“Write up another decree,” she said impatiently.
The fishman nodded and scribbled in a notebook. He was diligent when it came to the minutia.
Maddox whistled as gazed up at the kraken. “This is one ugly ass throne room.”
Pisclatet sighed. “Pisclatet has said this many times.”
Jessa had heard the news about Sword by way of seal. The young mage standing in front of her was both a familiar face and a stranger. It made her smile that his candor seemed to come from him and not just the Sword. “I’m glad you are yourself again, Archwizard Baeland. We haven’t formally met, and I look forward to getting to know you.”
“Sword actually does a pretty good impression,” Maddox admitted. “It’s better at being true to a person than they are… usually.”
Sword had stayed back in the Mirrored City to assist with the Patreans and search the undercity for more information about its creator.
Jessa sighed. “Sword’s presence will be missed, but I’m glad you’ve decided to join us. And with a new friend?”
Heath motioned to the woman beside him. “This is my apprentice, Lyta Ibazz, of whom I’ve sent word.”
“Most impressive,” Jessa said. “We will have to get better acquainted in less formal settings. But anyone Heath would vouch for is counted within my trust.”
The girl blushed and looked away. It was hard to imagine this shy slender woman being the warrior Heath described, but someone might have thought the same of Jessa at passing glance.
“Now that you’ve seen the Palace, we can acquit ourselves of this ‘ugly ass’ throne room.” Her lip quirked. “I would speak to Heath privately on some boring matters of state. Pisclatet will show the rest of you to your respective villas and introduce you to your attendants. You have but to ask and any request will be granted.”
She paused and then looked at Maddox. “I have already taken the liberties of ensuring your chambers are well stocked with firebrandy. There is no more to be found in the city.”
He pressed his hand to his chest. “You make an awesome empress. Guides bless you, Majesty.”
Heath put his hand on Lyta’s shoulder. “I’ll catch up, and we can work on your training with the springblade.”
She nodded and left with Maddox and Pisclatet.
Once the chamber was clear, Jessa narrowed her silver eyes to slits and bore down on Heath. “What the fucking fuck, Heath? You killed the Patriarch of Baash without my leave or even consulting me? That is not what I sent you to do!”
“Apologies.” Heath bowed. “But Baash no longer exists and the Patriarch would have died in the Harrowing for certain. My mistake in acting prematurely to secure our interests.”
“Don’t give me that shit,” Jessa said. “I get enough of it from Sireen.”
“Fine.” Heath dropped the pretense. “I killed the fucker because his religion is a threat to ours and his stubbornness was an obstacle to building a unified empire where people elect their leaders and no men are slaves. I would have spit on his corpse if I’d had the time to do it.”
Jessa pleaded, “We are trying to be different than the Stormlords before us, Heath. I have centuries of precedent painting me as a bloodthirsty despot. You represent something new, a different direction away from the lies and intrigue, but you engage in them more egregiously than my kin.”
Heath walked closer to the throne. “You. You are what’s new and different. Your son Torin will also be different. But until we know what that looks like, you need me to do what you are unwilling to do.”
She folded her hands. “You could just as easily sit on this throne. We are equals in power, though you go to great lengths to hide it. Even in the face of a Harrower, you didn’t call Kondole. Why not claim your rightful place if you know so much what needs to be done?”
Heath placed his hands behind his back. “The practical answer is that I’m dying, though that is no longer true. I would rather see you to power than someone like me. If it were my choice, you would have never known. But the insular faith of the Ohanites stands in complete opposition to democracy yet hides behind the ideals of religious tolerance even as it works to impose theocracy. They’re a problem if we want to unite the Protectorate and Dominance.”
“He had children,” Jessa said. “A family.”
“Would you have liked to have been his daughter?” Heath asked. “Would you want that family for yourself? Because I know someone who was raised by these people and taught to hate herself because she was different.”
“Tragic indeed,” Jessa said. “Yet I know when you’re only telling me half the story, Heath. My mother was the Queen of Lies, and you are not her equal.”
His silver eyes regarded hers. “You’ve changed.”
She stared back at him. “I only see you more clearly.”
“So are you going to reprimand me?” Heath inquired.
Jessa rested her face in her hand. “You know I won’t. I’m just… disappointed. I will shed no tears, save to mourn all the innocent citizens of the Mirrored City who were taken from Creation before their time. I would hear your thoughts on the outcome of our longer-term plans.”
Heath smiled. “The provisional government in the Mirrored City appoints a sympathetic representative to the Grand Assembly, thanks to the new districts and the participation of Patrean voters. I also hear word that the Grand Ambassador from Velrailles turns toward favor of alliance now that Nasara is defeated without need for military resources. The vote is secure and the terms will be accepted.”
“Patrean voters,” Jessa mused. “Is such a thing legal?”
Heath shrugged. “They are technically citizens of the Protectorate. They just never exercised their rights in any great number, neither did they run for office.”
Jessa asked, “Could this pose a problem? If their interests, for whatever reason, do not align with ours?”
Heath said, “They constitute the bulk of the military force for every advanced nation. So if they start to value their newfound independence over their sworn contracts… yes. But I see it as an opportunity.”
“For what?”
Heath shrugged. “Imagine if every standing army of every nation turned to our cause. We would have a knife at the throat of every tyrant and corrupted official in all of Creation. Thrycea could expand to every corner of the world without even shredding a single drop of blood. You could end every pointless war…”
Jessa paused. “No nation has that kind of wealth, not even Archea.”
“What if it didn’t cost a thing?”
“If it were anyone else, I would say they are crazy,” Jessa challenged.
Heath stepped toward her, his feet standing on the water surrounding her throne as he climbed it to look her in the eye. “Soren is the ranking member of the Patrean race. They defer to him above their contracts. He’s a good kid, and he’s easy on the eye. But Jessa, more importantly—he’s agreed to a marriage uniting Stormlord and Patrean bloodlines.”
“And he’s kind?” Jessa asked.
“Almost pathologically so.”
Words escaped her. Her eyes drifted up to the black pearl globe suspended above her throne, the boundaries of old nations etched into its black mirrored surface. She had never asked for any of this. All she wanted was a comfortable life to raise her son.
And now Creation offered itself to her.
“Yes.” Jessa laughed and embraced him. “Let’s do what my ancestors have attempted for millennia through bloodshed. Let’s build a better world!”
“One we can both be proud of.” He hugged her close to his chest.
Coda
PETRA
The Master and Adept were lost in the forest, and they had already eaten the last of their provisions. The Adept challenged the Master to a friendly contest to see whose magic could find the most food, and the Master agreed.
The Adept used his seals and incantations to give him superior senses and speed. He darted into the forest to hunt for food. He pi
cked up on the scent of a deer and tracked it down to a meadow. Using his Fire Seal, he brought the beast down and with his Invisible Hand carried it back to the camp.
He was stunned to see the Master dining at a fine table, full of cooked meats and plates of vegetables, talking to another man. As it turned out, an old friend of the Master had visited the area on his way from a hunting trip and stumbled into the camp just moments after the Adept had left.
“It seems I have won our little contest,” the Master said.
“But you did not use magic!” the Adept cried.
The Master replied, “The most powerful magic is the kind you never see.”
“Again, you have outsmarted me.*”
The Adept and Master had a good laugh over his lesson, and they enjoyed a fine meal together.
—PARABLE I OF THE MASTER AND ADEPT, AN ARCHEAN CHILDREN’S’ BOOK
[*Translator’s note: You would think the Adept would catch on to these lessons, but this structure repeats itself in one form or another for a full fifty-three parables. Each time, the Adept shows great skill and cleverness in using his abilities only to be outdone by some seemingly random coincidence. It is unclear whether these stories are meant to be humorous and whether the “Adept” character is a cipher for non-Archean mages.]
PETRA CARRIED HER most powerful cat, Nicodemus, through the halls of the Archean senate. The beast was flat faced with wine yellow eyes and a sour gaze but lazy enough to remain in her arms as she walked up the marble steps to the hearing chamber.
It was a small room, with seats for the senate committee above a chamber featuring a small desk with rows of empty benches behind it. A young man sat in the center of the chamber—brown hair perfectly slicked and a smug trace of a smile on his face as he stared impassively at the war council.
She took her seat, stroking her cat, as she glanced at the other senators. Belar, her ex-husband and head of the Moderates, smiled favorably. The Primarch and head of the Transcendental Party sat next to him, an older man with a long black moustache and a towering headdress. Beyond them were Cabel and Caleb, the twins from the Exalted party.
“You’re late,” the Primarch said.
She forced her sincerest apology. “I was detained with my students. Honestly I did not expect to be called to emergency session. Or any important meeting of the senate.” As the head of the Progressive faction, her voice in government was usually limited to screaming in the open chamber while her colleagues turned a deaf ear.
Belar smiled. “You are respected for your abilities in spite of your radical views.”
Caleb added, “Plus, you’ve met the groundling wizard known as Maddox Baeland who is central to these proceedings.”
Petra sighed. “We met for an instant. Why have I been called away from my duties?”
The Primarch motioned to the young man seated in the hearing room. “This is the Emissary. He claims to be one of the Travelers, and he is here to discuss the disturbing events in the old Sarn Capitol.”
“Emissary?” she asked.
The young man smiled courteously. “I am appointed to be a go-between for the Travelers and those outside our kin.”
Cabel challenged, “We have no record of interaction with you. The Travelers have always been their own ambassadors. Why would they need an emissary?”
The Emissary’s face was a perfect mask of calm. “I am usually an emissary to powers greater than the ones living on Creation. This is the first instance where I have interacted with mortal beings in quite some time.”
Petra’s cat hissed. She rubbed his hackled fur. “You are new to us. What would precipitate your involvement in this inquiry?”
He looked at her like she was a fly that had somehow gotten into his soup. “What precipitated your involvement, Petra?”
Before she could answer, the Primarch interrupted, “We lost a sky ship in the Incursion. It was encased in a chrysalis, yet it was destroyed. Your people assured us on multiple occasions that spell would protect us.”
“And it will,” the Emissary stated.
Belar threw up his hands. “Yet it did not! Our dreadnaught was demolished, and the pieces of it are being collected by groundlings. They could develop aerial travel if enough components are salvageable.”
The Emissary admitted, “That is a possibility. But nothing to be concerned about. The failure of the chrysalis was a one-time anomaly arising from a set of conditions that cannot be repeated.”
Petra spoke up, “Why did the protection spell fail?”
The Emissary smiled. “Because destiny required it to.”
The Primarch glowered. “Do not toy with us, Traveler.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. My sole purpose is to dissuade you from taking a reactionary position against the groundling nations. The Patrean dyad is broken, and the Harrower Incursion is a unique incident which will not happen again. Yes, you lost a sky ship, but that is no reason to be concerned. My people have discovered a way to contain future Incursions.”
Cabel pounded his armrest. “That is an exact reason to be concerned!”
Belar scoffed, “You would use any excuse to involve yourself in groundling politics.”
Caleb retorted, “They clearly cannot manage dangerous theurgy. If that has any possible effect on Archean security, we must take more direct action.”
“Do I have a say in what form that intervention should take?” Petra asked.
The Primarch said, “You are here as a consultant, senator. Maddox Baeland was present through the Incursion, and you recommended him for a spot at the Academy.”
She shook her head. “You do not think he caused this?”
“The Harrowings in Rivern and now an Incursion in the Mirrored City,” Belar said. “You have to admit it is suspicious that these things should follow him.”
“He is beneath your concern,” the Emissary said.
“I would tend to agree,” Cabel intimated. “Belar, this is a thin excuse to get your ex-wife invited to a council she should not be privy to.”
Petra looked over to Belar. “What is this council?”
The Primarch stared at her. “This will determine if we need to increase Archea’s security by military action.”
She couldn’t speak. Her eyes glanced at her colleagues. The twins could barely contain their smirks. The Primarch was normally a stoic man, but it was obvious from his fidgeting that he was afraid. Belar did not meet her gaze.
“I’m sure you have sensible thoughts to share on the matter, Petra,” the Emissary said. “My words have failed to soothe them.”
She glared at him. His face was calm, still that same hint of a smile on his lips. She said, “I would expect someone who calls himself an emissary to have chosen better words for this council.”
She addressed her peers. “This sort of action would be madness. Archea doesn’t possess a military to speak of. Would you send our mages to the front lines? We should be proactive in our response, but we should negotiate, open more productive dialogues, and share our knowledge so these Incursions do not happen in the first place. The only crime the groundlings have committed is because of ignorance that we impose.”
Cabel retorted, “Imagine what horrors they could unleash with more knowledge. You do not put out a fire by drowning it in pitch.”
“When have you ever lifted a finger to do anything, let alone put out a fire?” She laughed.
Caleb and his brother stood slowly. “Careful, Petra…”
“Or what?” She clutched Nicodemus against her chest and willed her body to become diamond. Her muscles became long shards of flexible crystal, hard with beveled edges that caught the light. Her gemstone eyes sparkled. “Perhaps you’d like to prove the merits of your argument with theurgy.”
The Primarch shouted, “Enough! We will not do this in front of our guest!”
The Emissary had propped his feet on the desk. “Don’t stop on my account. Heated discussions are often the beginning of progress.”
; “Guides, Petra! Have you lost your fucking mind?” Belar whispered through gritted teeth. “Stand down.”
“I will. When my colleagues return to their seats.”
The brothers shared a look and sat down. Once they had, Petra released her spell, returning her skin to flesh and blood.
The Primarch sighed in relief. “You are dismissed, Senator. We will weigh your opinions with our options.”
She stood. “I suspect they will not weigh heavily. If we go to war, we will need to fight and citizens will die. The groundlings may not be our match in magic, but there are vastly more of them and they know the arts of war.”
She let her words hang over them as she stormed out of the chamber. The die was already cast. Archea, for the first time in its thousand-year history, was going to war.
THE END
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Glossary
Abyss: The deep ocean kingdom ruled by the coelacanth. A water breathing civilization that lives miles under the ocean’s surface in total darkness and beneath massive pressure.
Achelon: The Desecrator, ancient ruler of the city-state of Minas Creagoria. He is the mage thought responsible for the Long Night.
Amhaven: a heavily forested nation to the west of the protectorate. Its capital is Weatherly, and its primary export is exceptional timber from the Maenmarth woods.
Ara: A Patrean blacksmith. Mother of Soren and Shannon.
Archea: A floating continent measuring ten square miles. Population is roughly half a million, with many living underground. Archea condones the use of slave labor and is ruled by a senate of its best and brightest citizens. Appointment is by merit, not popular vote. It is the last intact civilization from before the Second Era.
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