CASSEN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lyell was a fool not to have used this room more often. The throne room had the musty smell of disuse, and it was a shame, considering its magnificence. How long will it be before the smell is gone and replaced by the delicate scents of my Sacaran tallow? Cassen mused, more so about whether he would choose to rule from Rivervale or Adeltia—a decision impossible to make, as he did not yet know what Rivervale had to offer. He made a point now to take in all he could see, nearly all of which was illustrious, but the horizontal drapes that tempered the dawnlight of the ceiling glass were a clear detraction and would need to be discarded. He had come to appreciate most other things of antiquity, but the clothing, the curtains, the linens—essentially all the fabric-based extravagance surrounding his false life—had required feigned interest.

He would light no tallow candles today, however. That duty apparently had been bestowed upon Sture, Stephon’s newest friend and ally.

“And now, Your Grace, I will boil the wine inside the chalice.”

Sture gave an impressive performance if truth be told. Derudin had taught the little brat well in his class of magicianry—to call it magic would be an insult to children who believed in such things. Sture had wheeled a large platform just inside the doors of the room. Upon it sat many candles and a metal chalice. It was a good twenty paces from where the lad stood at the foot of the throne, and he had already pretended to light each candle using nothing but his mind or some such nonsense. Cassen did not have the patience to endure the entire farced explanation, choosing instead to envision Sacarat’s men storming this very room while Stephon hoped in vain to be defended by this boy’s incantations.

Cassen’s lack of faith did not prevent the chalice from emitting some sort of gurgling noise, however, accompanied by an impressive amount of steam plumed above. Clearly there was some heat source beneath the platform, but he would not ruin Stephon’s delight. Better to have him bright eyed and gleeful. He will be less likely to destroy himself or the kingdom in what little time he has left to rule. After witnessing Stephon’s sacrifice of Alther firsthand, Cassen had been forced to consider the possibility that Stephon might actually be able to manage such a thing before the Satyr made landfall—which would be a terrible shame.

Sture had ingratiated himself with Stephon by recovering Derudin’s diary. It was written in some archaic scribble that only Sture could decipher. Cassen’s doubts as to whether he truly translated the contents were somewhat squelched when the words he’d read were things Sture would be unlikely to have concocted—Derudin had not written so positively about Sture himself.

“Impressive, I must say. I would prefer to see your talents demonstrated upon a less willing object, however. If you can boil wine could you not also boil the blood of a man?” Stephon motioned for one of his two guards at the far door to step forward, and he did…reluctantly.

A fine question. I should like to see how Sture navigates these troublesome waters. Stephon’s challenge was a clever one, though it probably could have been accomplished without besoiling the trust of his guard. Ahh, the ignorance of youth.

Sture turned to face Stephon with a look of concern. “There are…limitations…when it comes to such things.”

Cassen could not help but chuckle from where he stood at the side of Stephon’s throne.

His mockery did not go unnoticed by Sture whose disposition darkened in anger. “Living things have natural defenses against magic. Defenses that are in place regardless of training. Derudin had a word for it…”

“Yes, if only you could think of the word,” Cassen said, “that would explain it all away.” Cassen had already shown his hand with his laughter, he might as well let his thoughts be heard.

Sture ignored him and addressed the king. “There must be ways around them. Derudin mentions exceptions in his diary but does not specify. With time and subjects to test on… I am not without ideas.”

“Let’s put your best theory to the test, then. Why not? What will it take? Bat wings? The blood of a virgin?” Stephon seemed to wish to join in the ridicule, a small hedge considering his unabashed interest in the subject.

Sture was not offended. “No, nothing like that. May I try on the guard? Or perhaps your advisor?”

It was not at all what Cassen had expected. Sture’s eagerness to test his theories was unsettling, and being named gave him an embarrassing rush of nerves.

“Very well,” said Stephon. “You may try on the guard. But please, I wish to see this magic put to a proper use. I already have servants that can light candles and boil things.”

Sture was filled with honest delight as he bounded toward the guard who looked as though he were ready to relieve himself in his armor.

Should he kill this guard, even with some trickery, I may be forced to admire this impudent boy.

A knock on the great metal doors reverberated throughout the throne room, much to Cassen’s displeasure.

“Enter.” Stephon sounded equally annoyed.

The doors parted and some very familiar young women were escorted inside. Annora was the first to catch Cassen’s eye. She was accompanied by Ethel and some frazzled little girl. Ethel was dressed in servants’ clothes, which meant she had either been enjoying a game of play-the-pauper or she had planned to flee the kingdom. Not an unwise decision. That Annora looked guilty enough to have been attempting to escape with her was another issue.

“Your Grace,” said the leader of the half-dozen-man escort. He was a humorless looking member of The Guard, the type Cassen despised. “These two were found with the girl you sent us after. I believe one of them is your sister.”

“Half-sister,” growled the young king. So far it seemed only Stephon’s blood had come to boil. Perhaps this guard is a mage as well, thought Cassen bemusedly.

“I beg forgiveness, Your Grace. We believe this to be her servant, though they refused to speak. We thought it best to not mistreat them.”

“Leave us.”

“Yes, Your Grace, but I am duty bound to remind you that we have not yet searched them for weaponry. If you would like us to do so now or at least to remain—”

“If they manage to kill my two guards, mage, and eunuch, I’ll simply slap whatever weapons they have from their dainty hands and beat them to obedience myself. Now, leave us.”

The doors opened and closed once more, allowing the six escorts to escape.

“You three, approach,” commanded Stephon.

The girls walked slowly toward the throne, the smaller one clinging tightly to Ethel’s skirts. Ethel looked regal even in her peasant attire, which did little to hide her figure, and Annora was every bit as captivating as Cassen remembered, though she would not meet his gaze. How can such dark eyes burn with such brilliant flame?

“King Stephon, Your Grace, I know this Spiceland servant. Under your—” Sture interrupted himself with a clearing of the throat. “Under the Rivervalian tyrant’s rule, she thought it acceptable to lay hands upon me. The Spiceland cunt does not know her place. I beg you, let me test my powers upon her so that we do not waste a trained guard.”

Stephon looked disinterested in what Sture had to say and showed the boy his open palm to delay his untimely request. “Do you know what it is that previous kings lacked?”

Cassen had to remind himself that he was indeed more than a mere observer of the events unfolding before him when he realized that he was the one to whom the question had been posed. “No doubt a great many things, Your Grace.”

Stephon scowled with the annoyance of a child deprived of a toy. “If you intend to remain as my First, I would advise you to answer my questions precisely or not at all.” Cassen moved to respond but was cut off. “What they lacked,” continued Stephon, “was broadmindedness and creativity—things I happen to have in abundance.”

Just a few more days—a week at most, Cassen reminded himself. And all you will have in abundance will be ignominy.

“Sture, read again the passage from Derudin’s book concerning Eaira.”

Stephon’s command clearly irked the boy, but he obeyed and retrieved the book from the foot of the throne. After some page flipping he found the spot he had been searching for and frowned. “I still believe these words to be written in error—”

“Read them.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Sture shot a look of contempt toward Eaira before he began—little good it did considering her face remained buried in Ethel’s side. “Perhaps my most promising student is a young girl by the name of Eaira. Although her true capacity for conductance remains untested, her focus and continence is as impressive as any I have before witnessed. A drop of water boiled within a bucket and a pinpoint of melted glass have been all that she has been willing to share, yet I suspect her capable of far more in time.” Sture shook his head. “The girl has not so much as lit a candle in class. Derudin has written lies upon these pages knowing the book would be found.”

“Cassen, my First, what are your thoughts as to the benefits of magic to the kingdom?” Stephon asked as if he already knew the answer, and he did. Cassen had revealed to him his belief that Derudin was a fraud.

“Your Grace, everything I have seen of magic has been no more than parlor tricks.” Sture scoffed audibly at Cassen’s reply. “I am yet to bear witness to anything that could not be explained by natural phenomena.”

“There is little wisdom in such conventional thinking, unless you think it wise to trust the old men that came before you. I have always wondered why it is that those in power did not simply demand more from the ones who call themselves mages. Tonight I shall do just that, however. Sture, I grant you your wish. You will prove to me and my eunuch that your powers are more than tricks. Please, demonstrate your worst upon this Spiceland woman who has wronged you.”

“You will do no such thing!” Ethel had found her voice. “You sit upon the throne you stole from Father, who loved you in spite of your lack of character. You killed the only good man in the entire kingdom. I had once thought our grandfather the least fit man imaginable to rule, but that was only because I never considered you a man. You are a foolish little boy. I only pray that you realize it before you die, when someone with enough courage finally kills you as they all wish to.”

Stephon sucked at his teeth and made a pained face as though he’d bitten into a lemon. “My dear half-sister, I am not the ‘little boy’ you once knew.” His voice surprisingly had no anger in it. “While you were sipping tea and dancing with your fellow debutantes, I was trapped in a prison cell. I did not rot in that cell, however. I rebelled. I honed my mind with the whetstone of wisdom provided to me in the form of ancient writings. Any fool can read a book. We all know you have many girlish novels that serve in the place of friends. But a book is not a friend. A book is a tool. And all tools are useless in the hands of those who do not know how to use them.”

The young king stroked his narrow chin as if it had hair upon it. “A passage comes to mind—though I admit I cannot remember the name of the text. A king’s greatest enemy wears no armor and carries no sword. She is the one that calls him son, the one that calls him brother, and the one that sleeps beside him. She undermines his every action with appeals for clemency and compassion, and she is the kiss that invites the collapse of his kingdom.”

That Stephon was able to quote so relevant a passage was markedly impressive to Cassen—compassion was, after all, a horrible weakness, the acknowledgment of which was astute. Perhaps the boy did read a few words while confined.

“But there really is no need for you to fear, Ethel, if you allow me to explain my full intent. Derudin believes the little whelp clutching to you to be a powerful mage, and I mean to put that to trial as well. Guards, seize the servant and the little girl and bring them forward.”

The two guards executed their command, both looking relieved to no longer be the bodies of interest. One grabbed Annora’s upper arm, and the other attempted to pry Eaira from Ethel’s clothing. The little girl put up a powerful fight as she clung to her surrogate mother, but Cassen’s focus was on Ethel herself. The hatred in her eyes was transparent, and he was not surprised when she bolted forward as soon as Eaira’s small hands lost their grip.

Ethel was no great threat, but she sprinted toward where Stephon sat with the ferocity of a wild animal protecting her young. Sture cowered as she neared him, though he was not her target. The shine of a blade caught Cassen’s eye as she came within a few paces of the throne, and Cassen stepped in front of his king, grasped her wrist that held the weapon, and easily broke her momentum.

“I will kill you if you hurt either one of them,” shrieked Ethel. She fought Cassen’s grip with all her vigor, but she was no match. Cassen was confronted with an inexplicable feeling of disgust as he recalled how her mother had fought so similarly.

Stephon had a good bout of laughter at the spectacle as his two guards hurried toward Ethel in their heavy armor. Cassen removed the knife from her hand himself, not trusting the two idiots to be up to the task without harming her. They each took an arm and dragged her back down the few steps she had climbed that lead to the throne.

“Saved by a eunuch. I do appreciate the gesture, Cassen, but in the future, when a woman charges me, just allow it. It would have entertained me to see if she even followed through with her pathetic attack or merely cried at my feet.”

“I would have killed you,” Ethel yelled in defiance, and she did not stop there. Her threats and screeching acrimony continued as she thrashed violently while the guards held her.

The young king rubbed his temples in protest. “Peace’s mercy. Please take her away. Lock her in the throne chambers so that we may proceed here.”

The guards returned shortly after dragging Ethel off, her shrieks completely deadened by the thick doors of the room tucked behind the throne. Eaira had attempted to clutch on to Annora the same way she had been to Ethel, but Annora had made the girl hold her hand instead. The spite in Annora’s eyes must have been mostly for Stephon, but the fraction of it that was for Cassen was enough to make him feel almost guilty. You haven’t anything to fear, my little Spiceland runaway. This charade will be over soon enough.

It was Eaira that Stephon now addressed. “Little girl, please listen to what I have to say as it is incredibly important. Come here first so that I may speak to you without raising my voice.”

The girl looked to Annora who nodded slightly. She had no choice after all; Ethel’s attack had demonstrated the futility of rebellion. Eaira walked with caution toward the throne, looking back to ensure Annora was still there. When she was a few paces away, Stephon resumed.

“Your friend over there is going to need your help in a moment. This boy that you know, Sture, has accused her of a crime and will be attempting to punish her for it. You have my permission to stop him—if you can—using whatever magic or powers that are at your disposal. Do you understand?”

The girl gave no indication that she did. Instead, tears welled in her eyes.

“This is rather silly,” said Stephon. “I am inclined to believe you were right about Derudin’s writings, Sture. In any case, you may go ahead and perform whatever dark arts upon her you wish in order to have your revenge.”

A most sincere smile stretched across Sture’s face.

“Your Grace,” Cassen interjected. “It may be wise to conduct this test on someone who might actually be able to otherwise defend themselves. It is no great feat to kill a weakling girl, even if performed by a weakling boy.” Sture looked at Cassen with contempt.

“Perhaps my quote should be amended to include ‘she is the one without genitals who pleads for mercy.’ As my First you owe allegiance to me before this little trollop you call daughter. And I wish to see her die to magic.”

“Oh, you misunderstand me,” Cassen said, doing his best to hide his growing anger. “Her fate is of no consequence to me, but harming a daughter of the Spicelands will only complicate our dealings with their people. This girl was to be the wife of a king before I purchased her. Her death will not go unnoticed.”

“I do not misunderstand anything,” said Stephon. “Should Sture fail to kill her, she may yet be wife to a king, or at least share his bed for a spell, for I might wish to sample her Spiceland treasures. Then, I may very well cut the skin from her frame and write upon it a letter of apology to the primitives of the Spicelands for having debased her. And should they take issue with my sincere apology, I will send a fleet of warships to the shores of their little islands and take by force that which those before me have so generously bartered for.”

“Apologies, Your Grace. I see you have thought this through far more than I have, and I yield to your wisdom.” There was no reason to explain to Stephon that he had no fleet of warships—that the many ships that crowded the port cities’ docks, many of which were armed with defunct catapults in an attempt to scare off Spicerats, were actually owned by Spiceland and Adeltian merchants.

“As you should. Sture, please continue. And be quick about it.”

Sture motioned for the guards to seize Annora’s arms, and after they did so, he moved forward and placed his hand upon the center of her chest. If this knave is merely using this opportunity to touch his first breast, he will certainly regret it. Stephon would not be overjoyed if all this effort caused the victim nothing more than embarrassment.

And just as Cassen had suspected, nothing much happened. He watched Annora’s eyes intently since all he could now see of Sture was his back. She still had within her all her strength and defiance. A boy’s hand upon her chest was not enough to unnerve her, nor apparently was the threat of some gruesome death by magic. Cassen found himself admiring her just as he had the night she had recounted her tale of defending herself against Emrel—the man Cassen had given her to for the express purpose of being violated. Cassen quickly pushed that thought aside.

Her expression began to change, albeit slowly. Her defiance melted away, replaced with confusion. She was not the only one confused, though. The guards holding her exchanged troubled looks when what appeared to be smoke began to rise from between Sture and her. What sort of device did that boy slip into his hand? Will it be enough to truly harm her or just produce some smoke? Cassen wondered. And why should I care? Cassen reminded himself that he would gladly sacrifice a hundred of the girls he had been calling daughters in exchange for the consummate victory that was so close at hand.

Cassen turned his attention to the king he would soon depose with the help of the Satyr. Stephon gripped the large wooden arms of his throne tightly and leaned forward, sniffing the air. The smoke was no illusion. Cassen could smell it as well. Stephon’s look of hunger irritated Cassen, but he found a way to comfort himself. Let the idiot believe he has the power of true magic at his disposal. It will make his defeat all the sweeter.

A whimper turned Cassen’s attention back to the scene in front of him. It was not the little girl as he had hoped. Eaira had her face hidden in her hands, and she certainly did not look to be invoking any magic of her own to save her friend.

It was Annora who had made the sound, and as Cassen looked upon her he felt something inside him revolt. Bile made its way up his throat and into his mouth, but he swallowed it down and hardened his resolve. She is a piece of property, paid for and imported from a faraway land. Nothing more.

Annora struggled, her moist eyes glistening in agony, but the guards held her firmly. The smell of charred flesh hit Cassen just as she began to scream. Her cries filled the room as she writhed like a helpless animal caught in a toothed trap.

Again, Cassen looked to Stephon, searching for any indication that he might stop this demonstration short of Sture killing her with whatever instrument he held. Stephon had mentioned his desire to bed Annora—perhaps his fondness went deep enough to wish to spare her. But Stephon’s delight was plain to see. To him, this was validation of his curiosity, and he showed no sign of wishing for this triumphant moment to end.

Cassen closed his eyes as his rage built, but it did nothing to stifle Annora’s wails, which grew louder and more desperate still.

“Enough!”

A man’s strong voice echoed throughout the room. Cassen opened his eyes in search of who had yelled, but he saw no new occupants. His attention went to his hand as he noticed he was gripping something quite tightly. It was Ethel’s knife, plunged through the top of Stephon’s hand, pinning him to his wooden throne. Stephon’s head turned slowly in utter disbelief to face his wound. The boy king was awash with incredulity as his gaze shifted from his bleeding hand to the man who had attacked him, probably wondering what demon had possessed the docile duchess he had so kindly made his First.

All of Cassen’s careful planning had been undone with a single thrust—and of his own action, no less.

What have I done?