“What is going on? What is all the noise?” Adreet asked as she came down the hall behind me. “Errol, what is it?”
“Candra is hurt,” Errol responded, already reaching for his coat. His expression was grim when he turned back to me. “Stay in this room. I will come back to deal with you after I have seen to Candra. Sit and think about the consequences of your actions. You are lucky she didn’t die!”
I buried my face in my hands as my heart sank to the depths of my shoes. I would never feel happy again. I had hurt my best friend and she could have died because of me. I didn’t deserve to ever smile again.
Errol stepped over me and shut the door firmly behind him. I could make out the sounds of Adreet and her daughters following him down the hall. “What do you mean? What happened to Candra? What do you mean she almost died?” Galatea demanded in rising tones of hysteria.
Doors slammed and Errol yelled for Delmar to bring the wood cart. Then suddenly silence descended and I was truly alone. Crawling into the corner, I curled up and cried.
Much later, when I could cry no more, I heard them return. Voices and a muffled sob approached the house. I huddled against the wall beneath the windows, thankful for the darkness that had descended an hour ago.
“Take her up stairs and make her comfortable,” Errol instructed as the door opened. The following clamor of foot falls on the stairs vibrated through the study punctuated by another sob. My heart squeezed painfully yet again.
The pain in Candra’s sobs when she yelled for her father and the deep disappointment in Errol’s eyes before he turned away haunted my thoughts. What would he do with me? I had deliberately disobeyed, flaunting the code and all that he had so carefully taught me over the past months. The worst punishment I could think of was forbidding me to ever use the talents again. Would he do that? After all, I had just proven that I cannot be trusted to abide by the rules. I was dangerous. As dangerous as those Elitists that I studied in the history book. Didn’t they also ignore the code too, blatantly defying the authority and necessity of law?
I covered my face with my hands. Fresh moisture flooded my eyes. Why couldn’t I just die right now? I wouldn’t have to face Errol then. Of course, I would have to face the goddess and her scales measuring my soul against the weight of a perfect heart. I knew without a doubt in that moment that if my heart were weighed upon that scale I would be found wanting. She would only grow angry and throw it away to be consumed by the rat of the earth.
The door to the study opened and the images of the goddess and the scale fled my thoughts as I stared up at Errol. He stood in the doorway for a moment, outlined by the light of the hall lamp from the frizz about his head to the sturdy set of his legs. Then entering, he closed the door behind him.
“Zezilia?”
I swallowed carefully, but my voice still shook when I replied, “Here.”
“Come here.” He crossed to the lamp on the desk and lit it as I crept from my haven in the corner. Looking me over in the light he frowned. “You must be frozen, child. Why didn’t you light a fire?” He turned to the cold hearth and began to build a fire.
“How is Candra?” I asked hesitantly. I was half afraid that he would tell me that I had no right to know, but he simply answered my question without turning.
“She has a broken collarbone.” He struck a fire stick and lit the tinder. “She will not be climbing trees or doing much of anything for about a month, but she will heal.” He rose from the tending the flickering fire and looked at me.
I quickly lowered my eyes. I didn’t want to see the anger that I knew was there.
“Sit down,” he ordered softly.
I obeyed by quickly perching on my desk chair as far as possible from any other chair. He promptly nullified my efforts by dragging over his desk chair and setting it before me. Easing into it, he sighed.
“Look at me, child.” I reluctantly raised my gaze to his face. His eyes were frowning, but the emotion in them was more disappointment than anger. “As soon as we are done here, you are going to march upstairs and apologize to Candra. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “I am truly sorry, Errol. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
He grunted. “The consequences of our actions are not always as we intend. Be thankful that the results of your transgression were immediately manifested and Candra was only injured. Otherwise, the situation could have been much worse. You could have been lifting a sharp or heavy object above her head. In that situation, no quick thinking on your part would have saved her life.”
I stared at him.
“Yes, you did save her from breaking her neck, but remember that the reason she was in danger of breaking her neck in the first place was your fault.” He folded his arms before him. “I expected better of you, Zez. You are her senior by four years and much more mature. You knew better.”
Tears pressed against the backs of my eyes as I struggled not to cry again. I knew he knew I had been crying, but to start all over again right in front of him would be humiliating. “I am sorry,” I offered meekly. “I won’t do it again.” I bowed my head. He couldn’t trust me anymore. Not that I blamed him.
“I know, Zez. I know you will not do it again.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead on his hand.
“I am going to add a new text to your studies, the Almighty’s Revelation. You will read it every moment that you are not studying the other subjects. You are not allowed to do anything but lessons for the next week. You will eat your meals in here and see no one but Adreet and I. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“Now go apologize to Candra and get to bed.”
I didn’t wait to be told twice. I was across the room with my hand on the door handle when Errol’s voice stopped me. “Zez?” I paused. “I forgive you.”
“Thank you.” I murmured and slipped out into the hall with a heavy heart. Errol’s forgiveness, though welcome, did nothing to lift my heavy heart.
Hadrian
A MIXTURE OF RELIEVED and disgruntled gazes greeted me as I entered the High King’s bed chamber. All six of the lower kings and their oldest sons stood about the room in various poses of boredom, waiting. The Mesitas and his cohort of chanting Segia darkened the right corner of the room with incense and hostile frowns. The High King’s family huddled close to the left side of the bed.
“Sept Son Aleron, my liege,” the old servant announced in a clear voice.
Cayphis turned at the sound and met my gaze from across the room. He was an old friend from the days I trained under Neleck, and his father consulted with Neleck about matters of state. The heart-weary look in Cayphis’ eyes pulled at my heart. The High Queen knelt at the bedside with her husband’s right hand clasped in both of hers and her two daughters attending her on either side.
Pausing only to gently touch his mother’s shoulder, Cayphis crossed to me and offered an open hand in greeting.
“I am so glad you came.” His voice was stiff with unshed tears. “He isn’t peaceful. He frets and fidgets. The Mesitas says he has done everything he can. He even brought in the Sibley to lay healing hands on him, but still Father will not rest. The healers have given him all they can short of rendering him unconscious.” Suddenly lowering his head, he coughed and swallowed back the emotion that clogged his throat.
“Does he say anything?” I asked, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“He calls for a Ragetia. Mother is certain that it is a mistress from long ago and never tires in trying to get him to call her name. The Mesitas says it is one of the names of the goddess, but I doubt his motives. Is there anything you can do?”
I could feel the accusing eyes of the kings at my back. The suspicion that Cayphis might be attempting to sway my opinion lay heavy in the air. Full of their futures, they waited like scavenger birds for the old king to die so that they might fight over his remains. Little did they know that I had determined my choice for High King long before the mantle of Sept Son lay on
my shoulders. Their cold attitudes only solidified my decision. Blind to the grief of the family, they watched with dry hearts while my heart ached with tears.
How can they stand here so coldly, Father? They are sons and fathers themselves, yet they cannot see the pain of this family’s last farewell. I turned my attention back to Cayphis.
“I will try,” I whispered. “I cannot promise anything, but I can try.”
“That is all I ask, Hadrian. Thank you.”
Leading me to his mother and sisters, he cleared his throat slightly. “It is time to say goodbye, sisters.” Both girls rose from their knees. With dainty, tearful sniffles they each kissed their father’s cheek while he continued to mumble nonsense. Then withdrawing, they passed by me with heads bend.
“Mother?” Cayphis lay his hands gently on his mother’s frail shoulders. “It is time.”
“I want to stay,” she protested without looking from her husband’s face. “He will remember me in the end. He has to.”
“He remembers you, my queen,” I said, kneeling at her other side. She turned to look at me.
“Hadrian, yes, you are Sept Son now aren’t you?” She looked down at my traveling clothes in confusion. “Where is your official clothing?”
“I had to leave it behind in my rush to reach you. I came to comfort you, my queen, and ease your husband’s passing.”
She turned to observe her husband’s feverish mumblings as he began to move his head from side to side. “He isn’t at peace.” She gently stroked the back of the king’s hand. “Even the Mesitas cannot bring him peace.” She raised flooded eyes. “He doesn’t remember me, Hadrian. He calls for Ragetia and weeps for her, but not for me.”
I gently lay a hand against her soft cheek and offered her the truth. “Deep within, I am sure he weeps for you, my queen. He has never strayed from your bed, and he shall pass from you as your faithful husband. Bid him farewell and ease his passing. He is waiting for your kiss.”
She wept anew at my words. “How do you know this is true?”
“He told me years ago, my lady.”
Accepting my answer, she offered a hand to Cayphis. “Help me bid him good bye, my son. Then escort me to my room. I don’t think I can walk on my own.”
Cayphis did as his mother instructed. I rose with them. Using my talent, I held the High King’s head still so that she could kiss his cheek without him bumping her face.
“Thank you,” she whispered, gripping my hand briefly on her way to the door. Cayphis echoed her words with his eyes and then lead her away.
The moment the door closed behind the pair, the chanting stopped and King Sabine stepped forward. A broad man of medium height, he came barreling up to me, perhaps with thoughts of intimidating me, and wagged a fat finger in my face. “You have a lot to answer to, boy,” he boomed, “Coming in late and not in your official apparel.”
I looked down at him calmly. “I could hardly have come any faster, sire. I only received news of the High King’s condition two days ago. If there is anyone you should be wagging a finger at, my liege, it is the Mesitas. It is his duty to notify me of the High King’s health.”
“Why you...” King Sabine sputtered up at my face. Though he was a big man, I was tall and his swaggering did not impress me.
“Don’t speak to my father that way,” his son, Tullius Sabine, interjected. “You have no right. I ought to have you whipped for speaking like that.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Tully,” King Marcellus advised as he stepped forward.
“Why ever not?” Tully asked, as he began to circle me. Like his father, Tully was broad, but more of it was muscle than fat. “He is only a Proctor’s son playing king.”
“Sabine, call off your son,” King Ilar ordered as Tully began to take a fighting stance. I drew my energy around me and waited. Though as Sept Son, I outranked the prince, my position was precarious. I did not know who believed the lies that I was certain the Mesitas was spreading. If I made the first move, it could turn the entire room against me.
“Enough,” King Adrasteia roared. Stepping between me and Tully, I felt him gather his own energy. Suddenly Tully was on the other side of the room looking a bit dazed as to how he got there. “Now stay and keep your mouth closed or I shall do a lot worse.” King Adrasteia then turned to King Sabine. “Either you keep your son in line and your nose out of the Sept Son’s face or I shall do both for you. There is a man dying in here. Show some respect for him and give him peace in his last moments.”
For a moment, the two kings eyed each other, but finally King Sabine backed down and crossed to join his son on the far side of the room.
“You may proceed, Sept Son,” King Adrasteia informed me as he returned to his son’s side.
I nodded my appreciation to him and turned my attention to the High King. Crossing to the bedside, I knelt. His head continued to thrash on the pillow as he muttered and moaned. Taking his hand, I reached for his mind.
As part of my duties as a Sept Son, I was to ease the passing of the High King. The code made this the only exception to the rules about touching the mind of an untalented. Watching Honorus’ struggle, I was very thankful that I could do something to calm him.
The moment I touched his thoughts, terror flooded the connection. Distorted images of the goddess and a grotesquely overweight rat jumped into my mind. The rodent chewed on a black lump that vaguely looked like a heart while shrill laughter filled my ears. I, in the form of the High King within his mind, looked up at the goddess. She screamed and raised claw-like hands toward my face. “Give me your eyes, Honorus,” she demanded in a whine. She moved forward with outstretched hands. “Give me your eyes that Ragetia might eat them.”
Shaking myself free of the images, I withdrew back into myself. Honorus’ panting cries replaced the goddess’ voice.
“Mercy,” he gasped. “Have mercy.”
Something was wrong. I frowned down at him as his head moved, eyes closed tightly against the horror within him.
“Can you do anything?” I looked up to find the Mesitas leaning over the opposite side of the bed. In contrast to the worried mask on his face, his eyes were triumphant. “He is in such distress. Can’t you calm him for the passing?”
Somehow, I wasn’t sure how, Mesitas was connected to the images in the king’s mind as a challenge to me. Destroying any chance at peace for the crossing, he was playing the weakened king as a tool to undermine me. Judging from the gloating that oozed from his every move, the Mesitas believed he had won. As I watched his face, it took all my self control to not reach into his thoughts and... Anger isn’t the answer here. Concentrate on the task at hand and deal with him later.
Turning back to the man on the bed before me, I closed my eyes and sought out the king’s mind. This time I didn’t touch his thoughts. Instead I observed their flickering patterns across his consciousness, an angry red against where there should be a soft green glow. Within a moment or two I was able to pinpoint the source. Reaching out, I touched the area. Using my energy, I built a temporary dam around it. Gradually the High King’s glow returned to normal. Opening my eyes, I was relieved to find that the High King had stilled.
“Thank you, Hadrian,” he whispered. Weakly moving his hand beneath mine, he coughed. “Pray for my passing. May the goddess find me worthy.”
Then closing his eyes, he let go. My heart ached as the hand in my grasp went limp. I know it is too late for him, Father, but I cannot help but wish it could be different. I am sorry I could only offer him that brief moment of peace before the eternity of suffering before him.
Whispers floated about the room. I could guess at what they were speculating. I rose and began the ceremony of preparing the body for presentation. While crossing the High King’s hands over his heart and then gently moving his head into a more comfortable looking position, I prayed for wisdom. Finally I saluted the body and stepped away.
“High King Honorus has passed into the presence of the goddess,” the Mes
itas announced.
Twelve royal pairs of eyes swiftly turned to me.
“Who is to become the next High King, Sept Son,” King Euginius asked
“I name Deucalion Marcellus, second son of King Lapis Marcellus as High King.”
Chapter IX
Hadrian
“Deucalion isn’t even a first son,” Tully Sabine’s voice carried clearly above the murmuring response to my announcement.
“Doesn’t that make him unqualified for selection?” another voice asked from the left. I glanced over to locate it and met the gaze of King Ilar.
“The law states he has to be of the non-ruling generation of a royal house.” King Adrasteia informed them. “Nowhere does it say that the Sept Son must choose from the first sons.”
“Are you agreeable to this, Elicio?” King Quintinos asked King Marcellus. Once Deucalion Marcellus became High King, his father and older brother would both relinquish their right to rule. Elicio would retire to a country estate and Blaise, his eldest son, would take second place to his brother in the political arena.
I watched as Elicio Marcellus met his fellow king’s gaze from across the room. A hush fell over the gathering as they strained to hear his answer. I had spoken to him in advance, but he had given me no impression as to how he felt about my choice. As one of the older of the kings, he had reigned longer than most of them and reigned well in my opinion.
His sons took after their father in wisdom and grace. However, I had observed that his first son, Blaise, was easily swayed by the opinions of those around him. It was a trait which could ruin the country if he fell under the influence of the wrong men. His brother, Deucalion, was strong, well reasoned, and independent. I had observed his leadership skills for years and saw in him the makings of a great leader.
“I am content with the Sept Son’s selection and honored that my family is to become the next to serve Pratinus on the High Throne. On behalf of my son, I accept this honor.” Turning to me, he bowed. Blaise also bowed and the topic of disputing my choice ended abruptly.
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