Airlean Tales S2E8: Grand Ball (3)

The ballroom exploded into commotion. Whispers turned to murmurs, gradually rising until the entire chamber was filled with steady noise. The prince, engaged. Bound with Atlantis. A secret arrangement made by their own king. Simon Kourios had pushed together a mountain of kindling and set it aflame.

“Well, Nicolina’s not going to like this,” Halcyon breathed. He had somehow appeared by Karis’s side, but at this point, she was accustomed to it.

Karis nodded in Sethis’s direction. “Watch the prince. Someone might use the commotion to attack him.”

Halcyon disappeared, weaving through the crowd like mist. Karis surveyed the nobility, reading their expressions. Disbelief, mostly. Many were angry. Some, likely, had been hoping for the chance to marry their daughters into the crown; others were simply enraged by this sign of weakness from the king. Since when had Airlea relied on other nations for strength? To them, this was only another sting of betrayal.

But what motive has Atlantis to risk so much for a foreign groom? Karis mused. It took considerable resources to dispatch an expedition all the way across the ocean, just to find a spouse. Were they in such dire need of allies to invest so heavily in a potentially fruitless search?

A familiar voice disrupted Karis’s storm of thought. “Lady Karis,” whispered Azalea, pushing through the crowd with a pale face, “someone is sneaking through the palace. I feel them trying to conceal their presence.”

As one of the best Stabilizers in the country, Azalea was very discerning in detecting manacraft. Karis immediately heeded her.

“How so?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Azalea replied. “I feel someone burning mana, but it’s—it’s to hide the manawells of others. They’re casting it over like a shroud.”

Then it was some manacraft under Controlling—the large umbrella which contained all nanomagick that manipulated mana itself and how it interacted with the fabric of reality, such as Dispelling, Sensing, or Stabilizing. A nebulous, versatile craft that not even the Observatorium understood entirely.

In short, Karis was not prepared for this threat. And she did not like being unprepared.

“Can you sense the direction?”

Azalea trembled and shook her head. Realizing that her voice was growing harsh, Karis gentled her tone.

“Thank you, little flower. Continue searching for both the source and the concealed, but don’t reveal your hand. Subtlety is the name of the game.”

Azalea nodded and slipped away.

Shrouding. Concealing manawells. There could be assassins on the prowl within the palace walls, with nobody the wiser. But how was it possible to shroud at all? Specialized manacraft was prohibited within palace grounds. The palace wards should have noticed the craft long before Azalea Fairwen. Had they been evaded?

The hubbub increased, and Simon was saying something, but it was a strain to hear over the crowd. Something about thus concludes and grateful and opportunity, the crafty, insincere snake. Karis was distracted again when a young man dressed in verdant green broke through the thick press of people to step in front of her.

“Lady Caelute,” said Lord Wesley Geppett with a short bow.

Curious, Karis thought briefly. Why is everybody coming to me?

“Lord Geppett,” she replied aloud.

“Have you seen Azalea?” There was a storm of complicated emotions in the young heir’s eyes, none of which Karis felt qualified to address. “I’ve been looking for her, but…”

But she seems to be avoiding you. Perhaps Karis shouldn’t have meddled. What on earth had happened between the sweet Hunter and her Support? Surely they hadn’t quarreled?

Surely it wasn’t her fault?

“She is securing the area in the interest of His Highness’s safety,” Karis answered, which was not untrue. “In fact, I recommend you return to your own retainers before anything…untoward occurs.”

He looked crestfallen for one vulnerable moment. Then the look was gone, replaced by a perfectly polite mask. “Yes, Lady Caelute.”

The crowd swallowed him up and Karis felt a pinch of regret. She would have to ask Azalea exactly what occurred. But later. Once nobody was in danger of dying.

Sethis was saying something and clapping his hands, attempting to summon attention. His efforts went ignored. The noise was building to a roar, bloating with eligible maidens weeping inconsolably, lords blustering about subterfuge and madness.

With a frustrated look, Sethis motioned over a palace guard and whispered a command. The guard nodded sharply, and within moments, a unit of soldiers intermingled with Atlantean warriors and escorted Simon out of the room, their bodies a broad wall against the unruly crowd. Some called jeers as they left; more muttered filthy insults under their breath, words that made Karis’s skin curdle.

“Enough!” barked Sethis. His face had drawn into a thunderous look. “While you are under the palace roof, you will conduct yourself respectfully. If you cannot, you will find yourself removed. Maestro, the next dance. At once.”

The orchestra scrambled into its next song, violins wailing out over the din of the crowd. Another unit of palace guards filed in through the towering double doors, imposing a martial air on the room. Sethis turned sharply and strode from the room, unswayed by several scattered pleas for him to stay from the crowd. It was the angriest Karis had ever seen him.

But even the crown prince’s departure did not distract her from the movements shifting on the edges of the crowd. Prince Micah, vanishing into the shadows. Lord Magnum Valence, slipping into the gardens so naturally that nobody else noticed. In the corner, the conniving Violet Forsythe whispered with Lord Jannes of House Quintrell and the lady of House Irlisse.

Like a symphony, Karis thought grimly, the next movement has begun. And she had the distinct feeling that the envoy of Atlantis had set the tempo.

The bedroom door shut behind Sethis, and his fractured mask shattered.

He had felt his temper pouring through the cracks in the ballroom, and it threatened to engulf him now. The envoy’s sly smile lingered heavily, as did the audience’s faces twisted in rage. Once again, Sethis had been played the fool. Made to dance like a puppet. He would only ever be seen as a pawn, his kindness and hospitality turned on him like a weapon.

Sethis pinched his nose and breathed deeply in a weak attempt to calm himself. His fingers itched to seize the nearest object and throw it until it shattered, but such fruitless and violent rage—that was like his father, and he wished to be like his mother, his mother with her gentle strength and impervious smile—

The door to his bedroom flung open, and he drew his sword immediately, light mana blazing over his figure in a skintight shield. The two figures standing in his doorway froze.

“Sorry,” Micah said evenly. “We should have knocked.”

Ashamed, Sethis released his Form of light. The veil of mana over his clothes dispersed back into the air.

Now he had nearly attacked his own family.

Lilian stepped past Micah. “Oh, Seth,” she said somberly.

She slid her arms over Sethis’s shoulders and pulled him close, a tight, comforting embrace. The angles of her ceremonial armor dug hard into his neck and ribs until they stung, but he only clung to her tighter, as if she was the last line of his fraying sanity.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mumbled. “Father. Didn’t Father call for the guard?”

“Well, I suppose I’ll be hanged at sunrise.”

“Lilian.”

She drew back and clapped him on the shoulder. “Micah fetched me. I could not ignore that.”

Humbled, yet undeniably touched, Sethis smiled wanly at her. He could only hope that her unit, who were loyal to her, would protect her from the consequences.

Lilian’s eyes flashed from beneath her gilded helm. “Simon Kourios, that insolent, dung-eating shrew! I could take off his head right here and now! Making as if Atlantis is extending a favor when he dares to threaten you in your own palace?”

“They seem eager to start up trouble,” Micah agreed. “There hasn’t been an idle moment since the delegation arrived.”

“Let me find that envoy and wring his neck. I’ve tolerated enough of his slimy wheedling.” Lilian’s fingers danced threateningly over her sword. “I figured he’d come to bluster about some one-sided trade agreement or ridiculous levy, but this? Demeaning you in front of your own people? This is complete impudence.”

Sethis’s mouth quirked upward. Ironically, witnessing Lilian’s fury was soothing his own temper and helping him calm. It was miraculous what a bit of vindication could do for him.

“One moment,” he said. He seated himself on a cushy armchair next to a bushy potted plant, which he often watered to calm himself. Expectedly, the poor thing was brown and drooping. It had probably drowned multiple times over.

“Let us consider this thoroughly,” Sethis continued. “The palace archivists will verify, but we can assume that Atlantis is not foolish enough to fabricate a marriage arrangement. Certainly not one they would announce to the greater public.”

“So it is Uncle’s neck I should be wringing.”

“But why would King Asher sign such an arrangement?” Micah said. “We’ve never entered war with Atlantis, and before the Great Storm, we had no particular need of their resources.”

“That’s not quite true,” Sethis murmured.

Lilian sucked in a breath. “The Lightbringers?”

Sethis nodded curtly.

“What about the Lightbringers?” Micah demanded impatiently. “They’re all dead, aren’t they? Hanged like the violent insurgents they were. None of them are left.”

“It’s not about what they left so much as what they took,” Lilian murmured.

“…Mother.”

Lilian’s nails bit into her palms. “Aunt Esther would have never agreed to this arrangement, nor would she ever have Sethis marry for anything other than love. Uncle made this decision after her death.”

“Father must have been afraid in the days following her passing,” Sethis mused. “Surrounded by foes, vulnerable to a repeat attack. Desperate for any source of outside strength. An alliance by marriage is one of his more sound ideas.”

“And so he sold you off to some Atlantean princess.”

“No different from most in my position. Love is a luxury the crown can ill afford.” He grimaced. “And perhaps Lady Vascea is the one being sold off here. I am the inheriting scion of my country. Father would have agreed to many things, but not to my departure.”

Micah’s brows knitted together. “All the more puzzling. Atlantis wishes to ship out one of their daughters? To what end?”

“Trade, military, resources,” Lilian said with a shrug. “Like any political marriage.”

“Yet Envoy Kourios has spoken with the most…vocal of the nobility. He knows the city is in tension. Allying with the monarchy now, unpopular as it is, would be a gamble. Best to wait until the dust settles and see who is victorious before putting forth your prize mare.” He glanced at Sethis. “Sorry, Seth.”

“A little crude, but not entirely unfounded,” Sethis said grimly. “Yes, everything this envoy has done is most puzzling. Why call upon this marriage agreement now? Why not first inform me in private?”

“Well, clearly, they wish to pressure you into accepting,” Micah said. Then he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it.”

“Oh?”

“They wish to subdue Airlea by ensnaring you through the wiles of a luscious, enticing woman, rendering you an ineffective puppet of Atlantis.”

“That certainly is an idea,” Lilian said dryly.

Micah shrugged. “It could be true.”

“Then they would have brought her here, shrouded mysteriously under a veil, smelling of roses and saccharine death, whispering seductive nothings—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Sethis said, clearing his throat. “I believe two of you read too much bawdy literature.”

“There’s not much else to do in Uncle’s service.” Lilian tilted her head. “Say, are you aware that the top Hunters are the titular characters of the most popular pieces? You included.”

“Pardon?”

“The well-mannered and mysterious Prince Charming. What darkness lies behind his polished, pristine facade?” She made a face. “Sounds quite distasteful to me, but a few in my troop have taken a liking to it.”

He felt steady warmth crawling up his cheeks. “Not too much, I should hope.”

“We’re practically a book club anyway. I can give you recommendations. If you’re ever in the mood to try commoner filth, Heartsign’s works are actually not bad. The Court series, in particular, bears mentioning…”

“Anyways,” said Micah, “the marriage of the non-fictional variety?”

“Ah, that. Well, Seth, your choice is actually quite simple. You’ve received a proposal. Will you accept it or not?”

“Go through it for the political strength,” Micah added. “Nothing’s to stop you from taking on a mistress for love. What? What’s with that look?”

“A popular option among the nobility, to be sure,” Sethis said flatly. “But I would not consign anyone to being a pawn trapped in a loveless marriage. I would either learn to love this stranger, or turn down the offer entirely.”

“You already know that turning down the offer risks the ire of Atlantis.”

“And accepting it stymies the ire of our own people.”

“We need immediate strength.”

“The Storm has shown that we need unity more.”

“Seth—”

A quick rapping at the door had them all snapping to. Lilian drew her greatsword and sidled just beside the door. Sethis stepped opposite of her, sword in hand. Micah ducked behind the bed.

Lilian met Sethis’s gaze, and he nodded sharply. A twitch of her fingers pulled the door ajar; then she was surging through, sword cleaving an arc.

She was met with a hapless squeak. Sethis quickly pulled out from behind the door.

Hunter Azalea Fairwen stared right at them, sprawled on the ground with Lilian’s sword at her throat, her eyes wide as saucers.

“Lady Fairwen?” Sethis said, astonished. When Lilian didn’t move to lower her blade, he waved his hand. “At ease, Lilian. She’s an ally.”

“There are plenty of Royal Hunters who would rather see themselves on the throne than you, Seth,” Lilian replied tersely.

“Believe me when I tell you that Azalea Fairwen is not one of them.”

Azalea’s face turned pallid and she quickly stammered out words. “I’m—I’m so sorry for the intrusion, Your Highness. I didn’t mean—the bedchambers are very private, I know, but Lady Karis insisted that you be told at once—”

“Told what?” Sethis asked.

“A manacrafter was caught shrouding several vagabonds. Lady Karis and Lord Halcyon are—herding them. Collecting them? Um, gathering them. They’ll be done shortly.” She glanced at Lilian, who still held the sword’s edge to her throat. “Um. Hello, Lady Madame Captain Forsythe.”

Lilian finally lowered her sword, an odd look on her face. “You’re Lady Azalea Fairwen? Slayer of the Class Five desert wyrm from the Battle of Two Blights?”

“Oh, um, yes, technically that was me and my brother, I suppose.”

Lilian was silent as she sheathed her weapon, but Sethis could easily tell the thoughts tumbling around her mind. Azalea Fairwen was, after all, quite opposite of the image most people expected of national heroes. Small, timid, gentle. Possibly too inclined to trust others. No one would guess that she had saved the country not two seasons ago.

“Shrouders?” said Micah, who had peeked out from behind the bed. “Curious. The palace has wards to detect such insidious manacraft.”

“I know,” Azalea said, wringing her hands, “but I also know what I felt.”

“Where did Lady Caelute and Lord Yuden tell you to find them?”

“Out on the northern watchtower, Your Highness Prince Micah. For privacy.”

“A sound choice.” He nodded at Lilian and Micah. Lilian seemed almost excited in the way she straightened and adjusted the sheath slung over her back.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” she said. “No time to waste.” And she was tearing down the hallway in a quick, elegant strut, Micah right behind her.

Sethis’s first steps shuffled to follow them, but he found himself pausing. “May I ask your opinion, Lady Fairwen?” he asked.

The young Hunter nearly jumped. “Oh! Of what?”

“The proceedings tonight. The envoy announcing the marriage agreement. What think you of it?”

She nibbled at her lower lip for a second. “Well, I don’t like to speak ill of Mr. Simon, but…that was quite—quite rude! He must be desperate indeed to divulge something so important in such a tactless way.”

Desperate, Sethis thought. Interesting.

“But my opinion is very ignorant and doesn’t matter much,” Azalea said hurriedly. “Please pay it no mind, Your Highness.”

“On the contrary,” Sethis replied. “I find that the gaze of one unmuddled by politics is the clearest of all.” He turned to follow the eager stride of his cousin. “Good day, Lady Fairwen.”

The northern watchtower was not much higher than the parapets surrounding Mythaven, but even so, the evening wind bit with a vicious chill at Sethis’s cheeks. It was supposed to be well into spring. The unseasonal cold unsettled him.

Halcyon and Karis were waiting at the open roof of the watchtower, flanking a group of twenty figures hunched over the cobblestone. They were all able-bodied, strong-looking, but not particularly noteworthy. No ragged scars of underground mercenaries, no grizzled lines of veteran soldiers. An unexpected force to crack the royal palace itself.

“Your Highness, we’ve rounded up the intruders,” Karis said placidly, as if discussing the weather. She nudged the foremost figure, cloaked in ratty brown fabric, with the toe of her shoe. “All were armed with martial weapons. This one was shrouding their manawells. I haven’t asked any questions yet. I thought you would prefer that pleasure.”

Pleasure? As if she expected him to torment them? Sethis smiled benignly to wave away the concern. “You have my gratitude, Lady Caelute, Lord Yuden,” he said. “You have truly gone above and beyond.”

“The honor was ours. This has been the most entertaining night in months.”

Palace guards began to file onto the rooftop, surrounding the motley group of intruders, halberds lowered and at the ready. Halcyon and Karis exchanged a nod, then disappeared as they withdrew down the watchtower ladder. For a brief moment, there was silence.

“I fear you know well the consequences of what you have attempted tonight.” Sethis’s voice sounded hollow and cold, even to himself. “Raising weapons against the royal family is a crime punishable by death. I recommend you refrain from any falsehoods if you would like the slightest chance to divert that fate.”

He nodded to Micah, who sauntered forward, thin and bony fingers laced together.

“Shrouding,” Micah said. “A rare talent indeed. Noticed only by who can be considered the country’s greatest Stabilizer. You were unlucky that she was one of the Hunters picked for tonight’s duty, or perhaps you would have succeeded. In and out like a whisper, with no one the wiser.”

He stopped just before the foremost figure, looking amused.

“Your quest was always futile,” he said. “The king cares not for festivities. Even now, the Royal Guard surrounds him in the throne room, all entrances barred shut. The only mystery remaining is the one of your identity, and that is no mystery at all.”

Micah leaned down with a keen smile.

“The fact that your manacraft is exempt from the palace wards”—Micah extended his hand, and with a flick of the wrist, pushed back the hood of their captive—“means that you are none other than one of the three High Sages of the Observatorium. Hello, Malfis Rodham. What an unpleasant surprise.”

High Sage Malfis Rodham was taller and broader than would be expected from a scholar. A salt-and-pepper beard hugged his square jaw, and thick brows crowned his steely grey eyes. His face was familiar; High Sages often worked as the closest advisors to the kings of Airlea. The familiarity only made the betrayal sting deeper.

Sage Rodham’s eyes cut in Micah’s direction. “You…your voice—”

“Ah ah.” Micah wagged a finger. “We ask the questions here, Your Sagacity.”

“A High Sage. What an unthinkable betrayal.” Lilian’s voice was like iron as she rested the point of her greatsword before Sage Rodham, allowing him a glance of his own twisted reflection in the metal. “Tell me lest you suffer, fiend—has the entire Observatorium lost its wits, or you alone?”

“I meant no ill. Far from it.” Sage Rodham lifted his grey eyes to Sethis, limpid as a gemstone. “The opening of the palace for tonight’s festivities was a clear sign, Your Highness. We are abiding by your orders.”

Sethis’s blood was chilling rapidly, dread prickling like ice. “What orders?”

“To instate your reign, Your Highness.” Sage Rodham bowed his head. “This is the only opportunity to remove the king and ordain you as the true regent. We have understood your message.”

Sethis’s hand trembled. “Are you mad?”

“You need not play the righteous fool before me, Your Highness.”

Sethis did not know what possessed him. His arm suddenly lashed out and he was gripping Sage Rodham by the collar, yanking him to his feet with enough force to bruise the back of his neck. Sage Rodham choked at the throttle with a noise of pain.

“I am not the sort of man to dispose of my own father for the sake of convenience,” Sethis said. His voice was frigid and foreign to his own ears. “You have misread me, good sage.”

The shock in Sage Rodham’s eyes steadied quickly. “Surely you—jest.”

“Do I seem in good humor to you?”

“Seth,” Lilian said softly. He ignored her.

“Well?” he demanded, throttling Sage Rodham again.

Sage Rodham gurgled, but his glare was bitter and unyielding. “Then you are—like the—rest of your forefathers! Impotent, apathetic—a corpse of—a ruler. You know your father sits idle. You know we suffer under his reign. You would sooner sentence your country to a slow and agonizing demise than lift a finger!”

Sethis dropped him, numb all over. Sage Rodham crumpled, coughing harshly, spittle spraying over his own shoes.

“Turn these assassins over to the Inquisitor’s Bureau,” he said flatly. “Let justice decide their fate.”

He turned and strode away, leaving the palace guards to haul the intruders.

“For a moment,” Micah said, jogging to keep in step, “I thought you were going to hang them.”

“I considered it.”

Micah’s brows shot upward. “Oh?”

Sethis clenched his jaw. “I do not understand, Micah. They would sooner have tyranny than compassion.”

“Where there is fear, people desire structure above all. It’s a testament to your reputation that they tried to instate you, rather than some uppity noble.”

“Reputation.” His grip tightened on his sword. “I doubt it. More likely they thought I would be easier to control.”

“Or they knew you could become a good king,” Lilian said. “Maybe he saw what you cannot see.”

Sethis let his steps drift to a halt and looked at her. There was a new sharpness in her eyes and he did not know what to make of it.

“Do you agree with him, Lilian?” he asked softly.

“I’ve made a vow to never lift my sword against Uncle.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“You know where I stand, Seth.” She slung her sword over her back, returning its weight to the sheath. “And you know that it’s with you, no matter the choice you make.”

Sethis wished to feel honored, but keener still was the burden. He did not know if he could live up to such trust. Would she come to regret her decision? To despise him as liege as much as she did his father?

One thing was evident. He turned back to the cold clarity of the night sky and clasped his hands behind his back. A ribbon of an evening breeze whispered over his brow.

“The both of you were right.” He closed his eyes. “We need immediate strength and the unity of Airlea is already a farce. Sage Rodham has shown me that.”

“Seth,” Micah murmured.

“Yes. It is time to call upon Atlantis.” Sethis’s mouth twitched in wry amusement. “I believe one of their senators is in need of a groom.”

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