More words blurted out.
“I owe it to you for shaking me out of it. That last moment outside Townfold, when I saw you surrendering for the people, that’s when I couldn’t take it anymore. Jaime,” his throaty voice splintered, “I didn’t mean to pose you as Usheon’s son. That time with fire, at Hilaris’s burning—it was my emotions. Fire tends to appear when I’m emotional.”
“But it was convenient, wasn’t it?”
Cassie released the bedsheets. “I—I know what I did was wrong. I just wished Father knew I never wanted to overthrow him. I hated the prophecy as much as he did. Maybe more.”
Not so long ago, Jaime had once thought the same thing.
He squeezed Cassie’s hand. His brother looked up in surprise.
“I know how hard it is to be brave,” Jaime said. “I made a lot of mistakes, too.”
Cassie’s voice thinned.
“I don’t really have any right asking you this, but . . . Jaime, I want to make up for what I did. If you give me a chance, I’ll prove myself to you and our people. I’ll take care of you like you took care of me.”
Jaime slowly stood up.
“Cassie . . . are you asking me if you can be King?”
His hands darted under the bedsheets. “No—I mean, maybe. Yes. Do you want to be King? Honestly?”
He drilled his gaze directly onto Cassie, who wouldn’t look at him. “Why do you want to be King?”
“I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter—”
A knock interrupted them, and an old politician craned his neck inside. “Your Highness.” Both of them looked up. The politician dipped his head to Jaime. “A private meeting commences before the Air Throne. Their Holinesses request that you please join them with urgency.”
He glanced back at Cassie. “Let’s talk later. Brothers?” Jaime held out his hand the way Toran had for him in Arcurea.
After a pause, Cassie took his hand.
Squeezed.
Squeezed so hard, it hurt.
“Brothers,” he rasped.
Jaime followed the old man out of the room, his hand aching. The gold mask behind him, smile frozen on his back, suddenly made his flesh tingle.
Why would Cassie ask me to be King if he avoided being Prince for seven years?
His guide, the palace steward, introduced himself as Horos Phillipus. All prim and prude, Horos danced him into a marble foyer held up by flowered columns. Guards dressed in silver capes bowed their heads as he approached. Another one opened the door.
“Please, Your Highness,” said Horos.
Jaime’s sandals found themselves on a floor of polychrome marble—blues and purples and pinks and colors he didn’t even know existed in stone. The builder would’ve had to mine from all corners of Jaypes for this. And the cost. It hurt his head to think. The ceiling was a sky away, coffered with panels of brocaded air currents. False columns held it up, crowned with windflower garlands. All of it converged into the apse above him, draped by a tapestry with the Air Emblem washing over the throne.
His father and mother ruled from here, once. A man and woman who had probably never seen Mount Alairus.
What a strange thought.
“Come forward, Jamian Ascaerii,” a stentorian voice said. “Take a seat.”
Jaime switched his gaze to the long table set in the middle of the room.
A score of military officials rose to their feet at his entrance. The Kaipponese bowed low. At both ends, the Western Kings stayed sitting, although Emperor Viro looked uncomfortable in his chair.
An empty seat awaited him in the middle.
Jaime passed it.
The room fell dead silent as he limped up the steps, stood before the mighty Throne of Jaypes. He turned around to face them.
“I’ll stay standing.”
A peddler could drop a brooch and the Kingdom would hear.
The officials clenched their teeth at his brazenness. The Kaipponese, who stayed bowed, looked like they were going to hack him apart.
Where is your return bow? Not even to the Emperor? How offensive!
King Gildas cleared his throat. “We are finishing here, but we agreed you should be informed of the present state of affairs. Come. Listen.” There was a drained air about him today, despite his expressive hand gestures. “We found some records of great interest.”
“What kind of records?”
“Well, the identities of Usheon’s bastards. Only two exist—girls, sightly as mushrooms, if I may say. Or three, if you count that gangling little guppy, Kassios Ottega.”
Laughter echoed in the throne room.
Jaime said, “I will treat them with honor. They’ll live here, at the palace.”
The Glaiddish officials stopped laughing. Gildas Brennte leaned forward, forehead wrinkling in disbelief.
“Jamian Ascaerii.”
The tapestry quivered from Gildas’s bellow.
“As one Sage to another, I offer you friendly council. Do not let anyone challenge your sovereignty. Remember that you, as us, bear the sanctified House of your god.”
“Are you saying I should kill them?”
“Battles are costly to the royal treasury. Remember that for your descendants, and especially for your allies.”
Jaime grit his teeth. “They will live.”
The Emperor of Kaippon burst out laughing.
Fire blazed in Jaime’s chest, giving him the boldness to meet eyes with Viro Tazuga. A year ago, he wouldn’t have dared. But at his open stare, the Kaipponese sat ramrod-straight. One leapt to his feet.
“You do not look upon the Emperor, majiku,” he spat in heavily accented Moderna.
A lurking shadow emerged from the corner—the giant warrior with the malformed scar. He gave a nod. One of his subordinates ran a kendao through the offending Kaipponese’s midsection.
Jaime gasped.
The Glaiddish jolted upright, their hands on their broadswords. Their faces turned green as the blade slid back out. Blood pooled all over the marbled floor.
“So sorry,” the giant warrior murmured.
His anger dissolved into fear. The moles on Emperor Viro’s face shifted as he returned a tight smile to Jaime.
These Westerners are crazy. The sooner I get them out, the better.
Jaime shakily turned his gaze to Gildas. “Your Holiness, what will happen to Usheon?”
“Many of his followers will be executed, including Reizo Kita and the Archpriestess. And in two days, so will Usheon be.”
Panic flared up his body. “But Usheon is a Sage!”
Gildas glanced at Viro. Care to explain?
But the Emperor pretended not to see him. The older King sighed.
“A Sage who breaks his oath to uphold his element must be punished. Usheon failed two elements and violated a host of divine laws. The consequences are written in the Sacred Codex. That small-eyed bastard knew the consequences when he crowned himself King, and more—started a war. As the High King is now but legend, that responsibility falls on us.”
What about both of you? You let him reign for fourteen years before you decided to do anything.
And suddenly, Jaime understood.
Eridene said she had sent her court messages about the state of Jaypes. She intended the Water Kingdom to help him. But instead, Glaidde saw how vulnerable Jaypes was. And on the day of the prophecy, while Usheon and Jaime were closed in a tight space, the Western Sages jumped in to usurp his Kingdom.
Both of you thought you’d capture me and annex Jaypes for your war. That was the reason for your Duel.
But they didn’t expect he would be strong enough to stop a banestorm. Jaime held in his fury.
Gildas’s water currents may have saved his life in the Colosseum, but both of these Kings were his enemies.
They were not true Sages.
The King of Glaidde gave a respectful nod.
Jaime knew how to play this game, too.
He dipped in a bow.
As he was making for the doors, the scarred giant ordered everyone’s leave. The officials scrambled out behind Jaime without questions. Then Emperor Viro’s righthand stepped out of the throne room last, clicking the doors gently behind him.
“These are to remain shut until the conference finishes,” he ordered the guards. His guards. “Their Holinesses’ orders.”
The giant’s black eyes turned to him.
Move on, boy.
Jaime dashed off with a shiver, but his feet dragged. As long as he was breathing, the Western Kings would try to maneuver him, but he resolved to keep Jaypes neutral from their war. No matter what.
Well, I might as well find Horos.
A storm of things was growing on his mental to-do list.
At the end of the day, after dodging statesmen, military officers, and palace staff all demanding his attention for every crisis in the Kingdom, he happened to pass the throne doors again.
They were still shut.
Jaime stopped, uneasiness creeping up his skin. He approached the Jaypan guards and gave them a firm look. They glanced at each other, but did not stop him. He pressed his head against the doors.
The chatter inside was muffled, but a draft passed under the crack and carried their words to him.
“I must know the truth, Viro.”
Spoken through the roof of a mouth, husky and urgent—Gildas’s voice.
“Years ago, the High King summoned us to council. Remember you?”
No answer.
“Our great Houses renewed our sacred alliance—you as well—when the Black Temple showed us the affairs to come. I said, remember you?”
Nothing.
Still, Gildas continued.
“Now Nyzarêtor and Ascaerii are dead, just as they foretold. You are next in line. You, Viro! Yet I’ve heard unnatural reports escaping out of the shrines of Kaippon.”
Silence.
“That Jaypan prophecy of rubbish had something to do with the Darklings, didn’t it? Usheon was a pawn—”
“Eh, please! This is dangerous talk. I assume your rudeness derives from your barbarian ignorance—”
“But you knew this already. You knew it long ago. Perhaps our war has nothing to do with our Houses. He is forcing you to serve, is He not?”
“How do you assault my honor so shamelessly—”
“Viro Tazuga, you little ball of shit. You would betray the Sages and our gods—”
“You dare speak to me this way!” The Emperor’s voice flared past the doors. Jaime drew his head back. “You most offensive of impotent barbarians, always spreading tales to taint my family name! Kudeimoshu! And I shall return the favor. There is no more peace between Tazuga and Brennte. This ceasefire between us is over.”
Jaime hid behind the nearest pillar. Not long after, the doors burst open, and a luxurious shape in a stiff-necked overcoat marched away.
His head swam.
The Black Temple? Who’s Emperor Viro serving? And the prophecy. They’re saying there was never a prophecy at all?
No, that’s impossible.
His gut tightened.
The Storm of Jaypes was over, but the Western Kings made it sound like a second storm, a larger storm, was brewing on the horizon. And he wasn’t entirely sure this new enemy would be human.
Chapter Forty-Two
At dawn, his stepfather was going to die.
Jaime tossed and turned. He tried meditating, counting, even sipping on a mug of goat milk, but nothing worked. Those two little girls hugging Usheon kept flashing through his mind.
Finally, Jaime called for a servant to send for Achuros. As Jaime waited, he sat on the edge of his bed and tapped his ankles against the mattress. One. Two. Three. Four.
A few minutes later, the door opened with sputtering.
“It’s in the middle of the night, boy. Summoning me like a common servant—”
“I’m sorry, Achuros. This palace feels bigger than Arcurea. I didn’t know where to find you.”
“You better have woken me for good reason.”
“Where are they holding Usheon’s courtiers? The high-ranking ones.”
The airpriest cocked his head. “In the city prisons, of course.”
“I want to talk to Reizo.”
“What! Are you mad?”
Pushing himself off the bed, Jaime limped into Achuros’s face. “If my stepfather is going to die tomorrow, I need to know some things.”
The airpriest grabbed his mug and drank, but when he realized it wasn’t wine, he scowled.
“Alright, but we will make this quick.”
They put on a pair of cloaks and stole out of the palace on horseback. Achuros led him to the west side of the city. Earlier in the day, Jaime nearly fainted when Horos told him a million people lived in the Capital. Arcurea’s size still overwhelmed him. Now, as they passed towering temples, giant statues, and paved streets of beeches, he could easily see that amount filling this foreign world.
When they reached the entrance of the prisons, the porter above the gate called down.
“Who goes there?”
Achuros lowered his hood so the guards could see his face, and nodded at Jaime to do the same. His mentor asked for directions to Brosidos Naxagoras, the Captain of the Guard. The porter warily signaled for his men to raise the portcullis, and led them into the brooding stone structure.
They stopped outside an office door. Achuros told him, “Wait here.”
The door was left open a crack. Jaime peered inside the office.
A large gray-haired man in uniform stood before a desk piled high with warrants. He nodded to Achuros. They exchanged low words. Minutes trickled away. Jaime slipped his hands in his pockets. Then, a small pouch of coins was exchanged, and the door opened.
“For your efforts, Captain,” said Achuros.
The stark man nodded to Jaime the same way he had to his mentor—briskly, all-business—and stomped down the hallway.
What if Gildas or Viro already paid him to guard Usheon? How many of my own Jaypans are under The West’s coin?
Jaime shook the thought out uneasily.
“My men will show you the rest of the way.” Captain Brosidos left them at the first door. Another guard led them down an ancient staircase that winded down into the dark. The air grew cold and damp. He swallowed a cough.
The staircase opened into a hallway of cells.
“Second to last, on the right,” the guard said.
Achuros waited by the guard, every muscle in him strung tight. “Go on, Jaime.”
He recognized none of the other prisoners he passed. Jaime stopped before Reizo’s cell.
A silhouetted shape paced against the torchlight. Clink. Clink. Wrists shackled to long chains drilled into the walls. He was stripped down to a thigh-length wool tunic.
Jaime coughed.
The Strategos wrested for the bars. “Osei! Prince! Thank Fire, you—”
“Tell me what happened to my mother.”
The relief shattered from Reizo’s face.
“Excuse please?”
“I need to know the truth about the Queen. Sarendi Markus. How did she die?”
The Strategos laughed shakily. “It is a long story.” He resumed pacing. Jaime pressed himself closer to the bars.
“I have time.”
More shuffled pacing.
“Reizo.”
The Strategos pulled up short. He cursed under his breath in Kaipponese.
“How about I tell you the truth about what happened to the King in Kaippon. Eh? Before we arrived?”
“Only if it explains what happened to my mother.”
His black chains coiled at his feet as he sat down and spread his legs. The night was flickering out. It took all of Jaime’s patience not to yell at him.
“My lord was born in southern Kaippon, in an impoverished province ravaged by warlords and bandits. He was an orphan, did you know? The streets scarred his avai, but he survived. As Imperial law goes, he was conscripted into the army in his twelfth year.
“As seasons passed, my lord ascended the ranks and gardened prestige—”
“Garnered.”
“Please?”
“Never mind. Keep going.”
“As I was saying, he gardened many prestige. One day the Emperor bestowed him the titles of daimyo and General. His first campaign was to capture a key Glaiddish port. He succeeded. But in the second half of the second year . . . ”
Reizo lifted his head, his face wrinkled in vague annoyance. “Sorry, why does this matter to you?”
“Just continue.”
“One night, we were attacked by the Glaiddish royal marshal. Ah.” Reizo’s eyes lit up. “The same month Jaypes lost the Air King. Yes. Month of October, 1981. It was early snow, and I was very younger. We were outmaneuvered fivefold. But defeat is no option in the Imperial Army. Every Kaipponese warrior knows he must accept his shame with death.
“And yet, my lord would not abandon us to the Glaiddish.” Reizo smiled sadly. “He was no general like we knew. He gave us many moral—”
“Morale?”
“Remind us of our families, and if we had none, of our brotherhood when we most wanted to decapitate.”
“Capitulate.”
“My lord led us like we were men, not stinking meat. The retreat he ordered saved us all that night.”
“And then?”
“Eh, then? It is obvious what happened then.” Reizo snorted. “On our arrival to Kasai Soto, the Fire Capital, my lord was dragged into the dungeons below the palace. I hear rumors Tazuga stripped him bare and force him standing for a month.” He rubbed his brows. “They pulled his arms out of his sockets and shattered his kendao-hand. When they done, the Emperor branded him, stripped his titles, and turned him back onto the streets.
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