by Jon Sprunk
“The nearby cities—Nisus, Chiresh, Hirak—would rush in to claim some share of the spoils.”
“Exactly. The same cities that are marching to Erugash at this very moment. At the same time, the Cult of Amur works to undermine the queen from within.”
The realization struck her like a hammer to the forehead. “It's all connected. The war, the cult, and rebellion…”
Cipher stirred the pot, adding a handful of minced garlic.
“The network did all this?” Alyra asked.
“We had a hand in it, but we've been aided by some unexpected events that turned in our favor. Such as the arrival of your housemate and the curious effect he's had on several key players.”
Horace's elevation to the court. The ultimatum leveled on the queen, which led to the fall of the Sun Temple. Holy stars, they've been manipulating everything.
“You're starting a civil war,” she said. “It will start here, but other cities will be pulled into the conflict as everyone takes sides. Akeshia will be ripped apart.”
“Possibly, although it's difficult to make projections that far into the future. Still, enough turmoil to distract the empire for a generation. That is our mandate, after all.”
No, I haven't forgotten. But the cost in human lives will be astronomical. Is this what it takes to save a country?
“And the attack on the Chapter House?”
“Another fortunate accident.” He tasted the concoction. “Hmmm. Needs some basil.”
“So what comes next? Do you stand back and let the city tear itself apart?”
“Not exactly. There's still one more step before our recipe is complete.” He smiled at her. “Forgive the pun.”
She didn't want to ask, but the words were pulled from her. “What step?”
“It is time for Queen Byleth to die.”
Alyra didn't speak. She didn't move. The words echoed in her mind, but she couldn't quite grasp them. They were too ridiculous, too far beyond reason even for the network. “You can't mean…”
“I received the communication this morning. The network believes the time is ripe for the queen to go. Now that Prince Zazil is gone and the Sun Cult banished from Erugash, her absence would plunge this territory into chaos as the zoanii houses fight over the spoils. But we need someone willing and able to commit the act. One last mission to preserve our homeland's security for years to come.”
Alyra found it difficult to breathe. She had no great love for Byleth, but murder was the furthest thing from her mind. Although she knew the network sometimes authorized assassinations, they were rare. “Even if I thought it was right, you must have someone better suited for the task.”
“This is the moment, Alyra. If you wish to rejoin us and share in the downfall of the empire, this is what you must do. As we speak, the queen is planning a major operation. If we're too late, the rebellion might be crushed, and our chance to put our thumb on the scales of history will be lost. Will you do it?”
She tried to answer no, that she couldn't take his offer and never to bother her again, but the words halted on her tongue. The network was right. If the queen died, the city would come apart as all the vying factions fought to take over the throne. If they were left alone, a winner would eventually emerge from among the noble families, but the other cities would never sit back and let that happen. Nisus and Chiresh would both move to take over Erugash, shattering their temporary alliance, and the war would spread from there as every city in Akeshia tried to gain some piece of the cake while preventing their rivals from benefitting. In the past, the priesthoods had been able to keep such internecine wars from getting out of hand, but since the Godswar there was only one cult powerful enough to put a stop to it. And she didn't think they would. No, the Cult of Amur might even fan the flames, hoping to profit from the devastation. Oh God in Heaven, is this what You want me to do?
“I'll do it,” she said, unable to believe what she was saying.
He nodded without smiling, as if he expected no less.
Alyra held up a finger. “But I want protection.”
“We will take care of everything. After the deed, we can get you safely out of the city—”
“Not for me. For Horace. If I do this, the network agrees to protect him.”
“Alyra—”
“This isn't up for negotiation,” she said. “Once the queen is gone, he'll be targeted by every member of the court. You'll promise me here and now that the network will keep him safe, or you can find another agent.”
He stared at her for several seconds, but she didn't flinch. Finally, he nodded. “Agreed. I will do everything in my power to ensure his safety. Once the queen is dead. We will send you the final instructions when everything is in place.”
Cipher reached under the counter and retrieved a leather case. “And this is for you. It's everything we have on the Chapter House killings. I caution you not to expect much. We don't know who was behind it. Also in there is the name of a city planner who favors our cause, as you requested.”
Alyra tucked it under her cloak. She felt the need to say something, maybe to prove she wasn't just a puppet in their game. That this was her choice. But she was too numb to think of anything satisfying, so she turned and left, stalking down the dark hallway until she got outside.
The cold night played with her hair as she took a deep breath. Why had she agreed? She didn't have Horace's mystical power or Emanon's fanatical zeal. She was just an information gatherer. A spy, not a killer. What about Rimesh? You killed him. But that was to save Horace's life. I could never…
She felt like she'd fallen into the river and the current was dragging her down, the air dwindling in her lungs. If she did this one thing, would the waters recede to let her go? Or would she die at the bottom?
At least she might be able to save Horace. If I can only manage to break into the most secure place in the city undetected and kill one of the most powerful sorceresses in history, and then escape in one piece with an entire army on my heels. What's to worry about?
Mulcibar's body was wrapped in a white sheet from crown to heels and laid out on a slab of blue granite on the eastern terrace of the Moon Temple. Akeshian tradition usually required four days of mourning before a body was interred, but the unusual circumstances surrounding the death—as well as the unpleasant fact that the body had begun to rot quickly after it was found—had shortened the time to one night and part of the morning.
Standing at the rear of the terrace, Horace shifted his weight and tried his best not to fidget. He was here in his official capacity as First Sword, which meant the full uniform complete with bronze breastplate and sword.
Zoanii and members of the city's higher castes crowded the steps of the temple's ziggurat, while the lessers gathered in the courtyard below. The queen and her retinue stood with Lady Anshara, who wore the traditional white robe of mourning. A young priestess, barely old enough to be called a woman, led the funeral rites. Her voice cut through the morning air like a silver bell, while two acolyte girls in blue-and-white robes paced around the body, sprinkling it with scented oil.
Horace's attention wandered as the prayers went on and on. This reminded him too much of the Tammuris. He kept glancing through the crowd for crimson robes. But every few seconds his gaze gravitated toward Alyra, standing with a group of lesser nobles on the lowest tier of the step-pyramid. She was wearing the clothes he'd last seen her in, and he wondered where she had spent the night. He was still angry about their last conversation, especially her insinuations that he was taking the queen's side against the rebels. He didn't need her to remind him what it felt like to be a slave.
She never saw me for who I truly am. I was just a tool, to use and throw away when she was finished. Maybe she had real feelings for me, but how can I be sure? I'm fairly certain she's back to working with her spymasters, even after she admitted they were ready to let me rot in that temple pit because it suited their purposes. I expected more, but I should have known better.
Still, he had to admit he missed her. Worse than that, he didn't know how to mend this separation.
Byleth looked every bit a queen in a floor-length gown of purple silk with gold embroidery. Her double-tiara encrusted with blue sapphires shone like a second sun in the gathering rays of morning. She also looked distracted.
Perhaps, Horace thought, it was how she dealt with grief. She had known Lord Mulcibar all her life. It was natural that she would be stricken by his passing. Horace hadn't been present when news of the body's appearance had reached the queen, but he'd heard rumors that a lot of furniture needed replacing after her reaction. Perhaps that explained why there had been no recrimination from the palace about his destruction of the Chapter House.
There had, however, been a reaction from the citizens of Erugash. Public demonstrations broke out all across the city this morning, larger than ever before. A few reports mentioned new graffiti in the River Quarter depicting him in sexual congress with various animals. Hairy goats seemed to be a main theme.
He glanced at the altar piece. You were a great man and a true friend. I'm sorry I couldn't prevent what happened to you, but I promise the people responsible will get what they deserve. And I'll do my best to look after the queen, too, because I know you would want that. Although it will make things worse with Alyra and probably get me killed to boot. Farewell, Mulcibar. May you find happiness in whatever paradise you've earned.
The service ended as the sun was fully above the horizon. One of the attending priestesses set a torch to Mulcibar's body, and it erupted into flames. Horace looked past the pyre at the sun, bathing the rooftops of the city in its radiance. As its beams turned the sky from deepest purple to startling blue, he wiped a tear or two from his stinging eyes. He needed to get control of himself. Only then could he do anything about the Sun Cult. And he would. Beyond his vow to Mulcibar's spirit, he wanted to crush the sect of Amur until there was nothing left.
Horace moved away from the royal entourage looking for Alyra, but he didn't see her. She had disappeared into the crowd descending the temple's sides into the courtyard below and out the gates. He was still looking when a soft touch alighted on his elbow. “I never thought this day would come.”
Byleth stood beside him. Her eyes were red, her kohl makeup blurry from hastily wiped tears. Seeing her sorrow, displayed so prominently, struck a solemn chord. It wasn't often anyone would see a queen so genuinely vulnerable. He placed his hand over her fingers and squeezed. “I was thinking the same thing. Mulcibar was so steady. So permanent. I didn't know him very long, but I honestly believed he would always be around.”
“We used to jest, my father and I, that Lord Mulcibar would outlive us all. When my father died, I would have been lost if not for him. He became my second father, my protector.” She tried to smile. “Now that duty falls to you, I'm afraid.”
“I'll do everything I can, Excellence. In fact, I think I'd better get back to the palace. Things have been hectic lately, as I'm sure you know.”
She leaned closed. “Put down the rebellion, Horace. The faster, the better. All things will come together in harmony once that threat is ended.”
He nodded, and breathed easier when she went back inside the temple with the priestesses.
While the cream of Erugash's society departed, he waited on the terrace, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. The pyre was now mostly burned down to a smoldering pile of bones and charred fabric. Mulcibar was gone, in both body and spirit.
He left after most of the crowd had gone, joining his bodyguards below. They exited onto the main avenue running through the city. At its end was the royal palace, its western face still in shadow. Horace started in that direction until a black carriage pulled by a team of fine horses drew up beside him. He didn't think much of it until the window curtains parted and a voice called out, “Lord Horace. One moment.”
Horace started as he saw Lord Astaptah peering out the window. His burnt-copper features were even darker inside the vehicle. The eyes staring out were like pits of amber ice surrounded by deep folds of skin.
“Ah, sure. I suppose…”
The carriage door swung open. Gesturing for his guards to remain, Horace stepped inside and sat opposite Lord Astaptah.
The vizier was dressed in his customary black robe, the hood settled around his shoulders. “Pardon me,” he said. “I wish only a little of your time.”
Horace sat back and tried to appear at ease, even as his insides were jumping. “Of course. I thought I might see you at the funeral.”
That was a lie. Lord Astaptah was notorious for his solitude, rarely appearing at public events.
“I was otherwise engaged.” He closed the window curtains and knocked on the roof.
Horace held onto the seat as the carriage started off, rocking back and forth. Since the night Astaptah and Alyra had rescued him from the Sun Temple's abattoir, he'd thought a lot about the reclusive vizier, about why Astaptah had helped him in the first place. Mulcibar had warned him not to trust this man, but no concrete reason had ever been given. For his part, Horace found the vizier to be well mannered and civil, if a little remote. He felt, on account of his rescue, he should at least give the man the benefit of the doubt and judge for himself. “Where, uh, are we going?”
“Not far. Tell me, Lord Horace, how are you finding your new office?”
“Well, to be honest I've been feeling a little overwhelmed.”
“That is to be expected. Even for those born to power in this country, the royal courts can be treacherous places.”
“Lord Mulcibar said as much before he died.”
Lord Astaptah glanced at the window as if he were looking through the dark curtains. “The late lord of House Alulu and I were not great friends, as I'm sure you know. However I respected his temperament.”
“He tried to warn me about what I was getting myself into, but it seems no amount of warning could express the sheer madness of it all.”
“Madness? No. It can seem chaotic at times, but you must remember there is always a system in play underneath the surface.”
“How did you—pardon me, but you're a foreigner to the empire, too. Right? How did you adjust so well to the court?”
“The ways of these Akeshians are not so different from my homeland. I come from a country beyond the sands of Isuran where murder and coercion are tools used by both the high and the low.”
“It sounds unpleasant. I'm not surprised you left.”
“My leaving was not of my own choosing. I was exiled because I dared to challenge the old ways of my people. I saw a path that would lift us to new heights of knowledge and prosperity. However my message was not well received. My countrymen banished me into the desert with nothing more than the clothes I was wearing and a gourd of water. I was meant to die.”
“And you came here?”
“After a long exodus, yes.” Lord Astaptah's eyes glowed in the dim cabin. “Byleth took me into her household, and I so came to be in her service.”
Although this foreign-born nobleman made him uneasy, Horace thought he might be the only one in this entire city who understood his predicament. “I need your advice and your assistance.”
“Ask.”
“How can I convince the queen to make concessions to the rebel slaves?”
The vizier leaned back deeper onto the shadows of his seat until his features were all but hidden from sight. “You cannot. The only thing Akeshians respect is strength. Attempting to persuade or barter will only make them more obstinate.”
“But I've shown them strength,” Horace said. “The personal challenges have stopped coming. So why won't they listen to me?”
“Your experiences prove my point. When you showed your power in the arena, the challenges ceased. When you defeated the priests of Amur, the cult fled the city. You must continue to project strength and authority at all times, in all things. Do not be burdened by feelings of compassion, as they will make you appear weak.”
> Horace didn't like the advice, but he had to admit it sounded accurate. The men and women of the royal court were an arrogant bunch, constantly seeking to exploit each other for personal gain. If he wanted to impress the queen, perhaps he needed to play by the same rules.
“One more piece of counsel, Lord Horace, if you will allow me to offer it.”
“Of course.”
“Act swiftly. The city of Nisus, with the backing of the Sun Cult, is sending an army to attack Erugash. It would be regrettable if the priests regained their stranglehold over this city, as I'm sure you're aware.”
Horace squeezed the edge of his seat harder. He had enough problems already, and the last thing he needed was for the cult to take back the city. “In that case, I have a confession.”
He struggled with opening up about this, but he knew it had to be done. “I've lost control of the zoana.”
Lord Astaptah leaned forward slightly. “Explain.”
So many thoughts tumbled through Horace's head, he didn't know where to start. “Ever since that night at the Sun Temple, the power doesn't seem to obey me. I didn't have the best control before that, either, but at least it came when I called for it. Now it's all over the place. Sometimes it comes, sometimes it doesn't. Or too much comes, and then I end up going too far. I've tried meditating and working with a mentor. Lord Ubar was kind enough to tutor me, and of course, I worked with Lord Mulcibar before his disappearance. But now I feel lost. It's just a…a mess.”
The vizier rested his chain on his clasped hands. “Is there discomfort when you use the power?”
“Yes. It feels like something is trying to break out of my chest.”
“Perhaps I have access to resources that could help your situation. If you are willing to place your trust in me.”
“Ai, ai! Please. Any help you could give me would be greatly appreciated.”
The carriage came to a stop with a slight lurch. “Very well,” Lord Astaptah said. “I will send my carriage for you tomorrow at dawn, and we shall begin.”
