I read the letter four times, and I still couldn’t wrap my head around whether it meant what I thought it meant, and whether it was a good thing
if it did.
“Well?” Brayan pressed, impatient. “What do you think?”
I held up a finger and read it again. Passed it to Tisaanah, who read it twice, then passed it to Sammerin.
“It means that there’s a power gap in Ara,” Brayan said, urgently, “and that means opportunity.”
When he talked like that, I could see him as the man who led a bunch of mercenaries to overthrow foreign countries. He wasn’t wrong, but it seemed distasteful to be so excited about it.
The letter was from Iya, one of the sparse communications that we were able to acquire thanks to Brayan’s Roseteeth connections. The letter informed us that Nura had not returned to Ara after leaving to forge her alliance with the Threllian Lords. The Syrizen and the council had not been able to locate or contact her for weeks.
My running theory had been that Nura had managed to escape during the fall of the Lords. But she would have made it back to Ara by now, unless something had else gone wrong—and even then, she certainly would have communicated with the rest of Ara’s leadership. If the Council hadn’t heard from her at all, that meant she’d either escaped and met some sort of tragedy in Threll, or she had been captured by the Fey.
But Iya’s letter was far less concerned with Nura’s whereabouts than it was for the impacts in Ara. Iya wrote:
Nura has been gone long enough that many people are starting to murmur about how they might fill the gap she left behind. But there are few powerful names left in Ara, and fewer still that have a claim, even tenuously, to either the throne or the title of Arch Commandant. In fact—I can only think of one.
I write this knowing that if it is found, my head will be rolling down the Palace steps.
But, Maxantarius Farlione, I strongly recommend that you return to Ara as soon as possible.
Your time in Ilyzath has only martyred you in the eyes of most Aran citizens.
Your relationship with Tisaanah brings with you foreign allies and wins the hearts of our more romantic people.
Your military background appeases the militaristic. Your Wielder background appeases the Orders.
Your noble blood appeases the traditionalists.
Come now. As fast as your magic can carry you. The Council will support you.
I could tell when Sammerin finished reading the letter because he let out a long, slow breath that ended in a muttered curse.
I looked to Tisaanah, whose expression was oddly unreadable.
“The Roseteeth would fight for you,” Brayan said. “If you made a play for that throne, you would not only have a strong claim for all the reasons Iya listed, but also because you’d have the most powerful private army in the world at your back.”
“Is the Roseteeth Company willing to participate in coups?” Ishqa said. He spoke of it like we were debating what to have for dinner, and the casual use of the word “coup” made me feel physically ill.
Brayan shrugged. “They’re an army, and they do what armies do.” “No,” I said. “Absolutely fucking not. This is an idiotic idea.”
Ishqa said, infuriatingly calmly, “Why not?”
“Why not? You’re asking me to steal the Ascended-damned throne of Ara. You just used the word ‘coup’ to describe what this would be.”
“And what word would we use to describe what Nura did?” Brayan said. “Would we call that a legitimate succession? Hell, would we call what Aldris did a legitimate succession?”
“That’s your argument? Everyone is usurping left and right, so we might as well jump in on it?”
I leveled a glare at Brayan, my jaw grinding. He met my stare combatively.
Did he think I didn’t know why he so wanted me to do this? He wanted a Farlione on the throne, with all the status that implied. Brayan had always put so much weight in this sort of thing.
“He’s right,” Sammerin said, quietly. “You are just as legitimate a ruler as Nura is. Probably more. And if you were to do this, it would give you the ability to end this war.”
“It would force me to finish a war that has already started.”
I couldn’t think of anything worse than that. Overseeing a million unavoidable deaths.
“Besides,” I said, “I can’t end a war by myself. I could show up, promise to be better, very publicly decry all future sadistic magical torture, and the Fey could still—rightfully, I might say—decide to wipe Ara off the face of the earth.”
For the first time, Tisaanah spoke. “And this is all so far ahead of where we stand today. How do we know we would not just be sending him to his death? What if Nura returns to Ara before he does?”
Ishqa paced the room, his hands clasped in front of him, looking deep in thought. At last, he turned to us.
“There is something else you should consider,” he said. “Something that I have been working on that may make things… easier.”
“Something you have been working on?” Tisaanah echoed.
I didn’t like the sound of that—Ishqa having secret machinations. He inclined his chin. “Let us take a trip.”
 |
ISHQA BROUGHT Tisaanah and I with him as he used magic to leap us to the outskirts of the city, then a forest, then three more times until we found ourselves standing before a stone house surrounded by trees. The house was small, but grand, clearly made for someone with an appreciation for the finer things in life. In design, it looked as if it could be part of a great estate, perhaps as a large guest house for high-ranking visitors, but there was no
estate here, only forest. There was little in the way of landscaping, not even a gate, just a single brick path that led to a huge set of dark-stained wood doors.
The woman who opened the door was inhumanly beautiful—it was obvious that she was Fey long before I saw the points of her ears. She had a delicate face and sleek dark hair. She did not seem particularly happy to see us.
“Ishqa,” she said.
“Sareid.” Ishqa bowed his head. “We’re here to see your brother-in- law.”
“I don’t know if that is a good—” “Please, Sareid. It is important.”
Her eyes flicked over Ishqa’s shoulder, to Tisaanah and I. “They are safe,” Ishqa said. “Friends.”
A wrinkle of concern deepened between her brows, and she looked unconvinced, but she opened the door and stepped aside.
The home was dimly lit, the door leading directly into a narrow hallway with a curved ceiling, decorated with dusty paintings. We were led into a large sitting room that, funnily enough, reminded me of my old cottage. The furniture was mismatched, scattered about the room in an awkward semi- circle, and every individual piece seemed like a relic from a different age. Two large windows spilled tree-dappled light over fur rugs, but a fire still roared in the hearth anyway. A man sat before it, his back to us.
“Ezra,” Sareid said. “Ishqa is here to see you again.”
“Thank you for meeting me, as always.” Ishqa bowed. He shot me and Tisaanah a pointed look, and we hastily followed suit, though we didn’t know why we were bowing or to whom.
Sareid backed out of the room and closed the door. The figure before the fire stood and turned to us. He was tall and slender, with a smooth, ageless face. He was fair, with bright blue eyes and silver-gold hair cropped close to his skull, which emphasized the size and point of his ears.
“Maxantarius, Tisaanah, this is Ezra,” Ishqa said. “Ezra is one of the last remaining old kings of the Fey. He once ruled over the Kingdom of Niraja.”
Despite myself, my eyebrows lurched.
Niraja, as in, the city of ruins that we recently destroyed? And Ishqa still calls this man a king?
“Ezra, allow me to introduce you to Tisaanah Vytezic, leader of the seven Threllian nations, and Maxantarius Farlione, rightful Arch Commandant of the Aran Order of Midnight and Order of Daybreak.”
I almost choked. He introduced us like we were royalty. I glanced at Tisaanah, who looked like she was trying very hard to control her facial expressions.
Ezra looked us up and down. “Hm.”
Tisaanah recovered from her shock quickly. A split second later it was replaced by a gentle smile and another, deeper bow. “It is an honor to meet you, King Ezra.”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “An honor.”
It would have been an even greater honor if Ishqa had bothered to give us some background on this mess.
Ishqa said, “I bring them to meet with you, Ezra, because I think it is finally time.”
Ezra looked confused. “Time for what?” “Time to reclaim your throne.”
Ezra made a choking sound that was almost a laugh. “My throne? My throne is gone.”
Ishqa almost cringed. He stepped closed to Ezra. “We have discussed this, Ezra. Ela’Dar.”
“Ela’Dar is not my home. Niraja was my home.”
I shot Tisaanah a look that said, What the hell are we doing here?
This man—this supposed king—seemed like he didn’t even know how to string a conversation together.
“We talked about this, Ezra.” A hint of exasperation seeped into Ishqa’s voice. “Do you remember our previous meetings?”
“I don’t…” Ezra went to the window and looked out into the forest. “I struggle to remember things, these days. We did meet, I suppose.”
“We did. I do not want you to miss this opportunity. In ruling Ela’Dar, you could bring back the spirit of Niraja. You could make Fey society everything you had hoped for your kingdom.”
Ezra let out a bitter laugh, rough as torn paper.
“I remember little of the last five hundred years,” he said. “I won’t pretend otherwise. But the last thing I do remember is that Fey society destroyed my kingdom.”
“Things can be different—”
Ezra turned in one sudden lurch, and I found myself stepping in front of Tisaanah on instinct.
“What does it matter to any of you who sits on Ela’Dar’s throne?” he spat.
“You had a dream,” Ishqa said. “A unified world in which Fey and humans lived together in peace. King Caduan is not amenable to such a dream.”
“Caduan?” Ezra’s brow creased. “I think I have met him.”
“Ela’Dar’s king is actively hostile to such a future. But… the whispers that I have discussed with you still ring louder. There are many Fey in Ela’Dar who remember you. And many of Caduan Iero’s people do not forget his lack of old royal blood.”
“Caduan Iero,” Ezra repeated, his stare glassy. “Yes, I do remember him. He was a kind man. What difference does it make if he has old royal blood?”
“It matters to some of his people.” Ishqa’s voice was a little strained, like someone who was struggling to keep their patience while talking to a child. “It certainly matters to those who would back you. You have a rightful claim to any Fey crown, Ezra. Five hundred years ago, you had a vision, and you built a beautiful kingdom with it. The Fey need that vision, now. A vision of creation instead of destruction. A vision of unity.” He gestured to us. “And you would have the support of the leaders of the humans.”
Excuse me?
Tisaanah and I exchanged another alarmed look.
Ezra turned and regarded us all in silence, a cacophony of subtle emotions passing over his ageless face.
“You are asking me to be a king again,” he said. “Yes, Ezra. I am.”
“The last time I was a king, I lost everything. Thanks in no small part to the actions of your people.”
“I know,” Ishqa said, softly. “And I will spend the rest of my days trying to correct the mistakes I made then.”
Ezra turned away, arms crossed over his body. I noticed for the first time how thin he was—the knobs of his spine pronounced beneath the skin of the back of his neck, his shoulder blades visible even through the fabric of his shirt.
“My kingdom was beautiful once.” He peered over his shoulder at Tisaanah and I. “You cannot possibly understand, without having seen it, what it was like there. A place that thrived against every injustice.” His gaze slipped back to the forest—slipped back to the past. “But what would the point be in creating such a thing again? I built it for my family.”
Ishqa said, quietly, “Athalena would have wanted you to do this.”
“I buried my wife in her last dream. Why would I grant her ghost another?”
“Because your life is not over yet, Ezra.”
Ezra was silent for a long, long moment. I was certain this conversation was over.
But then, so quietly we almost didn’t hear him, he said, “Fine. I will do
it.”
|
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” I snapped at Ishqa, the moment we left Ezra’s grounds.
“You should have discussed that with us before we went,” Tisaanah said.
“My opportunities to meet with Ezra have been limited,” Ishqa said, calmly. “I had no time to waste on explanations.”
“How long have you been meeting him?” Tisaanah asked.
“Perhaps half a dozen times since the war began. The first two times he tried to kill me.”
“Wait.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re telling me that was, in fact, the latest of many meetings with him? He seemed like he barely even knew who you were.”
“Did he even know about the war?” Tisaanah murmured, as if to herself. “I’ve told him about the war,” Ishqa said.
I threw my hands up. “Well, he doesn’t seem to remember much of anything you talked about with him, so yes, sure, he seems like an excellent candidate to lead a coup.”
“I do not need your permission for anything,” Ishqa snapped. “I am trying to save my people and yours. How I do that is between me and Ezra. It is a courtesy that I involved you in that discussion.”
“You involved us because you wanted him to think he had the full backing of the humans,” Tisaanah said, quietly.
“It would be true,” he said. “If Maxantarius takes the throne of Ara.
And you, Tisaanah—you have control over the Threllian alliance.” “Limited control. Very limited control. I am not their queen.”
“Perhaps you could be. Have you considered that?”
I threw my hands up. “Because we are all stealing thrones today, aren’t we?”
“We need to do something. Caduan and Nura are rapidly driving towards destroying each other’s countries and taking the rest of us with them. If you take Ara’s throne, Tisaanah influences the alliance, and Ezra unseats Caduan as the King of Ela’Dar, that is the only path I see of limited bloodshed. Ezra was a great ruler, once.”
“When? Five hundred years ago?”
Ishqa’s jaw clenched. “Life has been unkind to him.”
“Well, he can join all the fucking rest of us in that. But that doesn’t mean we should put a man with diminished mental faculties in charge of the Fey nations.”
Certainly! Here’s a rewritten version of the passage:
“Could we even attempt it if we wanted to?” Tisaanah questioned. “Even unpopular rulers gain favor during wartime, and you described Caduan as a king already cherished by his people. How could Ezra possibly challenge him?”
Ishqa exhaled, tension etched across his face.
“Not all Fey would rally behind him. Perhaps only a few. But some, especially those too young to remember the old Houses, idealize royal lineage. They long for a past they never knew. While they may not outnumber Caduan’s supporters, they could create enough division to destabilize him.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting the collapse of your own nation.”
Ishqa turned to me, his eyes blazing. For a moment, I was struck by how formidable he appeared. I had always seen him as an enigmatic, ethereal advisor, never as the warrior he once was.
“I don’t take any of this lightly. I watch my people rush towards extinction, powerless to intervene. I’m at a loss. Is that what you want to hear? The truth? That I’m doing my best under impossible conditions? That I don’t know how to save my own son?”
He clamped his mouth shut and turned away, shoulders heaving with a deep breath. “That’s the truth. I’m desperate. But I see the end approaching, Maxantarius. It’s coming quickly.” He glanced back at us. “Return to your country and claim your throne. I’ll manage mine. And perhaps—if we’re very, very fortunate—we can save this fragile world from extinction.”
