CHAPTER

34

Ard inspected the floor of the council chamber for bloodstains. There was a one-in-three chance that this was the room where King Remium Agaul’s hours-long rule had come to an abrupt end. The death of Abeth’s beloved husband had been a shame, but assassinations and secret organizations like the Realm seemed like small potatoes compared to what they were facing now.

“She’s not coming,” Quarrah said, her eyes fixed on the closed door that led to the hallway. “I should have stayed with San at Tofar’s Salts.”

“She’ll come.” Ard turned away from the open window and the horizon tinged with the paint strokes of sunset. “I brought doughnuts.” He gestured to the greasy bag on the long rectangular council table.

“Ah, yes. Doughnuts’ll do the trick.” Raek was seated in one of the stout wooden chairs, his huge cloaked form making it look like it was built for a child. “In case the Glassmind and the dragon goddess weren’t enough to get the queen’s attention.”

He gestured at himself and Evetherey, who was leaning against the wall. She had agreed to keep a black cloak draped around her shoulders even though her wings had ripped through during their brief conflict with the Reggies on the palace grounds.

“Oh, you certainly got everyone’s attention, throwing that iron gate halfway across the grounds,” said Ard. “Pretty sure half of Beripent heard you coming.”

“You’re going to lecture me about making a dramatic entrance?” Raek retorted.

“Killing the palace guards and literally flying through the front door was a little much,” said Ard. “Even for me.”

“It was not my intent to kill anyone.” Evetherey’s voice was calm. “I was merely moving those guards aside in the most efficient way possible. If they died, it was due to the frailty of their mortal forms.”

“Isn’t that always the cause of death?” Ard muttered.

With Raek and Evetherey, their little group seemed nearly invincible. The two enhanced beings had manipulated walls of Barrier Grit to shield their entrance from Roller balls, while Ard had shouted for the Reggies to bear a message to the queen, telling her to meet them in the council chamber.

They had made it to the room with little resistance, and even now, Evetherey was holding a Barrier over the doorway and the exterior window, sealing off the council chamber from any kind of attack while they awaited Queen Abeth.

The gunshots from the hallway had ceased about fifteen minutes ago, but every time Ard had peeked out the door, he’d seen the corridor choked with uniforms. According to the limited understanding of the Regulators, the Barrier Grit had to burn out sometime. Little did they know that the one manipulating this cloud was, herself, an endless well of Grit.

Evetherey suddenly stepped away from the wall, head cocking to one side in a distinctly reptilian way. “Someone new is at the door. A woman. The others are addressing her as queen.”

“About time…” muttered Quarrah.

Without another word, Evetherey raised a hand, disappearing into a cloud of impenetrable darkness that filled the corner of the dim room.

Ard sprang toward the door, but paused as he passed Raek. “You might want to follow suit.” He gestured back toward Evetherey’s hiding spot.

“What?” Raek cried in mock upset. “You’re ashamed of me now?” He snapped his fingers and a spark appeared. “It’s because of my crack, isn’t it.” A Shadow cloud formed around him, concealing his huge form. “Just remember… I can still see you.”

Ard reached the door, feeling more anxious than he was afraid. To be honest, it was hard to feel very scared when flanked by a Glassmind and a Drothan. He’d have to keep his feelings of invincibility in check. A knife could still cut him the same way it always had.

He yanked the door open, stepping back as it swung inward. Evetherey’s shimmering Barrier wall held immutably across the threshold, but the Regulators in red had fallen back.

Queen Abeth Ostel Agaul stood with her hands clasped in front of her, pale blue dress simple yet elevated to an almost elegant appearance due to her poise and demeanor. Behind her, Ard could see shadowy figures that were nevertheless unmistakable as the seven members of the royal council.

“Ah, Your Majesty!” Ard swept into a respectful bow. “Thank you so much for responding to our—”

“You didn’t leave me any other choice,” Queen Abeth cut him off.

“With respect, we weren’t anticipating the council.” He lowered his voice. “Frankly, that kind of paperwork and politics will only slow us down.”

“You have somewhere to be?” the queen asked.

“We all do,” Ard replied. “And less than a cycle to get there.”

Queen Abeth lifted one eyebrow quizzically. “Even if that were true, you can’t possibly think I will let you walk out of here. After everything you’ve done—”

Ard held up his hands. “Once the council hears what I have to say, you’ll be clearing out a guest room in the palace’s west wing for us to stay.”

Abeth laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “You are in no position to say what the council will decide.”

Ah. So that was the real reason Abeth had assembled the other royals. The council would demand punishment, and her final words to Ard had been very clear. Abeth owed him nothing, and now she knew it was time to follow through with her threat. But could she really execute the man who had been responsible for giving her another day with her son?

Queen Abeth had summoned the council to shield her conscience. If Evetherey was not convincing, Ard had little doubt that the other royals would cry for his swift execution. Having them here would give Abeth a chance to hide behind their decision.

“Would you like to come in?” Ard’s tone was cordial, as if inviting the queen for tea. He studied her through the Barrier, reading her expression, trying to peer into her soul. The queen seemed distrusting and uneasy, the look of a woman manipulated into a difficult position. Well, Ard would just have to manipulate her out of it…

“Ard!” Quarrah warned. “Who’s to say that the Regulators in the hallway won’t fill us with Roller balls the moment that Barrier drops?”

“It’s all right,” Evetherey’s voice sounded in Ard’s mind. Quarrah must have heard it, too, because she turned her attention to the cloud of Shadow where the dragon goddess was hidden. “I can admit them with no risk of that.”

Ard nodded. “That would be wonderful.”

“Getting filled with Roller balls?” replied the queen.

“Sorry,” Ard said. “I was talking to the dragon in my head.”

Queen Abeth peered at him through squinted eyes. “What the blazes are you talking about?”

Ard gestured to the council table. “Why don’t you come in and find out.”

From the hallway, Ard heard the voice of a Regulator chief. “Your Majesty, I must discourage you from entering the chamber.”

“The doorway is sealed.” She reached out to touch it.

Still concealed from view inside her Shadow cloud, Evetherey spoke aloud. “Step forward, Queen.”

The timbre of her voice sent a visible tremble through Abeth Agaul.

“Your Majesty, please,” counseled the Regulator in the hallway. But Abeth sucked in a deep breath as Ard moved out of her way. In what was sure to be called a leap of faith, Queen Abeth stepped forward.

Ard watched the Barrier wall part around the woman’s leg first, and then her torso as she moved forward. The Drothan gatekeeper masterfully kept the rest of the Barrier intact, resealing over Abeth’s outline the moment she had passed through.

Clearly puzzled by the behavior of the Grit, Queen Abeth turned back, gesturing for the council members to follow. One by one, they came through, the queen introducing them as they staggered through the transparent Barrier in amazement.

“Lord Owers and Lady Volen, representing Espar.” The former was a short man with dark skin and a glittering diamond earring. The second was a pale young woman who looked to be just out of her teens.

“Lord Kinter of Dronodan.” He was tall, his bald head slightly lumpy. “Lady Heel”—with a noticeable lazy eye—“and Lord Ment of Strind.” He was a feeble old man whose name rang a bell. Likely a cousin to the late queen dowager, Fabra Ment.

“And from Talumon, Lady Werner and Lord Blindle.” The woman was well dressed, while the man wore mostly black, doing no favors to his harsh frown under a large beak of a nose.

Ard offered a polite bow, reaching past Blindle to swing the door shut for privacy. He felt the air of self-importance that instantly bloated the room as the noble council took seats around the table. After seeing Evetherey, Ard realized that there was nothing noble about this group. In fact, these were the same people who had decided not to authorize any kind of rescue when Ard had been doomed to die on Ra Ennoth.

Well, they looked even less impressed with him now. “A pleasure to meet you all,” Ard said. “My name is Ardor Benn—”

“Stow it, ruse artist.” Lord Owers seated himself beside Quarrah with a hrumph. “Your time is up. If anyone here opposes the swift execution of this man at sunrise, let them speak now.”

“I object.” The voice was Raek’s, his Shadow cloud slowly dispersing, making it seem as if he were shimmering into view from another plane of existence. “Why does the execution have to be swift?”

The room erupted into fear as Raek stood slowly, red eyes shining. Lord Kinter drew a Singler, but a gesture from Raek sent it spiraling out of his hand.

“So you’re working with them now?” the queen asked, her voice tight.

“This?” Ard pointed at his partner. “Sparks, no! This isn’t one of Garifus Floc’s goons. It’s just Raek! He’s not one of them.”

“Sure looks like one,” said Lord Kinter.

“Yes, he’s a Glassmind,” Ard explained. “But I hit him over the head with a pipe. He’s on our side now.”

Raek nodded. “That’s how it works, kids.”

“And he’s not our only visitor this evening.” Ard gestured to the Shadow cloud in the corner. “Everyone try to remain calm.”

The cloud dropped in the blink of an eye and Evetherey was plainly visible. Someone in the room screamed. In response, shots were fired from the hallway, but the Barrier Grit still blocked the way.

“My friends!” Ard tried to regain order in the room. “Meet Evetherey, formerly known as Motherwatch, formerly known as the dragon who ate King Pethredote.”

“Dragon?” someone stammered.

“No longer,” Evetherey said. “I am one of the Drothans. I am the pure and original form of the creatures you now call dragons.”

“It’s a trick!” shouted one of the ladies. “Like those golden Homelanders who visited King Termain!”

“I assure you this is no trick,” Ard said. “And if you would calm down long enough for me to explain—”

“Would you like me to convince them of the truth?” Evetherey’s voice sounded in his head.

“Yes, please,” Ard replied.

“How much would you like them to know?”

Ard took a deep breath. “Everything.”

Quarrah Khai sat in a veritable hailstorm of words as the noble lords and ladies unpacked the mess of information and emotions that Evetherey had just put into their minds. In the aftermath, Ard was fielding questions and managing countless interruptions.

At last, some of the most influential people in the Greater Chain knew the truth! Everything from Ard’s time as a time-traveling Paladin Visitant, to Evetherey’s evolution. To be honest, Quarrah couldn’t decide how she felt about the knowledge becoming public after she’d kept it secret for so many years. In a way, it felt like a betrayal, instilling in her a sudden sense of vulnerability.

The queen and council didn’t question this new information. Evetherey’s unique method of transmitting it had left little room for doubt. But there was still plenty of doubt being thrown at Ardor Benn as the conversation turned to the most pressing matter.

“What do we do about it?” Lady Werner asked for the third time. “If the dragons are gone and Moonsickness is coming, what are you suggesting we do to avoid it?”

Evetherey stepped forward. “In this form, my ability to absorb the Moon’s rays is limited. If I am lifted up to a sufficient height, I should be able to cover a square mile.”

“Don’t you have wings?” asked Lady Heel. “Why can’t you fly up to the Moon and absorb it all?”

“That is certainly not how it works,” Evetherey answered. “The Moon’s rays have a deeply calming effect on my species. I will need a spot to perch and roost while my mind slips into a catatonic state.”

“Surely, the palace turrets are high enough,” said Lord Owers. He leaned across the table to address the queen. “We need to shield the palace and grounds.”

“No,” Ard cut in.

“Excuse me?” cried Lord Owers. But the queen held up her hand to allow Ard to continue.

“We need to choose a location with the highest population density,” Ard explained. “That way we have the best chance of saving the largest number of people.”

“That would be Beripent’s Southern Quarter, then,” Raek chimed in.

“I should think we would not choose slums and taverns over Beripent’s royal palace,” protested Lord Owers.

“Your statement is incorrect anyhow,” said Lady Werner. “Talumon has the highest population density. We may have fewer overall citizens there, but they are stacked upon one another like fleas on a dog’s back. Take Grisn’s Mercantile District—”

“What does it matter how many we save?” asked Lady Heel. “Shouldn’t we be thinking about the quality of people? My relatives populate a good portion of the Reaching Ward in northern Trasken.”

“She makes a valid point,” said Lord Kinter. “Not about Trasken, but regarding the quality of people who should be shielded. After all, we must think of the ramifications of this coming Moon Passing. The precious few who survive will be facing a whole new world. It will be a land filled with Bloodeyes hungering for violence, and an interconnected web of Glassminds intent upon the extinction of the human race. My relatives are a hardy stock—survivors. It’s not merely land we control, but an entire infrastructure of workers and equipment to adequately farm and ranch it. If we were to extend this shield over the rural farmlands of central Dronodan, we could assure adequate food for the long-term survival of those who make it through.”

“Protect your farmlands?” cried Lady Werner. “The students at the Music Conservatory in Octowyn are among the brightest minds. We should extend the shield over that great city and assure that the arts live on.”

“Oh, yes,” Lord Kinter replied. “When the Bloodeyes come thrashing at their doorstep, the last survivors of the human race can be sure to serenade them with Marsten’s Concerto in D.”

Ard circled around and dropped into an empty chair next to Quarrah. “This is why I didn’t want to assemble the council,” he whispered under the ongoing bickering.

“Look on the bright side,” Quarrah replied. “They’re not crying for your swift execution anymore. Not that it really matters. We’ll all be dead in less than a cycle anyway.”

“Not if we keep hanging around the Drothan.” Ard pointed across the room to where Evetherey stood as a silent observer.

“Great,” said Quarrah. “The four of us against the world.”

“Sounds about right. Maybe the queen and the Prime Isle will join us.”

“Oh, please,” she replied. “Trable wouldn’t even show up to this meeting.”

“Maybe he didn’t hear about it.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “Abeth said she was talking to him when she heard about our arrival. Face it. Trable’s ignoring you, Ard.” And after the way he’d lied to the Prime Isle, Quarrah didn’t blame him.

Ard grunted, clearly bothered by the thought. “The thing is, I’ve figured out a solution to their problem.” He jabbed a thumb at the arguing nobles, changing the subject.

“I’m sure you have,” Quarrah said.

“It’s quantity versus quality, right?” Ard said. “They all want Evetherey to shield their own people, so…”

When he didn’t finish the sentence, Quarrah felt a pang of nervousness. “You’re not going to tell me what you have in mind, are you?”

He shot her a look that she couldn’t quite interpret. It seemed… apologetic? “You’re not going to like my plan.”

“Oh? Why not?”

He took a deep breath. “You’ll see.” Then he slammed both hands on the table and stood up. The arguments quieted and the focus in the room shifted back to Ardor Benn. Beside him, Quarrah started to get a familiar woozy feeling that came whenever he roped her into his plans unwillingly. What would it be this time?

“It’s only natural that you want to protect your families and loyal subjects,” Ard began. “And all the points that have been raised are valid. We’re talking about the survival of our species. We need numbers, yes, but we also need good people who are willing to work to stay alive.”

“What are you talking about, boy?” asked Lord Ment. Quarrah thought he seemed so deaf he probably really didn’t know. But Ard pressed on as though his comment had been a prompt.

“The Char.”

“That would be an utter waste!” cried Lady Volen. “The only residents of the Char are squatters and vagrants.”

“We don’t need residents,” said Ard. “Just visitors. The Char is almost exactly the right size. And it has enough open space to cram people as tightly as sand on a Trothian islet. Anyone in the Char would be safe and the perimeter of the historic area would be the new Redeye line.”

“An interesting proposal,” said Lord Blindle. “I believe many would come from Talumon if we explained what was at stake.”

“Now, hold on,” said Ard. “We can’t exactly go shouting from the rooftops that the world is ending.”

“And why not?” Lady Heel fixed one eye on Ard, the other wandering.

“Can you imagine the panic that would cause?” Raek stepped in. “Evetherey can’t shield everyone. If we draw too much attention to what we’re doing, it’ll spark chaos.”

“Not to mention it might tip off Garifus and the Glassminds to our plan,” added Ard. “This has to be done on the sly. We protect a group of people, but they don’t even know it until the next morning when the rest of the world wakes up Moonsick.”

“You’re asking us to keep this a secret?” shouted Lady Heel. “Everything we’ve just learned?”

“Yes,” Ard said. “Our survival may depend on it.”

“As much as I see protecting the Char as a healthy compromise,” said Lady Werner, “I must point out one obvious flaw. The Char’s open space has great potential, but in the current season, the vast majority of visitors would be from Espar. Not a fair cross-section of the islands.”

“One exception comes to mind,” said Ard. “During the Grotenisk Festival, the Char sees tens of thousands of people from all over the Greater Chain.”

“That’s not until the spring,” said Lord Kinter. “If the dragons really are extinct, we have less than a cycle.”

Ard smiled, clapping his hands together. “Which is why I’m proposing a new festival to be held over this coming Moon Passing. You thought the Grotenisk Festival was big, well, wait until you see this one. It’ll make the spring event look like a neighborhood potluck.”

“This is absurd!” shouted Lord Owers. “Do you have any idea how much cost goes in to the spring festival?”

“I wouldn’t worry about the money, pal,” said Raek. “Ashings won’t mean much when a Bloodeye is ripping your arms and legs off. And last I checked, you need dragon scales to make Ashings, so I’d say our whole monetary system is about to fold on itself.”

“It’s not just the cost,” seconded Lady Werner. “The Grotenisk Festival is a time-honored tradition that brings in the masses because of its reputation. We would have only a few weeks to spread the word about this new gathering.”

“Then you’d better get your ships prepped,” said Ard. “If there is any group of people capable of spreading gossip at the speed of a falcon’s dive, it’s you lot.”

“What are we supposed to say?” asked Lady Heel.

“Whatever it takes to entice people to come,” said Ard. “It’s going to be big. Bigger than anything else. Arial Light Grit displays like no one has ever witnessed. Food, games, contests. And of course, the Royal Orchestra will play a free concert for the public. Don’t you remember the last concert under King Pethredote?”

A murmur of approval went around the table, and Quarrah felt a social noose drop around her neck.

“Nothing will top it,” someone said.

“This will,” replied Ard. Quarrah swallowed. The noose tightened.

“How can you make such a claim?” asked Lady Volen.

“Do you remember the soprano soloist for that concert?” Ard asked.

“Azania Fyse,” said Lord Owers, causing Quarrah’s breath to catch. “I believe Lord Kinter can tell you more about her.”

Quarrah’s heart picked up its pace. Did they know she was still alive? Did they know she was in this very room?

“Owers,” hissed Kinter, eyes downcast.

Ard threw a puzzled glance at Quarrah, but she felt just as confused by this sudden turn in the conversation.

“Do tell,” encouraged Ard. Was he trying to blow her cover? Why did Ard seem so relaxed about this? “If you know something about Azania Fyse…”

“Oh, he knows,” continued Owers with a grin.

“That’s enough.” Lord Kinter raised a hand.

“Now you must go on,” Ard insisted. “Our curiosity is piqued.”

The man cleared his throat, a sudden sheen of sweat on his smooth head. “The soprano and I were… romantically involved for a short time.”

“What?” Ard’s eyes snapped to Quarrah.

She stood up, mouth open, unable to find words. That was a blatant lie! She had only just met Lord Kinter at the council meeting a few cycles ago.

“I have endeavored to keep it quiet out of respect for the late King Pethredote,” Kinter continued.

Ard tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You were probably unaware because you’re not a member of high society,” said Lady Heel, “but everyone knows that King Pethredote and Azania Fyse were illicitly involved.”

“That’s not true!” Quarrah finally found the words and they came out as a shout.

“Of course it is!” continued the lady. “Why, even on the night of her murder, she was seen climbing into the king’s personal carriage as she exited the Char.”

“But the king wasn’t even in there,” snapped Quarrah.

“I should say not!” she replied. “His Majesty had to maintain some level of propriety. After all, as crusader monarch, he was under the jurisdiction of the Islehood and forbidden to produce an heir.”

“There was no producing of anything,” Quarrah said, flustered. She felt sick, as though her name had been dragged through the mud. And with a man like Pethredote! Had he started these rumors? Or had they spread after his death?

“I wasn’t going to say this,” continued Lady Heel, with her voice low. “But that woman once made overtures toward me, as well.”

Lord Owers chuckled. “Sounds like nearly everyone had a stint with the ginger soprano.”

“Stop!” Quarrah shouted. The room fell silent and she looked to Ard, her eyes pleading with him to bail her out of this awkward situation.

“I”—Ard stood slowly—“did not.” He fixed his gaze on Quarrah. “But I haven’t given up hope yet.”

“Hah!” cried Owers. “Let us know how that goes for you.”

“I will,” said Ard.

“But…” stammered Lady Heel. “She’s dead.”

Ard held up a finger. “Only as dead as we need her to be.”

“Ard…” Quarrah tried to make her voice sound threatening.

“I don’t completely understand what you’re saying,” said Lady Werner. “But if you could get that soprano to come back from the dead and perform again, people would flock from far and wide to see her.”

Ard smiled at Quarrah. “That is the plan.”

Everything is a performance. Some performers are just more honest than others.