“I’m glad to see you up and walking,” said a soft voice by my side.
I glanced over, recognizing Jaxas’ voice, but I had to look twice to be sure it was he. The Archon stood as tall and proud as I’d ever seen him. No longer did he seem sickly or bowed by life or duty. The thinness of his features held strength, like a slender tree standing strong after a storm. His robes were rich but simple, decorated in the green and gold that signified the royal family. He wore a golden chain studded with emeralds, and rings glittered upon his fingers. I’d never seen him so ornamented, nor ever expected to.
“Jaxas,” I started, but a scowl from Nikias silenced me. My confusion only increased as the steward bowed nearly level with the ground.
“Your Radiance, I have brought the First Verifier,” the man said, his tone subdued and formal. “If you will excuse me, I must be about other arrangements for the announcement.”
“Of course. Do what you must, and with my thanks, Nikias.” Jaxas inclined his head to the steward.
Nikias seemed to take it as a great honor, for he walked away with his chin upright.
I turned back to the Archon. “When did you earn that respect? Your Radiance, I mean.”
Jaxas smiled, but his eyes remained untouched. For the first time, I wondered if I’d spoken too familiarly.
“I wanted you to be here,” he finally said. “You most of all, Airene of Oedija.”
I wondered at that curious epithet, but it was the least of the abounding mysteries. “What for? What’s going on, Jaxas?”
He turned his gaze to the roaring crowd below. “A change in the tides, I hope. A new dawn for our realm, and not our last.”
I stared, lost for words.
He looked again at me. “All will be made clear soon. Did you rest well? Nikias said you slept for a long time. I don’t fault you for it,” he continued quickly at my expression. “You’re severely injured, Airene. You need rest.”
“I wasn’t resting.”
The truth suddenly played on the tip of my tongue. I knew what it meant if I told him what I was. I’d have to live with the consequences, for good or for ill. I thought I knew Jaxas. But he’d surprised me many times in the past span, and he kept many more secrets than I’d suspected. Did I know him well enough to entrust hi with my life?
As I opened my mouth to speak, I realized I did.
“I channeled. I walked the Pyrthae in a dream, Jaxas. I saw some of what happened at the Claw and Brinecoast. And I was there at the Acadium with Vusu, Kyros, and Eltris, when…” I struggled to put what I’d seen, what I’d done, into words. “When Vusu died,” I finished lamely.
Even trusting him, I couldn’t meet his eyes, dreading what I’d see. Revulsion? Fear? But when I finally met Jaxas’ gaze, I saw a fierce joy there, deep in his dark, recessed eyes. I nearly flinched back from the bluntness of it.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Thank you for you trusting me as few others would. You cannot know what it means to me.”
My mouth opened, then closed. “You knew?” was all I could manage to say.
He nodded. “There were many signs. The circumstances of how you suddenly fell ill. The conferences with Eltris and Isidora’s Watchers. But it was the burns in your blankets seen by your honor, Hyrol, that confirmed it.”
Anger stirred me from my shock. “You were spying on me? I suspected Hyrol might be watching for someone else. But I didn’t think it’d be you.”
The Archon held me in his gaze until the anger flickered uncertainly in me. “I watched for your protection,” he said, so quietly his words were almost lost in the tumult of the crowd. “You thwarted Vusu’s plans, Airene. The Manifest might still decide to kill you at any moment. I couldn’t let you go to the Conclave, knowing they couldn’t protect you.”
I stared at him, trying to see the truth in his eyes, desperately hoping it was as he spoke it. That Jaxas had sought to protect me, not keep track of my movements. But even after my confession, I’d never felt less certain of him.
An honor walked from behind a column, startling me. Without hesitation, she approached and whispered in Jaxas’ ear. Though his eyes didn’t leave me, Jaxas nodded once, and the honor hurried away.
“The time has come,” he said to me. “I’d appreciate if you stood nearby, Airene. As close as is courteous.” He paused. “Can you project voices yet?”
I flinched and glanced over my shoulder to be sure the honor was out of earshot. “I don’t think so,” I muttered. “And I don’t want everyone to know what I am besides.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ll respect your wishes. Just know that the time for secrets may soon be over.”
I doubted he would ever be past keeping his. But I nodded all the same.
“It’s nearly time for the speech,” he said, turning. “We should be heading down.”
“Just one question,” I said hurriedly. “Xaron, Nomusa, Komo — where are they? They must have returned with Myron Wreath if he’s to make an announcement.” I looked around. “Where is he, anyway? Is he fit to make a grand entrance as usual?”
The amusement in Jaxas’ eyes irked me beyond measure, even as his words set me at ease. “They are safe, never fear. Nomusa is doing me a favor at the moment, and Xaron has need of rest. The Watchers didn’t fair well in the Wyvern’s Claw, as you have probably surmised from your… dream-walk. Just over half of them survived, Isidora among them.”
I nearly folded over with the wave of relief that washed over me. They were alive and safe. Tears burned at my eyes. “High heights of the ‘Thae, but I’m relieved to hear you say that.”
“Heir Komo and First Laurel Synne also survived and completed their task.”
“I figured they, at least, had succeeded.” I gestured at the crowd below us.
Jaxas gave a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Again, I wondered what I was missing.
He turned. “We must go. The people are waiting.”
Uneasy, I followed.
As Jaxas emerged from the columns and started down the main stairwell from the Laurel Palace, the crowd suddenly roared even louder. Jaxas nodded and smiled. Despite being a Wreath, he showed none of the showmanship of Myron, nor the gaudy ostentatiousness of the Despot’s daughter. He was a soft-spoken man, and presented himself as nothing else. Yet there was no denying his regality as he walked slowly before me.
I followed at a distance. Laurel guards lined the way, and two Shepherds had taken post at the next landing. Tribune Timon waited there too, his slithering gaze finding me as I approached. I looked aside, remembering Jaxas’ private words with the Tribune. Why was he here with his Shepherds? What task had Jaxas set them to before? I hadn’t noticed them during my dream-walk, but I hadn’t been searching for them.
My gaze wandered to the person standing next to him. First Laurel Synne’s stare was cool as she nodded to me after bowing low to Jaxas. She looked somewhat worse for the wear from her journey into Brinecoast, a dark cut still trickling red down her forehead, her armor crusted with dried blood. Yet her posture only slightly sagged from the night’s expedition.
Jaxas stepped down next to the Tribune and leaned toward him. I stared hard, wishing my head wasn’t pounding so I could make sense of the situation.
“Airene.”
Recognizing the voice, I turned with a relieved smile. “Heir Komo. I—”
The smile froze on my lips at the sight of him. The boy had fared far worse than the First Laurel. Bruises and cuts littered his skin, visible from his ceremonial warrior’s garb. In places, his flesh had turned ashy. The eye set in the midst of the flaking green paint was purpled and swelled almost shut. His bottom lip was puffy on one side, making his smile look more like a grimace. His nose was bent and trickled blood.
“It will heal,” he said hurriedly at my horrified expression. “Nothing is permanently broken.”
“That’s good. But still…”
It wasn’t just his wounds. Only a boy of fourteen, and he suffered as
a man. No — he was a man, with all the responsibilities and maturity of one. Despite myself, I felt a glow of pride for the Bali prince. I hoped Linos would act as well as Komo when he came out of his stupor. Perhaps without Vusu, Famine, and the daemon plaguing him, he would rise soon.
Nkosi, two steps behind the boy, nodded to me. “Our Shaka-na is strong, as his father and mother raised him to be. He has done our ishaka proud with his actions tonight.”
I nodded in agreement. “But where is the Despot? I was told he’d be making an announcement soon.”
Komo and Nkosi exchanged glances. “He is,” the boy said, seeming confused.
Before I could ask anything further, silence dropped behind me. Turning, I saw Jaxas stood at the edge of the dais, one of the Shepherd’s hands touching his throat, and flinched as his voice crashed over the gathering.
“People of Oedija! You will have heard many rumors why we gather here today. You have heard my uncle, Myron Wreath, is not dead. You have heard my cousin, Asileia Wreath, has fled the city. You have heard the Wyvern’s Claw of Thys burns to the ground, and that a battle has taken place north of the wall. Perhaps you have even heard that Shepherds have visited the Conclave.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “I come now to tell you all of this is true. The Claw burned at the hands of wardens I sent to kill the traitor Vusumuzi.”
For a moment, I stopped breathing. The crowd stirred, but the noise was conflicted and confused. Some shouted angrily, but most seemed uneasy. How else had the Wreaths used wardens? they must be thinking. How else have they played with fire? I couldn’t believe Jaxas would throw this brand onto the tinder of the crowd’s temper.
Jaxas continued as if he hadn’t noticed the commotion. “Vusumuzi, who called himself the Visage of the Wyvern and led the rebel faction the Manifest, was the most powerful warden of our time. Yet he fled before our Watchers, wardens of the Acadium who were trained to defend us against him. Vusumuzi burned his base of operations as he left, but the Watchers escaped. Vusumuzi, in the end, did not. Though he fled to the Acadium, he died there with a knife in his chest.”
Scattered cheers pierced the uneasiness, but not nearly as many as I’d hoped for. A century and a half of distrust of magic couldn’t be undone with a single action. Even if they had seen Vusu as a great threat, taking him on with any wardens other than the Shepherds was too much to swallow. I wondered if Jaxas knew what a grave error he was committing. But there was no stopping it now as he continued.
“With Vusumuzi’s death, we hope to dismantle the Manifest. To any of you who know those who followed him, tell them that their leader is dead. They should disperse and return to their lives, so that we may prepare for the other threats against Oedija.
“But the traitor’s justice is not all we gained last night. Myron Wreath, my uncle, has been recovered from the clutches of the Manifest. However, to our great sadness, he has suffered horrible mistreatment at their hands. For now, he deems himself too ill to serve as your Despot, and has asked another to Ascend in his place. Yet further tragedy finds us. Asileia Wreath, your erstwhile Despoina, has fled the city. So it falls to the last member of our family to take up the Evergreen Wreath.”
Suddenly, Nikias bustled past me. I stared down at his hands to see a vibrantly green crown of leaves and twigs. He passed the Evergreen Wreath to Tribune Timon. The Tribune in turn, with an inappropriate grin plastered over his face, raised the crown aloft. Jaxas turned and bowed his head so that the shorter man could set it atop his brow. He turned back to the almost completely silent crowd.
“I stand before you as your new Despot, people of Oedija, to act on your behalf, and protect you from the many enemies who threaten us.”
He paused. If he expected applause, he was disappointed. Too much had happened too quickly for them to know how to react. I myself could only stare at him.
“And already I do so,” Jaxas continued relentlessly. “As my reign begins, I have put necessary decrees in place. Beginning with the Demos Council. In ordinary times, their laggardly way of conducting the nation’s business might suffice. In war, it does not. Henceforth, I have disbanded the Council and suspended the power of the Conclave. All such power will return to the Laurel Palace as was done in the days of our ancestors.”
Finally, the crowd roared. I watched the gates below rattle as people pressed against them, shouting and screaming. A few even started climbing them before laurel guards jabbed them with the blunt end of their spears. This was a cauldron ready to boil over, and Jaxas only fed the fire.
“Avvad marches on our city!” Jaxas called above the noise, his voice thundering down the hill. “We must prepare for war! I will lead us through this trial. With your help, people of Oedija, we will turn aside the Imperium!”
I doubted the renewed cries were from enthusiasm. I could do nothing but stare at our newly Ascended Despot. He’d done it. He’d done what some part of me had hoped he would do. And from what he’d said earlier, he’d done it in part because of my words and influence.
But now that he’d finally acted, I couldn’t help but wish he hadn’t. Rather than unite Oedija, it promised to break it in a way that could never be mended. Famine might be suppressed, but the tremors of his arrival still wracked the city apart.
His pronouncements finished, Jaxas turned away, and his gaze found and held me. I returned it, though I was sure he could read the fear behind my eyes.
His expression didn’t shift as he approached me. “Wait for me in my solar,” he instructed, then started up the stairs. I cast one last look back at the roiling crowd, then obeyed my new Despot’s command.
I stared out the balcony doors of Jaxas’ solar. Watching. Waiting.
Nikias had filled me in on some of the vaguer details of Jaxas’ speech. Myron had indeed been recovered and was in critical condition. Presently, he was under bed-watch by order of the Wreath healers. As for if he was sick enough to serve as Despot, the steward professed belief that Jaxas spoke truly. I kept my doubts to myself.
As for his daughter, Asileia had officially fled the city with Bhaka, Komo’s traitorous guard. In some sense, this was true. Both had left the city, but not together. The former Despoina was now being kept at the same Wreath manor in the northern prefectures as my family. As for Bhaka, Komo had sent him back home with three of his guards to accept Yorandu justice.
Now Jaxas met with his new circle of advisors. Among them were, to my dismay, Feiyan and Timon, the former Tribune now acting as High Tribune, and Feiyan moving to occupy the premier counselor position of old, First Consul, which made her authority second only to Jaxas’. My blood boiled every time I imagined her smug smile at achieving such a high level of power. I hoped our new Despot knew what he was doing. Feiyan might be a useful tool, but only so long as her interests aligned with our own.
I tried to deny the last of my feelings toward it, but I was too weary to lie, even to myself. That he had chosen Feiyan for such a position over me smarted, even as I knew it was preposterous to feel that way. I was no counselor, no second-in-command. I was injured and a liability as a warden, among a host of other reasons. Yet I couldn’t drown the jealousy and resentment.
More aggravating still was that I couldn’t reach Linos, nor had I heard more from Xaron and Nomusa, or anything from Talan. Corin, too, was still missing from before the night’s action had begun. My weakness was only one part of the reason. Despite watching for several turns as I absently ate from the array of food laid out in Jaxas’ solar, the crowds around the Laurel Palace hadn’t dispersed. In fact, they only seemed to swell greater, as if the spreading word brought more curious eyes to glimpse the Despot who had taken back his family’s ancestral power. I could only hope all my friends were safe, and that Linos was out of the hands of those who wished him harm. I even dared to hope he’d awakened at last.
A creak sounded from the far side of the room, and I turned to see the door opening. But it wasn’t Jaxas who walked through. Worries momentarily forgotten, I crossed
the short distance and wrapped Xaron and Nomusa in a tight embrace.
“You’re late,” I chastised them, not letting go.
“Come off it,” Xaron complained. “You weren’t worried about us. You knew we’d make it out.”
Nomusa pried me off with a small smile. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Jaxas gave us a task to immediately attend to.”
My spirits sank further. Yet two more people had been given priority over me. That they were my friends only made it worse. “And that duty was?”
They exchanged a glance. “Establishing the Watchers as an official order of Oedija,” Nomusa admitted with reluctance.
I blinked. So much was changing, and all at once. Suddenly, I wanted to hear nothing more of it. “Never mind that. Tell me what happened last night.”
They exchanged another look, no doubt surprised at my lack of curiosity, but obliged. Xaron began with what I suspected was an exaggerated account of his foray into the Wyvern’s Claw. According to him, they’d had to overcome Seeker wardens at every turn until they finally arrived at the center room in the tallest part of the amphitheater, where Vusu was supposed to be lying ill in bed. Instead, they’d encountered a room empty but for an intricate trap that shattered dozens of pots filled with oil on the wood floor, then set them to flames. They’d had to flee to avoid being swallowed by the chasing inferno. To make matters worse, Seeker wardens closed in behind them, and they’d had to fight their way out. Six of the Watchers hadn’t returned. Recounting this finally seemed to dampen Xaron’s mood. He morosely confessed that they hadn’t even killed Vusu for their troubles.
Nomusa’s story was no less eventful. Having gone to the Conclave at Jaxas’ behest, she’d stood in the great chamber and borne witness to the overthrow of the Demos Council. Tribune Timon had marched his four Shepherds down the stairs to the small door behind the dais and entered without invitation. Nomusa hadn’t seen everything that happened, but it wasn’t long after that the Low Consuls were marched out. Only Feiyan had been missing — as usual, she was ahead of the game. They’d come out quietly for the most part, but only after Berker had been made an example of. One of the Shepherds burned his arm badly when he resisted, and none of the others risked it. I felt some small measure of vindication at Berker’s punishment, but it was tainted with the realization that Shepherds were free to use their magic against even the elected officials of our demotism. Even if the Low Consul was an ass, it was a dangerous precedent. The Conclave guards, having witnessed the devastation wardens were capable of during the Despoina’s trial, didn’t resist either, but let the Demos Council be led away.
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