Responsibility of the Crown

by G Scott Huggins

  Azriyqam looked frantically. The girl’s back was a mess of scar tissue and implants. She found what looked like a switch. It moved under her fingers and the girl collapsed to the roof, tiny motors whirring. She staggered upright. Dark lenses looked into Azriyqam’s eyes.

  “I’m free.”

  Of course, this left them trapped on the roof on a wide courtyard. The guards were moaning. “Can you ride on my back?”

  The girl snorted. “I weigh three hundred pounds; we’d both die.”

  “I’m not leaving you here. I’ve seen you run. Can you escape this place?”

  “Where would I go?”

  “The Kreyntorm. Tell them you’re my guest. The Princess Azriyqam. What’s your name?”

  “Threlya.”

  Azriyqam launched herself off the roof in a flat glide. Below her, Threlya climbed down the side of the tower, her mechanical joints blurring as she broke into a run. Suddenly, a diving bronze shape cut in front of her.

  “Ground. Now!” Elazar snapped.

  Azriyqam had forgotten her tutor. Now she obeyed, setting down in the next street.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” the old halfdragon demanded. “That was the Consortium’s embassy you violated!” He muttered a curse. “Back to the Kreyntorm. Now.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 7

  “When I was ten, I began to grow weaker,” Threlya said, sitting in Azriyqam’s chamber. “By the time I was twelve, I could barely crawl. The doctors called it dystrophy and said I would waste away and die.”

  Elazar and Avnai sat with them. “The Consortium said they would save my life. And they did.” She raised a hand, joints whirring. “By turning me into this. The warframe lets me move, makes me faster and stronger than any human.” She sighed, looking very tired. “But it hurts, and I belong to them.”

  “Slavery is illegal under Consortium law,” snapped Avnai.

  “Collecting debts isn’t. I have to work off the cost of the warframe.”

  “How much is that?”

  “Millions,” whispered the girl. “I am very expensive. But not valuable, as you saw.”

  “What about your eyes?” asked Azriyqam.

  “They took them. Now they can record anything they want from my vision, whenever I return. I was ordered to follow and observe you when you went out.”

  “Aren’t you a little conspicuous?” asked Elazar.

  “I watched her for three nights. She never saw me. The fruit-seller pointed me out.”

  Azriyqam’s blood chilled. “But why would the Consortium want to watch me?”

  “You have returned from the dead. The Ambassador knows the Crown loves you. You might be used as a lever on an ally the Consortium deeply wishes to bring more firmly under its control.”

  Avnai flushed. “Bitch!”

  Elazar shook his head. “I knew Ambassador Celaeno was determined to press the Consortium’s authority in this kingdom. I didn’t know she would go to such lengths, but then, your return, Princess, was strange enough it must have tempted her to use you.”

  “She will not use me,” said Azriyqam.

  “On the contrary,” said Elazar. “She already has.”

  A knock sounded at the door. The herald entered at Elazar’s bidding. “The Crown and Throne require the presence of all here in the Royal Hall.”

  “That will be Celaeno,” the old halfdragon said. “Say little.”

  * * *

  Silence awaited them in the Royal Hall. Its immense dome enclosed them like an arena. Hanging from it were trophies plundered from a thousand ships when Crown and Throne had ruled the Free Navies, before the kingdom’s sea power had been subordinated to the Consortium.

  The dark red coils of Throne Elyoan wound around the great dais, her wings stirring the air. On her shoulder sat Crown Da’vid. His face was stern. Azriyqam forced herself to look away from the twin monarchs and instead study Ambassador Celaeno.

  She was dressed as she had been the last time Azriyqam had seen her, in the uniform of the Consortium Navy, minus rank insignia, a reminder of where her power lay.

  On seeing Threlya, her eyes blazed. “Ah, I thank Your Majesties for the prompt return of my property. Such cooperation can only strengthen the ties between the Consortium and its allies. Your Highness,” she spoke to Azriyqam. “I presume you will make an appointment before again gracing our embassy with your presence.”

  “You presume a great deal, Celaeno,” rumbled Throne Elyoan. “The Crown’s daughter has made no admission of any visit to your residence. We have only your word.”

  “Very well; let us hear her.” Celaeno smiled. “Your Highness, did you trespass on the roof of the Consortium embassy this evening, attack the guards, and steal away my servant?”

  Azriyqam looked up at her father. The Crown’s face was white and expressionless.

  A princess speaks truth and accepts the consequences of her actions. “I did land on your roof; because I saw your slave, whom you’d set to follow me. I didn’t know it was yours. I hit your guards because I thought them criminals. I freed your slave from her torment, though she surely left on her own.”

  “It is well you have spoken truth, Highness, for we have the evidence on film. A lie would ill suit one of your line. Now we have but to discuss the amends due the Consortium for your crime, and this unpleasantness will be behind us.”

  “Hold!” called the Crown. “And what of your setting a spy upon my daughter in my own city?”

  Celaeno smiled. “Majesty, your daughter is overwrought. Doubtless, her long captivity among Century Ship barbarians has unhinged her. I gave no such command. She saw my servant and imagined she was followed.”

  “I did not imagine it!”

  “Have you proof?” said Celaeno.

  “I have your slave! Threlya told me the story!”

  “Threlya is no slave, but an indentured servant. One who might tell any lie to avoid paying her just debt to the Consortium. Her testimony cannot be valid against a free Consortium citizen.”

  “I’d rather be either than a lying slaver like you!” said Azriyqam.

  Behind her, Elazar groaned, but the ambassador grinned like a shark.

  “A liar? I see. Then I challenge you, Princess Azriyqam.”

  “Challenge?” Celaeno couldn’t mean…

  “The choice of weapons is yours. Second thoughts? A pity. Cowardice befits one of your blood even less than falsehood.”

  Suddenly, Elazar was in front of her. “I am her second. The Princess Azriyqam chooses airswords, of course.”

  “Of course. Please speak with my vice-consul to arrange matters. Your Majesties.” She bowed. Crown Da’vid looked ashen and ready to explode. “The amends are quite satisfactory. By your leave.”

  Azriyqam stood frozen as Celaeno walked out.

  * * *

  At midnight, Azriyqam heard a soft knock at her door. Elazar and Avnai entered. “I told you she’d be awake,” her brother said.

  Elazar nodded and stood before her. “The duel takes place in a week. I insisted you have that much time to recover. You’ll have some time to train.”

  Azriyqam looked at Avnai. “Is the Cr—is Father very angry?”

  “Furious. It was all the Throne could do to keep him from declaring war on the Consortium tonight.”

  “I told you to say little,” said Elazar.

  “But I couldn’t just let her—”

  “What, lie?” barked Elazar. “That’s her profession. Your honor and courage may do you credit, but you let the ambassador use them to hurt your father and bring us to the brink of war with the Consortium. A war we cannot win.”

  Azriyqam looked to her brother for denial, but Avnai nodded.

  “You have a responsibility,” added Elazar. “To your line and your kingdom.”

  “What shall I do?” she whispered.

  “You cannot refuse this duel. Celaeno would insist on your disgrace, which would be just as useful to her as your death. Y
ou could never wield power and would always be a source of public shame to the Crown. You must win.”

  He drew his airswords and handed them to her. The metal was cold under her fingers. “Please accept these as my gift.”

  “Are they likely to do her any good?” Avnai’s voice was bitter. “Celaeno is an accomplished swordswoman. She’s killed before.”

  “Yes, it’s a pity your sister can’t simply drop darts on her head, the way she managed those guards with the brass training weights, she has natural talent. How did you learn that, raised among humans?”

  Azriyqam flushed dark blue. “I was kept atop of one of the Century Ship’s masts. There wasn’t a lot to do, so I sometimes tried to hit people with my food and other things. I got good at it.”

  “A Century Ship’s mast is three hundred feet high!” said Elazar, eyes widening. “No wonder that was easy for you. Unfortunately, it’s useless. You’ll be fighting indoors, and you’ve already chosen your weapons.” He sighed. “The most experienced duelist can be overconfident, and she is as confident as I’ve seen. Tomorrow we must find a way to rattle her.”

  Rattle her? Worse than me? thought Azriyqam.

  Morning was a long time coming, but the week flew by.

  Azriyqam walked toward the Royal Hall, airswords wrapped around her fingers, pointing at the ground, wings folded.

  She no longer wore the training harness. Elazar had seen to her outfitting. Instead of brass weights, her new dueling vest had scabbards for two knives. These were not weapons, but tools: the short, thick trophy knife, and the spike of the misericord, the mercy-knife, to be plunged into the heart or brain of a mortally wounded foe. She tried not to think about whether Celaeno would be wearing similar tools to be used on her. The crest of her father’s house, the crowned head of a dragon, was embroidered across her breasts in gold thread.

  She was going to die. She knew it, as absolutely as she held the airswords. Elazar had taught her much, but the ease with which he disarmed her showed her lack of skill clearly. In truth, she had learned more of flight these seven days, and that had kept her sane.

  At the doors, the Crown waited.

  He looked into her eyes, and the pain and disappointment there stabbed her to the bone.

  He took her fingers in a strong grip, his hands enveloping hers around her sword hilts. “I love you, Azriyqam. Even in your foolishness. You have risked your life for the powerless and that does honor to our line. I am proud of you, and so would your mother be. Never doubt it.”

  Azriyqam returned his grip. “Save Threlya,” she choked out.

  “She will have refuge. Now conquer, daughter.”

  Then he was gone, striding before her toward the throne. He passed by Celaeno without a word. Azriyqam felt her spine straighten, felt a bit more like a Crown’s daughter.

  The ambassador waited in the black dueling ring, blades at her waist. She wore a dueling jacket with a scarf wound around her shoulders and left arm. Azriyqam stopped twenty feet away.

  The master of ceremonies, another halfdragon, stepped between them. He held out a cloth. “To yield the ring is to yield honor. When the cloth falls, begin.” Azriyqam watched, not the cloth, but her opponent. The halfdragon let it fall and stepped back.

  Azriyqam lunged as Celaeno drew. A halfdragon’s reach is his best weapon against humans. Elazar had said. Azriyqam grinned as the ambassador danced back, hastily parrying her blows. The crystal ring of swords filled the hall.

  They circled each other.

  Celaeno is trained in the saber. It’s a heavier blade, so she’ll fight mostly with her right hand. But don’t forget about the other sword, she’ll surprise you with it.

  Indeed, Celaeno presented her right side to her foe, her left blade arched over her head.

  She attacked.

  Her blades sliced the air, too fast to see. Azriyqam parried frantically, backing away. She blocked three strikes from Celaeno’s right-hand blade before the left speared the membrane of her right wing.

  Hissing in pain, Azriyqam disengaged. Blood dripped down her wing spar.

  Do not let her control the duel.

  Azriyqam attacked, striking with both blades, using her reach. Celaeno blocked her left-hand strike and whipped the end of her scarf around Azriyqam’s right-hand blade. She just had time to realize the scarf was weighted before the thick cloth tightened and the airsword was wrenched from her hand to clatter away outside the dueling ring.

  Desperate, Azriyqam flicked her right wingtip out at Celaeno’s eyes. Her foe’s left airsword twitched and Azriyqam felt the pain of a deep cut along her wing spar. Gritting her teeth, she lunged with her remaining blade. Thought-quick, Celaeno met her thrust with both swords together and twisted.

  Azriyqam’s airsword broke, leaving her staring at six inches of blade.

  Celaeno grinned.

  Azriyqam ran.

  In three steps, she leapt and beat the air, expecting to feel a sword through her back each second. She snapped into a hard turn and climbed, ignoring the pain from her pierced and bleeding wing. She climbed for the first time in her life.

  “The princess has left the field,” she heard Celaeno cry. “Coward!”

  “Hold!” Elazar roared. “She remains within the ring!”

  “She’s twenty feet up!”

  “The ring has no upper boundary!”

  “Should I grow wings, to fight with her?” Celaeno spat.

  “Should she grow solid bones, to fight with you?” Elazar asked.

  Azriyqam strained against the air. Two weeks of training and proper diet had strengthened her, yet she faltered. Her new skills had failed, but perhaps her old life…

  She beat hard at the air, knowing it was a forlorn hope. She crossed her arms to yank her knives free of their scabbards and fell, losing vital altitude. Snapping her wings out, she looked down. Twenty feet below her, Celaeno looked at Azriyqam, her lips curled in a sneer.

  Azriyqam had never dropped anything while flying. She’d never had the chance. And these knives weren’t meant for throwing.

  But they were all she had. She slowed as much as she dared and released them.

  Celaeno twisted out of the way of her trophy knife. It clattered on the stone floor. The misericord struck her in the arm. Azriyqam’s heart leapt up with the shout that rose from the spectators.

  Then Celaeno removed the blade from where it had stuck in her sleeve. It was clean of blood. From such a small height, the light weapon hadn’t even penetrated the thick cloth Celaeno was wearing. The ambassador held it up, dropping the airsword in her left hand.

  “Come down, Princess,” she called. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

  Azriyqam beat the air with her wings to maintain her flight, circling. They burned with pain. She could no longer climb.

  She looked down at her father, seated on the Dragon Throne, and met his anxious eyes. The Throne lifted her head and Azriyqam met two much larger eyes.

  The Throne of Evenmarch breathed fire.

  The billow of flame passed directly under Azriyqam, lifting her on a thermal plume.

  “What are you doing?” the Ambassador shrieked. “Treachery!”

  “Applause,” corrected the Throne. “For an honorable combatant, you whine overmuch. My flame never touched you.”

  Azriyqam reached the top of the dome. All around her, the trophies of a hundred battles passed by quickly. A shield, a lamp, a sword—a mace. Folding her wings, she clutched it in all four fingers. She hung there for an instant, her feet drawn up against the dome’s edge, bracing her against gravity. Her head snapped back, and she saw Celaeno just beginning to look back up at her.

  She heaved and wrenched the mace free.

  Twisting in the air, she dropped, clutching the mace. Her wings snapped out. Shrieking with pain, she let the mace fall on Celaeno’s upturned, astonished face.

  A moment later, Azriyqam’s feet hit the blood-spattered marble of the Royal Hall.

  The ambassador’s vice-c
onsul stared white-faced at his chief’s shattered skull. “Treachery. That weapon…not agreed to…”

  Elazar advanced on the Consortium officer. “Celaeno’s scarf wasn’t agreed to either. If there was treachery, she brought it herself. Say that word again and you’ll answer my challenge.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or get you gone.”

  The vice-consul ran for the Hall’s doors.

  Azriyqam turned and staggered toward the Throne, who lowered her head. Crown Da’vid leaped off the Throne’s shoulder to meet her, but she raised an arm and met the Throne’s eyes.

  “Why?”

  “The Throne supports the Crown,” the dragon rumbled, “and the Crown ennobles the Throne. So has our kingdom ever prospered. We act as one in times of need. You are the symbol of that union. Remember that, foster-daughter.”

  “I will never forget it,” Azriyqam promised.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 8

  Responsibility was drowning.

  Not Responsibility, she thought. Azriyqam.

  She fought the illusion. She had to speak the Command.

  “Naidin Kora-kto Ssamatra Nama!”

  Cold beyond imagining filled her being. She pivoted as if drawn by a line to the source of it and pointed.

  Gasping and shuddering, Azriyqam fell to her knees, pointing her wingtip. “There,” she quavered. “It’s there.”

  A cool hand fell on her shoulder, steadying her against the roll of the ship. She opened her eyes.

  The Tidespinner ship she had Commanded the Theurge to locate was a brown smudge on the darkward horizon, pacing them. Her wingtip pointed at the sky, spinward of the sun. She lowered it, flushing with humiliation.

  “Rise,” said Lady Senaatha. Azriyqam swayed to her feet, forcing herself to meet the dragon’s gaze. “Why did your Command fail?”

  “I suppose I wasn’t calm enough.” Just like always. But how could she remain calm when she was drowning every time she spoke the Command of Union?

  “And your pronunciation is still wrong,” said Senaatha. “It will not become correct through your stubborn refusal to listen.”