10. THE BREAKING OF THE EMPIRE

Sheloran’s story

The Soaring Halls, the Upper Circle of the Capital, Quur

The day of Vol Karoth’s escape, around breakfast

The palace was a maze of chaos and noise as soldiers, clerks, and every kind of servant scuttled about in a state of barely ordered panic. None of them acted like Caless’s presence was unusual or worthy of notice. The same could not be said of Sheloran, Galen, or Qown; hostile eyes followed them the entire way. Caless was known; she was permitted.

They were not.

Finally, Caless turned down a reasonably sedate corridor and opened a doorway into a courtyard filled with soldiers practicing maneuvers. Sheloran’s father stood next to stacks of weapons and armor, switching out equipment for the men.

Caless waved at him. When she caught his attention, she pointed at Sheloran.

Sheloran’s father scowled. He didn’t seem pleased to see them. Sheloran felt a deep sense of dread as he passed a sword off to one of the other Quuros soldiers before heading in their direction.

“Where the hell have you been?” Varik’s stare was unfriendly as he examined his daughter and then moved on to her companions. “And why are you all dressed like foreigners?” If he even noticed the presence of the child, he gave no sign.

Sheloran was taken aback, to say the least. Her father seemed actively angry, which made no sense. The idea that he wouldn’t be thrilled to see her had never even occurred to her. She was his precious golden girl. He’d never directed his anger at her, only his disappointment—and not often.

“What, no hello? How are you? So nice to see you survived?” Galen was spitting mad. Sheloran could hardly blame him.

“Why would I waste time on the obvious? You’re here. You’re alive.” The former high lord scanned their clothing again. “Although maybe not for much longer if you keep dressing like that.”

He didn’t seem to be joking.

There was a moment of silence, and then Galen removed the agolé wrapped around his waist and slung it over his shoulder in the traditional manner. Sheloran followed his example. Qown had already done this when he’d shifted his agolé to carry the boy.

“Is there someplace we might speak in private?” Sheloran asked.

“I have work to do,” Varik said, suggesting the conversation was over and the answer negative.

At this, Caless frowned. “The soldiers will still be here when you’re done.”

“I don’t care—”

Caless narrowed her eyes. “They haven’t been in the City for a while. They need to know what’s happened.”

Varik grabbed a rag and wiped off his hands, still furious. “Fine. Our room, then.” He waved at one of the others. “Keep going. I’ll be back after I’ve dealt with this nonsense.”

Sheloran noted the way the soldiers deferred to her father, the way they instantly followed his orders. Not entirely unexpected: House D’Talus had always maintained a strong relationship with the military because of its monopoly on providing arms and armor. But there was a difference between “favorite weapon supplier” and “included in the chain of command.”

Sheloran stared at her mother with wide eyes after her father passed. “What is going on?” she mouthed.

Caless shook her head and motioned for the group to follow Varik.

Sheloran hadn’t spent much time in the imperial palace beyond the occasional fête, never hosted by an actual emperor. She remembered majestic, flawless halls and superlative construction. For all that the entire building seemed to be on a war footing, the beauty of the palace remained. Everything was impeccably built and decorated, and even the parts of it that seemed old and ancient were magnificent in their monumentality. The rooms they entered were far from the nicest in the palace, but even the poorest rooms in this place were fit for kings.

As soon as they entered one such room, Varik pinched the bridge of his nose before whirling around to face them again. “What on earth were you thinking? We’re at war! It’s not safe to be a royal or a foreigner at the moment, and here the lot of you show up managing to somehow look like both.” At which point, Sheloran’s father paused mid-rant and looked to the side. “Why is there a child here?”

Qown started to open his mouth. Galen dug fingers into the other man’s arm.

“I was just about to ask that same question,” Caless confessed. She pulled out a chair and turned it to face Qown. “Now who is this?” She held out her arms to the little boy.

Sheloran pulled out her fan, waving it against herself while she thought furiously. It felt like her parents had both been replaced by mimics, although at least her mother didn’t seem on the verge of committing manslaughter.

The child gave the goddess an intensely wary look, then changed his mind and all but leaped into Caless’s arms. Qown’s expression turned terrified when it looked like he might accidentally drop the child, but Caless caught the boy. The crisis was averted.

“I haven’t the least idea,” Sheloran said. “Galen found him hiding under an overturned cart.”

Caless set a hand on the child’s brow and studied him carefully, giving him a gentle, sweet smile all the while. The boy, in turn, hid his face behind his hands.

Sheloran wondered for just a moment if that meant that Caless was trying to recognize him, to assign him some kind of identity or tie him to a house—then realized it was probably much simpler than that. Her mother was likely trying to ensure the boy wasn’t some sort of trap or decoy, magical overlays hiding a more sinister intent.

“I’m Tave,” the little boy offered, his lower lip quivering.

“Of course, dear,” Caless said. “I’m Lessoral.”

“Except that’s not true, is it?” Sheloran said before she could stop herself.

“Sheloran,” her father chided, “what are you talking about?”

Caless sighed. “She knows, dear.”

Sheloran crossed her arms over her chest. “When were you going to tell me? Or should I just assume the answer is never?”

“Darling—” Caless’s abnormally dark stare flickered over to Galen and then to Qown.

“They know too,” Sheloran answered before turning to her father. “And who are you, exactly? Don’t say ‘Varik.’” She took a deep breath, pushing down the bitterness and anger that threatened to overwhelm her. It wouldn’t get her what she needed. She was better than this, anyway. Better than tantrums. Better than letting her emotions interfere with what they needed. Too much depended on this.

But the anger was just so easy.

“I don’t have to answer—” Varik started to snap.

“It’s Bezar, isn’t it?” Sheloran said. That would make the most sense, anyway. Bezar was the god of craftsmen and smiths.

Her father scowled at her. “If you already know, why did you ask?”

Sheloran’s stomach twisted. Veils. He was. They were both god-kings. And neither one of them had ever said a word.

The little boy, Tave, watched this exchange with wide eyes. He’d grabbed one edge of Caless’s agolé and was busy attempting to eat it. Caless saw this, tousled the little boy’s hair, and gently lowered him to the ground. Giggling, he promptly ran under the table.

Qown lowered himself off his chair to keep an eye on the boy, but he kept glancing at Sheloran’s father as though he were expecting violence to break out at any moment.

And no wonder, really. Varik had stood again and was pacing back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Galen cleared his throat as if this were just an awkward family gathering where one was discussing someone’s scandalous behavior at the last party. “I really do hate to ask, but besides all this god-king business, would someone mind telling me who we’re at war with?”

Varik stared at Galen like he’d lost his mind.

“They don’t know,” Caless reminded her husband.

“Very well,” Varik said. “We’re at war with House D’Aramarin, for a start. After Tyentso failed to execute Galen’s grandfather Havar, he shut down the gate network. Although not before transporting himself, his favorites, and the various soldiers the villain had apparently been hiding all over Quur. So he now has an enormous army in Marakor. An army that is doing an excellent job of making sure no food leaves its borders.”

Sheloran stared in shock. Yes, that would do it. She hadn’t considered that the easiest way to keep supplies from reaching the empire was simply to cut them off at the source. Marakor provided most of the empire’s food, although some dominions—Kazivar, Eamithon, Kirpis, Jorat—had their own farmlands and would no doubt weather the storm with minimal issues. However, the other dominions, Yor, Raenena, and Khorvesh, were heavily dependent on provisions brought in from Marakor. As was the Capital. Those dominions would starve when food supplies ran out. The Capital, already overwhelmed by the destruction caused by the Hellmarch, had simply emptied out their barrels first.

Thus: riots.

“So why don’t you stop him?” Sheloran demanded. “Stop Havar D’Aramarin. You’re both god-kings!”

“Please lower your voice.”

Sheloran rolled her eyes. “You understand my point. You could teleport in there, just … kill the man … and no one could stop you.”

“Really.” Caless’s stare was flat. She straightened up. “I am touched by your faith in my abilities, but perhaps I should explain just how our lovely empress went about killing the high lords? It’s really quite something. I can’t help but think her father would have been proud.”1 When three completely blank looks greeted that statement (four if one counted the little boy hiding under the table), she sighed. “Never mind. Havar D’Aramarin is as much a god-king as we are. We haven’t stopped him because we can’t.”

“And the rest of it?” Sheloran asked.

Caless threw a hand up in the air. “The empress publicly announced the execution of every high lord on charges of treason and sedition. Everyone knows that the Royal Houses are the reason they’re starving, so that’s where the rioting is focused. And if all this had happened before the Hellmarch, it would have been a minor nuisance at best, but with the gates down…”

Galen groaned and put his head in his hands. “Everyone’s already evacuated to their summer estates, and they can’t get back in.”

“Not everyone,” Caless said, “but certainly enough when you consider many of the Royal Houses are short members in general. See again: Hellmarch.”

“Do you need me here for this?” Varik said. “You can explain current events to Sheloran and Galen just as well without me in the room.” He walked over to Sheloran, too quickly, so she fought not to flinch. He kissed her forehead, but quickly, absently, clearly distracted. “I’m glad you’re back.” With that, he swept out of the room.

Sheloran, Galen, and Qown all watched him go and then all turned back to Caless.

“What the fuck?” Galen asked.

“Everyone’s been on edge,” Caless explained.

“I’ve never seen him on edge like that,” Sheloran said. “Not when those assassins almost killed me or those other assassins almost killed him or Mazrin D’Erinwa illegally used poison in that duel. And if the Royal Houses have been all but declared illegal, then what are you and Father doing here? Even if you survived the empress’s attempt to kill you, that doesn’t explain why you’re being allowed inside the palace.”

“Tyentso never tried to kill us,” Caless said. “Your father and I were the ones who helped her execute the other high lords in the first place.”

Sheloran felt momentarily dizzy. Her whole body tensed. Whatever plans of revolution and upheaval paled in comparison to just grabbing up the leaders of all the Royal Houses and chopping heads. Well, evidently not all the leaders. Not her parents. And not Havar D’Aramarin. And clearly, Tyentso had underestimated the danger of letting Havar D’Aramarin escape.

Because he was a god-king. But which one?

Caless reached out and patted her daughter’s knee. “It was necessary to keep you safe…”

“Suless is dead.” Sheloran wondered who’d said that for a second before realizing it was herself. She whispered the words in a dull, flat voice.

Her mother’s hand froze. “I’m sorry? What did you say?”

Galen took his wife’s hand. “Suless is dead,” he repeated. “Truly dead. It might be best if we don’t explain how for the moment.” Galen laced his fingers between Sheloran’s and squeezed. “Breathe, Red. Just breathe.”

She met his blue eyes and inhaled, feeling like she was surfacing above water, rescued from drowning. Sheloran exhaled again, slower, taking her time. By the count of three, she was fine again. Later, she would have to pull her reaction to finding out her parents had been party to the empress’s massacre into the light and give it a good, hard look. She suspected that on a visceral level, she wasn’t nearly as comfortable about the idea of being forever rid of royalty as she thought.

Sheloran straightened, then nodded at Caless. “What Galen says is true.”

Caless examined each of them in turn. She looked like she was struggling between believing her daughter and … well. Several thousand years of looking over her shoulder for her mother were unlikely to be helping her sense of trust. Finally, she nodded. “I believe you.”

“That’s not why we’re here, though.” Qown raised his head from where he’d been drawing on the floor with glowing lines of light. The boy, Tave, was captivated.

Caless raised an eyebrow. “You being here for a reason carries with it the implication that you don’t intend to stay.”

“We can’t,” Galen said. “It’s too dangerous. We‘ve captured the attention of Relos Var.”

Silence.

Not the silence of ignorance or incomprehension but the stunned silence of understanding far too well.

“Then you should go into hiding,” Caless finally said.

“He’ll find us,” Qown said with his head still down.

Sheloran took a deep breath. There was no sense putting off the inevitable just because she knew it would be unpleasant. “That’s why we came to see you about the Stone of Shackles.” She pointed to her mother’s chest.

Caless put a hand to her chest, to the agolé guaranteed to be concealing one of the most powerful artifacts in the world. “Sheloran, dear. No.”

Sheloran’s hands tightened into fists. “You haven’t heard the question yet.”

“I know what the question is. I’m not giving you the necklace.”

“Yes, fine. We’re not asking you to,” Sheloran said. “In fact, it’s safest if it continues to stay with you.”

Caless blinked in confusion. “My apologies. Apparently I don’t know what the question is.”

Qown popped up from under the table, unable to resist a discussion involving one of the Cornerstones even if he was intimidated by the Goddess of Love. “What we thought … well, what we wondered. I mean—so here’s the thing. We know the Stone of Shackles can allow people at a distance to create gaeshe. Can it also prevent it?”

Caless visibly startled. “Excuse me?”

Galen took over. “Can you use the Stone of Shackles to protect someone from being gaeshed? Not by gaeshing them first. We know that would work, but there are reasons why we don’t want to go that route.”²

“You think someone’s going to gaesh you.” Caless immediately amended her statement. “You think Relos Var will try to gaesh you.”

“He’s done it before,” Qown said softly.

Caless looked thoughtful. “I must admit, that is an interesting idea.” She broke herself out of contemplating unusual uses of artifacts and returned her focus to Sheloran. “I assume, with your concerns being what they are, that you don’t wish to be burdened by a small child.” She gestured toward the little boy. “Fortunately for you, I hear that the high general’s daughter-in-law and grandson have just returned to the palace. I believe the Milligreest child is the same age as your shy new friend. Perhaps we might persuade them to take him in, at least temporarily.”

Galen’s eyes narrowed. “Just daughter-in-law and grandson? Not his son?”

Caless seemed taken aback. “Yes? I thought the high general’s son was dead.”

Sheloran and Galen shared a look. If word hadn’t spread that Jarith had been Returned, it either meant the high general hadn’t believed Jarith was his son or someone had recognized Jarith’s true nature as a demon.

“That was fast,” Sheloran murmured. They had suspected it would be, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed the confirmation.

“So will you help us?” Galen asked. “Because it is urgent. The longer we go without protection, the greater the odds that Relos Var will find us first.”

“And that would be bad,” Qown elaborated, quite unnecessarily.

Caless didn’t answer for several long beats. Then she moved her hand to the blue stone around her neck and motioned them closer. “Very well. Let’s see what we can figure out.”