are feeling.” I wrung my hands, without overdoing it. “The pain is so great, and for an heir, the burden so overwhelming.”

  “You, of anyone, would know how I feel,” he murmured, looking down at his own clasped hands, not at me.

  Still, this was a response he expected. That wouldn’t suffice.

  “I do. I wasn’t sure if my father loved me, either.”

  His eyes shot to me. It was a gamble, telling such a raw truth and expecting him to admit his own, but at least I had his attention.