by J. C. Owens
His father was silent, staring at him intensely as though he sought something. Whatever it might be, he must have found it, because his fingers squeezed upon Taldan’s in the first sign of affection his father had ever given him.
“I, Demarin Anrodnes, 37th Emperor of the Anrodnes Empire, concede my position, responsibilities, and the power of the Illumitae to Taldan Anrodnes, first born of my sons.” Those fierce eyes rose and glanced out over the crowd. “Are there any who dispute this? Speak now.”
There was a taut silence so deep it was almost physical in nature before the emperor returned his attention to Taldan.
“My son, become the newest emperor of our line. May your reign have the peace that my ancestors and I have fought for. For the first time, an emperor will be crowned in a time of peace, not war, not strife. I pray that it continues this way. Given that it does not, I am fully confident that you will lead this country with the strength of your forebears and their accumulated wisdom.”
Taldan felt his chest tighten. The first praise he had ever received from his father’s lips.
He prayed that his father’s faith in him was justified.
“Prepare.”
No more warning than that.
Blue flame shot up Taldan’s arms, encased him in its fiery embrace. It was ecstasy, it was agony all twined into one moment of intensity. He arched under its assault, heard the screaming of a thousand voices within his mind, the cacophony making his senses reel.
His father’s hands were the only thing anchoring him to any type of reality.
Colors spun past his vision, scents that he could not identify curling around him. There was fiery heat interspersed with moments of intense, painful cold, and his body twisted with the sensations, a human form that had no concept of how to endure such incredible forces.
For a split second, he thought he gazed upon the gods’ faces…
Then it was no longer an image, it was reality.
He could see them, feel them, their energies swirling around him, encasing him, and for a moment, he knew stark terror lest they reject him as unworthy, for surely nothing born of the earth could possibly be enough to compare to their wonder, their beauty.
Their power.
Their energies seemed to swirl into a single orb of light, a powerful pulsing blue that ebbed and flowed into different shades as he watched.
He felt a gentle touch upon his cheek and turned to meet the eyes of the goddess of love and compassion, Hildainas. There was sadness in her gaze, and for a moment her touch seemed like that of a mother he had long since forgotten.
She leaned forward, laying a soft kiss upon his forehead. Her mark of blessing. It burned so that he cried out and fell backward. The Illumitae flowed into him like a tidal wave of force, sweeping him away only to come back to himself with a gasp, finding himself where he had been, kneeling before his father.
The pain upon his forehead remained, the exhaustion in his body and mind did not leave.
He blinked, disoriented, then stared as his father went to his knees before him so that they were eye to eye, equals.
Demarin reached out, touching Taldan’s forehead with his fingers, and Taldan could have sworn he saw tears in his father’s eyes.
They were blinked away so swiftly that he could not be sure.
His father rose and urged him up, steadying him with one hand. On the other side, another hand tentatively offered support, and he could “feel” Antan in a way that should have been impossible but was steadily growing.
Demarin turned Taldan toward the crowd that was watching the proceedings in a reverent silence, many murmuring prayers. “He bears the touch of the gods. He is worthy of being emperor.”
Amazingly gently, his father turned Taldan so they faced each other.
Demarin made a gesture toward his face, and suddenly Sarnwa was at his side, gently reaching up to unbuckle the mask.
The mask slid down into Demarin’s grip, and suddenly Taldan was facing his father.
He had seen portraits. All emperors had one made before ascension. Taldan himself had one being finished. But the man in those portraits had been young, albeit with old eyes that had seen far too much violence.
This man, his father in the present, was so much older, with lines on his face and weariness in his eyes.
The mark of a kiss scarred his forehead.
Behind him, Sarnwa laid his hands upon Demarin’s shoulders as if offering both strength and comfort.
His father took a deep breath, and there was pain in his eyes. “Turn around, my son. This day, you are emperor, the heart and soul of Anrodnes.”
Taldan lingered for a moment longer, looking his fill of his father, before he braced himself and turned back to face the mass of people once more.
Demarin stood to the side of him and gently lowered the mask down over Taldan’s face. For a moment there was blindness and a sense of confinement that almost made him flinch, then the eye holes were aligned, and he could see once more. He could feel his father adjusting the buckles, feel the tugs upon the straps.
Then he was alone.
“Behold, Emperor Taldan, 38th Emperor of Anrodnes. May his reign be long. May his wisdom and strength guide us.”
Then the room bowed their foreheads to the ground in a wave of reverence that felt unreal, as though this could not be for him.
He blinked, turning his head slightly as he saw his father go down to his knees before him, Sarnwa beside him.
He wanted to reach out, to raise them up, because this was not his place, not his…
But it was.
Turning his head the other way, realizing how his line of sight had changed, had become limited with little peripheral vision, he saw Naral go to one knee, and Hredeen followed but chose to bow his head to the floor in a sign of great reverence.
Taldan gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to fling the mask off, to deny what his fate was.
He looked out over the sea of people, the way they bowed to him, saw him as the one to keep them safe, to ensure that the world they knew continued on its course.
He took a steadying breath. He just had to get past this day to where he could just sit and think. Begin to comprehend what this all meant and how he would go forward.
For now, it was time to play the part, to act as though he actually knew what he was doing.
Thank the gods for those who had coached him in the proper responses, the necessary timing of each part of the ceremony.
“Rise.” His voice did not sound his own. Distorted by the mask, changed by the Illumitae, his voice was richer, with a power behind it that seemed to vibrate the air itself.
The people rose, staring at him in awe until they realized and averted their faces. He was not to be looked upon.
He glanced toward Hredeen, his heart spasming as he met those eyes for a brief moment, before the concubine gracefully turned his head to the right, looking away and to the ground.
Pain ripped through his heart so that for a moment, he thought his heart would simply stop.
He tore his gaze away, staring blindly out over the masses, clenching his fingers until they drew blood from the palms of his hands.
Get this over with. By the gods, please.
His gaze fell upon Antan, kneeling before him, the only one who did not turn away.
The brown eyes were filled with compassion that Taldan did not feel he truly deserved. He had done nothing for this man other than imprison him. Yet he freely gave Taldan a sense of his empathy.
He needed to do better for Antan. His will firmed. This might be a shaky start, but they were both intelligent, independent men. Surely they could find a way.
Taldan reached out his hands, and once more, Antan laid his within Taldan’s grasp.
He just had to remember the correct words, and most importantly, to let the Illumitae trickle into Antan.
His Chosen would never be able to survive more than a whisper of the power, yet it would link them together soul to
soul, an unbreakable bond.
Taldan forced himself to gentle his grip, to meet his Chosen’s gaze squarely.
“Antan Gertem, my Chosen. I ask you to share in my journey, to share in the gift of the gods that I now hold.”
Antan gave a small, comforting smile, his eyes softening. “I will walk with you on this journey. I am honored to receive the portion of the Illumitae reserved for the Chosen.”
Taldan nodded, then closed his eyes. To his surprise, he did not need to focus or search for the ability to complete the ceremony. It was as though there were memories that were not his own within his mind. Memories that made the blue fire spring to his fingertips.
He opened his eyes, staring with fascination as the flames leaped and flickered, twining about his flesh with such intensity that surely it should burn, should mar. Yet it felt almost comforting.
Carefully, he let the flames lick at Antan’s hands, holding his breath until he could see Antan’s fascination, not pain.
Antan’s head fell back, his mouth opening slightly as though the flame were pleasure itself.
There was a flash of movement. Antan’s eyes opened, wide and shocked, fixed upon Taldan’s bewildered stare. Blood began to flow from Antan’s mouth, his eyes, his ears, flows of it, bright red against purest white.
Antan’s grip was ripped from his own, and chaos descended.
* * *
Naral
Later, Naral would realize that he couldn’t even recall exactly what had happened, so fast had it all occurred.
It was all his fault.
He had been fixated upon what was happening between Taldan and Antan, the amazing transfer of magic between them, a sight so rare that no one in the room had wanted to miss it. He had trusted in the guards and the Shadows to keep an eye on everything around them.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
The last clear image he had was of a thin line of blue light flowing into Antan’s hands and slowly traveling up his arms.
There had been a blur of movement, a surge of power that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He had glimpsed Valsen toward the back of the room, hands spread wide, chanting, malicious gaze fixed upon the tableau of Taldan and Antan.
Then Hredeen had lunged from beside him with a speed that Naral could not believe. He shoved through the masses of people, throwing people aside without care…
Blood was flowing from Antan’s eyes, his mouth and ears. The Chosen was rigid, still wreathed in the blue flames, hands still gripping Taldan’s.
Hredeen leaped, a snarl upon his face, blades suddenly in his hands…
Blood sprayed into the air, over Hredeen’s distorted features, as he swiftly and effortlessly killed Valsen Maltes with a single thrust to the throat.
The mage went down to his knees, frustration and rage intermingled in his expression, magic flaring around him before winking out completely, shock reflected in his own death.
His body fell in a mirror image of Antan, who lay, blood covered, eyes fixed and staring at nothing at all. Blue flame shot from Antan’s body, encasing Taldan, surging and twining around him aggressively.
Taldan screamed in seeming agony, eyes wide and seething with intense blue energy, before collapsing, his body convulsing, the fire radiating wildly around him.
The Shadows surged around the emperors both, drawing weapons, some of them holding blades bared against Hredeen as confusion reigned. The crowd screamed and surged, trying to escape what seemed to be an assassination plot, stampeding for the doors.
Demarin struggled to hold Taldan down, gesturing everyone else back. “You cannot touch him! It would mean your death when the Illumitae is unfettered! Stay back!”
The former emperor shouted a single word, and Taldan fell silent and still, head lolling to the side, the fire flickering and dying.
“Quickly! Get him to his rooms. Heavily guard him. We do not know how far this plot goes or who will be involved.” Demarin’s voice shook with rage.
Sarnwa stood over Demarin and his son, protective, long blades in hand, expression deadly.
Naral rushed to Taldan, helping to lift him as several of the Shadows stepped forward to help, more of them circling the group, weapons in hand. Beyond them, his staff was pushing through the crowd, sharp eyes searching for any other traitors.
Several Shadows had knelt beside Antan, but it was far too late.
The artist, Taldan’s Chosen, lay dead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Raine
Raine felt a terrible urgency and dread, a sense of something happening just beyond his understanding. He paced the tiny cell, weaving through the chairs and around the table time and again, unable to settle. Anxiety pooled in his stomach, making him feel slightly nauseous.
He knew today was the bonding, the coronation. Isnay had kept him well-informed of the proceedings.
Something had gone terribly wrong. The certainty of that was almost overwhelming.
The cell door flew open wide, slamming against the wall behind with extreme force.
Naral stormed into the room and grabbed Raine’s arm with bruising force, half dragging him from the cell.
Raine stumbled, fear riding in his thoughts as Naral roughly hauled him down the prison corridor. He turned his head, realizing that Shadows strode behind him, weapons in hand.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.” Naral’s tone was full of fury, and Raine could detect extreme pain and fear intermingled.
Raine kept his silence, not wanting to anger the man any more than he already was. Instead, he tried to move faster, to comply with the sense of urgency that literally pulsed from Naral.
At his cooperation, Naral glanced at him in surprise before turning his grim gaze back onto their route through silent, empty hallways. His grip softened, however, perhaps at the realization that Raine did not have to be forced.
It seemed little time at all until they reached the forbidden area of the palace, the entrance to the royal family’s wing of the vast building complex. The guards, many more than Raine remembered and with grim expressions, flung the doors wide, and they passed through them. Raine could hear the doors slam in their wake, making him feel a sense of entrapment.
Their pace did not slacken. He was almost panting by the time they reached an area far within the wing. Here, a large group of Shadows was gathered, their fierce eyes piercing Raine. He flinched back, but Naral only tightened his grip once more, dragging him forward to the open doors ahead.
Once within the room, Raine’s breath left him at what lay before them.
Upon a massive bed, ornate and elegant, lay Taldan. Motionless, staring blindly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The mask lay to the side, abandoned.
Shock, fear, and horror ripped through Raine as he stared, unable to breathe. What in the names of the gods had happened?
Then Hredeen was before him, grasping his hand, leading him to the bedside. Raine stumbled in his wake, unable to take his eyes off Prince Taldan—no, Emperor Taldan now.
“You have to try, Raine.” Hredeen’s voice held fear, and he turned Raine to face him, grasping his shoulders and shaking him lightly to gain his complete attention.
“What happened?” Raine’s tone was pure shock, barely more than a whisper. His vision blurred with tears that he fought to blink away.
“It doesn’t matter at the moment. I’ll explain later. Suffice to say that the Illumitae was damaged, and it back lashed into Taldan. His Chosen is dead.”
Raine remembered Antan’s courtesy, his quiet good will toward him, and he felt a surge of grief that such talent, such vitality could cease to exist.
“Without his Chosen, the energy snapped back into Taldan. A Chosen must be found to take the excess from him, to complete the flow that was severed. We have tried the other three candidates. None of them could come close. The Illumitae surged up against them, drove them away, nearly killing them. If you cannot do this, then he may die before we fin
d another.” He leaned closer, holding Raine’s gaze effortlessly. “Remember what I felt, what I believed.”
He stared back into Hredeen’s desperate eyes, remembering the concubine’s words. That Raine would become the Chosen. Somehow. Someway.
Raine swallowed hard and nodded.
Approval and relief flashed into Hredeen’s eyes before he turned Raine to face the bed and pushed him gently toward it.
Seated on the bed, one hand upon his son, the former emperor watched him with suspicious intensity.
Raine approached hesitantly, his gaze leaving Demarin and settling upon Taldan. He reached the bed, close enough to watch a trickle of fresh blood flow from Taldan’s mouth, down his cheek, onto a bloodstained pillow.
Raine reached out, cautious, expecting the blue flame to lash out at him for his temerity but pushing away the fear. He was determined to do anything he could to help. The sight of Taldan hurt was like a knife in his heart.
There was nothing. His touch landed gently upon a painfully hot cheek, the flesh covered with sweat.
Pain. The sensations burst over him so that he gasped and half fell against the bed, though his touch never wavered.
Terrible pain, so that everything was skewed, everything out of place, so that he did not know up from down, could not find himself…
It took a moment to realize that it was not him who was lost. It was Taldan.
That was all it took. He did not think, did not consider the likelihood of the Illumitae attacking, he simply dove into the well of thought, searching.
It took only moments to find Taldan in this place of dreams, huddled down, arms crossed over his head, a cry of agony frozen upon his face.
Raine went to him. He hunkered down, gently touched his hands.
Blue eyes flew open, met his with rage, rage that tempered into confusion, then faint recognition.
“My emperor…” The words came easily to Raine’s lips, as though they had always belonged there. “Take my hands, make me your Chosen and let me heal you. I am yours.”
There was a flash of refusal in those blue eyes before he squeezed his eyes shut in agony once more. It took time before he could meet Raine’s gaze once more, and finally, he reached out so that their hands joined, palm to palm.
