by Tammy Salyer
Jaemus frowned. “That’s a bit heavy of a thing to put on me, Cote. I mean, yes, it’s what I’ve been trying to do all along, but—”
“And now maybe you can. You survived being pierced by a weapon that they say has the ability to destroy one of these Verities. You’re up to it.”
Thoughtfully, Jaemus put his hand where the scar of Knight Evernal’s sword should be. The truth was, he felt nothing, not even the tiniest of aches, as if it hadn’t happened. But it had. He remembered it all too well, and the Knights often reminded him of it, congratulating him and thanking him for his courage in such a dire moment. The rest of the Glisternaut crew had their doubts about the story, but with so much to marvel at in this new world, they were willing to accept it, or at least not question it.
Still, the idea troubled him that perhaps he truly was, even though in his fantasies he’d always fancied himself to be, now the one who could save Himmingaze. The reality of it settled with all the weight of, well, a world, on his shoulders.
Cote coughed.
Jaemus patted him on the back until the fit ended. “That cold seems to be getting worse.”
“It’s lingering, true. Maybe a result of this new world—the exposure to things we’ve never been exposed to before. The food may not be agreeing with us.”
“Us?”
“Some of the crew are feeling poorly, too. Nothing serious, and you seem as healthy as ever. I’m sure it will pass. I feel a bit better than yesterday. What were the Knights meeting about?”
Cote was too pallid, his rigid Glisternaut commander poise betraying a stoop in his shoulders, and Jaemus considered whether he should worry him further about the issue. He decided to go ahead and explain what he knew, which really wasn’t much. Cote wouldn’t let him sidestep it anyway.
“They’ve been asked by the local leader to grant her an audience with Vaka Aster. And they aren’t inclined to trust the woman.”
“Why?”
“Some kind of disagreement from before, or maybe worse than a disagreement, between them and the people of this, erm, legislative municipality.” Himmingaze had no word for “kingdom,” and Cote wouldn’t know the Elder Veros term.
Cote looked troubled. “We’re caught in the middle of something we have no means of getting out of. Meanwhile, Himmingaze grows wetter and colder by the day. Jae, do everything you can to learn what advantages you’ve been given, and quickly. You didn’t ask for it, but not all luck is sought. And this is luck, but not luck alone.” He grasped Jaemus’s hand. “I’m sorry I doubted you when you told me the old beliefs were important. I didn’t know better. You did. I won’t doubt you again.”
Even when I doubt myself? he wondered.
Considering his words before continuing, Cote went on. “We are grateful for this hospitality they’ve given us. But there comes a time when hospitality, especially the kind that confines you behind walls not of your choosing, becomes not generosity but prison.”
His words echoed Jaemus’s own earlier thoughts. Cote pulled his hand from Jaemus’s and rubbed the back of his neck as if it pained him. “The rest of the ’Nauts will understand the dangers our differences could invite if we tried mixing with people from this world—especially after the people here have already been invaded by another group from elsewhere. But…we can’t hide behind these walls forever. And Himmingaze doesn’t have forever, either.”
Chapter Thirteen
A warm breeze hinting at early summer carried through the tall oriels circling the throne room’s walls rising gracefully into cross-vault arches. Ulfric sat at the base of the throne, lost in the stillness of his thoughts. He hadn’t truly slept since awakening as the celestial vessel.
In the arches’ apex, a crystal oculus that outdated Ulfric by eight hundred turns had been set. In those days before the War of Rivening, when Vaka Aster was still present in her corporeal vessel, the oculus illuminated the sky over Ivoryss like an earthbound sun whenever the Verity was in this chamber, inspiring awe in all commoners. Those days of long ago had been wonderous, indeed, prosperous for all of Vinnr, bringing a long peace that many had believed would be permanent. Since the Cataclysm and war with Dyrrakium, though, and the waning of and eventual abandonment by Vaka Aster beginning around the same time, wonder had been missing from Vinnr.
It was still early in the morning before the summit, and Ulfric was strangely ill at ease. The realization that in a way Vaka Aster’s absence from her creations for so long had inevitably been what brought wonder back to Vinnr clouded his thoughts. Because it was a dark kind of wonder, arriving in the form of Balavad the usurper and desecrator of Vaka Aster’s realm. Was there an inevitability to these events he just couldn’t grasp, a balance in the Cosmos that was too great and terrible for even Knights as long-lived as he to fully understand? Did it matter?
Ulfric stepped to a window that looked out over the city and kingdom beyond. Peering below, he mourned the devastation. Buildings with collapsed roofs and broken doors, signs of fires and chaos everywhere. Balavad’s doing, of course. How many had lost their lives? It was a reminder that today’s summit with the Arch Keeper would be equally rough if her intentions were not genuine. And in his experience, they never were.
A knock at the door pulled him back to the present. “Come.”
Stave entered with a customary sort of comment: “Try not to get hit in the head today, Ulfric. You know what happens when you do. Ready to go then? Safran is down at the main gate waiting for you.”
“Let’s get this over with—again,” he said simply.
Ulfric retrieved his thick eye shields. He’d created them to use for working wystic metals in Stave’s forge, the kind that could only be fully evaluated through specially designed lenses. Now they were repurposed to shield his eyes from onlookers and replace his chromatic Verity-enhanced sight with something more natural. He’d lost the ones he’d borrowed from Jaemus aboard Balavad’s warship. The most interesting thing about them, though, was that although he’d specially designed these for wystic artifacts, and Jaemus had designed his for the practical purpose of seeing better in the dark, having no idea when he’d done so how to harness wystic arts to improve them, neither set was any better than the other. Jaemus’s talents were impressive.
When they descended to the gate, both Mallich and Jaemus awaited them. Mallich wished him and Safran luck and held up one of the Fenestrii to indicate he would be waiting for word.
The engineer, looking almost self-conscious, gave Ulfric the Knight salute, then cleared his throat. “Ulfric,” he said, “just a quick punctilio, if you don’t mind. If things were to become…fraught at this meeting, would your Vaka Aster protect you?”
Would she? He had asked, no, demanded, that she leave him be to resolve these conflicts himself. How vulnerable was he now? How present was she?
Vaka Aster? he tested, but in his head, all was silent.
His discomfort grew, but he hid it and gripped the engineer’s shoulder reassuringly. “Faith in the fight, Bardgrim.”
Jaemus raised a dubious eyebrow but said nothing more.
“Luck, faith, and”—Stave rapped his knuckles on his own head—“keep your head down,” he said as they pushed open the wicket door set inside the gate.
Ulfric gave him a good-natured clap on the back. “Keep your wits and your axes ready, old friend.”
After Safran and Stave exchanged an embrace and Mallich tipped his chin in farewell, Ulfric and Safran stepped past Vigil Tower’s broken outer gate into the streets of Asteryss and began a solemn march to Aster Keep. Unlike last time, no Halla-powered skimmer was available to take them, so they set out early, knowing most of the city was preparing for the ceremony. Safran called to Yggo and Urgo to keep watch over their heads and ensure their path was safe.
By the time they arrived at Aster Keep’s steps that led to the rampart and the upper keep’s inner courtyard, Ulfric had seen up close enough of the damage wrought by Balavad’s forces to feel drastically less horrif
ied at the thought that the usurper’s entire realm had been obliterated. Asteryss would take many turns to recover, and the destruction by Balavad had been utterly unprovoked.
Two Dragør Marines met them at the base of the keep’s steps. Exchanging a minimum of words, Ulfric and Safran followed them up.
Not yet midday, Ulfric sent to Safran, preferring to keep their communications not audible to the Marines, though there was no reason not to trust them, and look how many people have already gathered.
Around the city as far as Ulfric could see, newly sewn and embroidered blue-and-white banners depicting the kingdom’s dragør emblem fluttered from towers and atop roofs that had either been restored or remained undamaged from the usurper’s attack. Surrounding the keep’s walls, small groups of people were already present, looking forward to the official ceremony led by the Arch Keeper that would allow them to publicly mourn and begin to heal.
Safran nodded. It’s a clear indication of how ready they are to put this behind them.
Ulfric had to agree. As they reached the upper courtyard, the absence of the squadron of Dragør Wing fighters that had been there last time shook his nerves slightly. There were none because the entire fighter battalion had been destroyed. Not only Asteryss had been weakened, he was coming to realize, but the whole kingdom, and he wondered how close it had come to a fatal downfall.
No need to wonder, Ulfric, he told himself. You know quite well how close they came. How close we all did.
“You’ll need to leave all of your weapons with us,” the first armored Marine said, his voice not quite a command. “And the flying stones.”
Ah, yes, their secret was out.
Leveling the dark lenses of his eye shields on the man, Ulfric said, “We will not comply, Marine. We are all allies here.”
Their two escorts shared a glance, and Ulfric wasn’t sure if their hesitancy was because they feared having to disarm the two Knights by force—and face a highly unequal fight—or because they were considering how true Ulfric’s words were. Allies. It felt almost foreign on his tongue.
“Stallari Aldinhuus is correct,” a voice said, and Ulfric looked aside to see Commander Brun, leader of the Ivoryssian Dragør Marines, approaching from the left. “If we cannot trust the Order of the Knights Corporealis that saved both Ivoryss and Yor from doom, we have no right to call ourselves a Verity-faithful kingdom.”
She called me Stallari Aldinhuus, Ulfric sent. Safran, it seems my role as the vessel is not known.
She returned, So it does. Still, we should remain cautious.
He didn’t disagree with that.
The stout Dragør Marine leader planted herself before the two lower-ranking soldiers, who both looked visibly relieved at having avoided a hard choice. She dismissed them with a wave. “I will accompany the Knights. Back to your posts.”
Before they started their trek through the long courtyard, Brun appraised Ulfric and Safran a moment. Then she said, “You are welcome here, Knights, at least by me.”
“Commander Brun, I’m very pleased to see you’ve come through this…war unscathed,” Ulfric responded, unable to overcome his inborn stiffness with the commander. Their few interactions had been tense always, and unfriendly mostly.
Brun nodded shortly. “Though I didn’t see for myself what you did, Stallari, my troops who were aboard the desecrator’s ship have detailed everything that happened in full. I’m not going to claim I understand it—though I expect an explanation—but I can say without a breath of hesitation that I no longer doubt the existence of the Verities.”
You’d be feebleminded not to, Ulfric thought but bit his tongue against saying it aloud. Instead, he gave a nod of his own. When Brun remained standing in place and said nothing more, Ulfric realized: “You mean you would like an explanation now?”
The commander’s face tensed in a look that showed her patience was limited. “Let me be clear. We, as in the Knights and the Marines I command, are allies. Look at the troops along the walls up there”—she pointed to the crenellations above them—“and those here at the keep’s steps. They are loyal to me. But neither of us knows what to expect when you meet with the Arch Keeper, and her new inner cadre of guards follow no commander but her.”
Brun’s eyes swept across the city, taking in the accumulating crowds whose voices were silent, unlike last time Ulfric had been to Aster Keep. “Things are different in Ivoryss, now,” she went on. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. It helps us both to know all the plays, all the pieces, and all the facts of this game.” The look on her face showed this was the furthest thing from a game that it could be to the leader of the Dragør Marines. “And the fact that only two of you came tells me you already agree with me, in theory if not in practice. Yet.”
The tirade, sermon almost, caught Ulfric by surprise. He knew Brun was blunt, but her words and the implications of them bordered on tyranny against the Arch Keeper. Yet, though he did trust Brun’s loyalty, to her troops anyway, he remained committed to keeping his secret for as long as he could.
As he started to tell Brun that no explanation would be coming, Safran sent: Wait. Allow me to brush up on my old skills. She withdrew Vaka Aster’s Fenestros from the pocket in her cloak. “Commander Brun,” she said through the stone.
To Ulfric, her voice was familiar—the same one he always heard when Safran channeled through the Mentalios link—if slightly distorted. But Brun’s face showed frank surprise for a moment before she locked her features back into her usual scowl.
“We are friends,” Safran continued. She held the Fenestros cupped in one hand before her and held out her other hand peacefully. “Our loyalty to our maker must still, as always, come first. In keeping with our oath to Vaka Aster and our duty to protect the vessel, the Knights are not at liberty to divulge some things.” Her tone through the stone reverberated slightly when she stopped speaking, a hint of an echo trailing into the quiet spring air.
Recovered from her surprise, Brun said stonily, “Such as this.”
Safran dipped her head in agreement. “Please, we are expected by the Arch Keeper. There are misunderstandings and conflicts to resolve, and alliances to be remade. Now is the time.”
In an uncharacteristic show of reasonableness, Brun gave in. “Come,” she said and started toward the main hall at a stiff pace.
Chapter Fourteen
Wing Rekkr’s dragørfly scout had contained only the barest minimum of tools, making the process of scavenging Eisa’s own scout for parts slower going than she’d anticipated or wanted. If threatening the commoner would have made the work go faster, she’d have done it. For that matter, if blinding him with her dagger would have been any use, she’d have done that too. She felt an unaccountable sense of urgency, an urgency that hadn’t let up at all since Balavad’s attack, despite the threat having seemingly dissipated. But the Wing was handy, and he worked diligently, so she kept her threats to a minimum. He may have spent a bit more time than was needed poring over her scout as he disassembled parts, and she suspected the Ivoryssians would soon be seeing their own upgraded scouts when he returned to his squadron. But she let him have this small prize.
Am I going easier on him because he was Evernal’s paramour? she wondered, surprised at her own uncommon compassion for a commoner.
The whole time, she waited for the question she could see in his face he wanted to ask. But she said nothing. When he was ready to know, he would seek the answer.
Eisa stood in the shadow of a massive stone at the edge of the glade Rekkr’s scout sat in and watched the sky. No hint of light on glass or a dragørfly scout wing had flashed, but the Wing’s relief was due today. She wanted to be far enough gone before he or she arrived to avoid any altercation.
Just as she glanced back toward Rekkr, he was dropping the last tool back into its compartment aboard the scout.
He spotted her looking at him. “Ready to go?”
“You think it’ll fly this time?” she asked as she appro
ached to look the scout over.
“I do. And better than it did before, thanks to…” He let his voice trail off, and Eisa pretended not to know why. She’d have to remember to warn the rest of the Knights that any new Wing scouts should be considered with caution.
“Then, for what I hope is the last time, fare you well, Wing,” she said and began to situate her glaive and the armor she’d removed inside the scout’s small rear space.
The sound of his boots coming up behind her made her pause. When she turned, he was standing there, for the first time since their tussle inside the sanctuary not looking like he wanted to punch her in the throat. Here it was, then.
“Knight Nazaria, do you…do you know what happened to Mylla?”
Oh she knew, all right. And now, faced with the question, she realized she hadn’t been sparing him by withholding the news of Mylla’s fate. Rather, she’d been sparing herself.
Eisa didn’t lie. Speaking untruths was a sign of feebleness, as well as failure of the Fourth Dyrrak Phase: overcoming weakness. But she’d had hundreds of turns to learn, and learn well, the subtler skill of avoiding admission of her…mistakes. And she used this skill again.
“Knight Evernal was lost in Himmingaze.”
The commoner said nothing for a moment, but his face grew still as stone. He blinked and let his eyes drift away from hers. His pain was clear, but it was Eisa who felt as if she’d suddenly had a blunt instrument slammed into her gut.
The love in his face, and the loss, was so familiar, so wrenching that for a moment she didn’t trust herself to speak again. She’d felt those things once, and she’d paid for it just like he was.
“She…” Eisa wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but she tried again. “She was an honorable servant of Vaka Aster and a loyal Knight. Till her last breath.”
