He
pulls his gray cloak tighter against the ocean wind. It cuts through the wool
of the cloak, and he tastes salt in the air. In the distance, he watches the
blue and white tomoe banners of the Touraine armies draw steadily nearer.
His knuckles are white as he grips the granite of Skye’s battlements; behind
him, he hears his daughter Serenity laughing and calling to the sea.
He
turns to see what has caught her interest. She is playing with a seashell,
bouncing it down the shallow flagstones that rise to the tower. Each short fall
snaps away more of its spirals and crenellations, leaving the delicate conch
little more than a broken husk. It has been a week since the Crown Prince left
his wife’s home, and since that day no messengers have reached him.
Serenity’s
nurse reaches for the conch, and Lucien steps towards the scene to intercede,
but beside him his steward gasps and points to the north. The chill of the air
is inside him as he strains his vision to see through the mist, and in his mind
he imagines the Castle of the Sea as broken as the conch, his wife’s blood
staining its walls. He pushes the terrible vision aside, and looks to the
direction of the Castle of the Sea.
The
wind swirls, and Lucien sees a second army, bearing the colors of the Duchess
of Touraine and the Count of Skye.
When
the sun sets, the only Touraine banners that remain fly above the standards of
the Count of Skye. Eighteen months later, Glorianna Touraine delivers another
triumph to her husband: their third daughter, Victoria Skye.
She
swears as the pike in her hands shimmers and twists in her hands. What had
moments ago been ash shod in steel is now a viper’s head; she curses again as
it lashes at her face, and flings it away. On the ground, the serpent-spear
rises and rears back, hissing with preternatural fury. It strikes, but Estelle
is ready for it; her sword cleaves the monstrosity’s venom-flecked head from
its body, leaving only a twisted pole in its place.
Around
her, the rest of her rangers face similar threats: she sees three soldiers
clawing at their faces, smells the stench of rotted flesh, and hears the
buzzing of ten thousand bees. A hundred yards away, she can see the priests,
garbed in black and white, as they ready their next volley of magic. She finds
a new pike in the breast of a fallen easterner; it lasts until she reaches the
ranks of the priests and sees the lion-headed man they have summoned.
Estelle
tosses the shattered haft of her pike aside and draws her sword again as the
Child of the Aten advances. In her mind, its song of love and servitude
whispers to her, promising her a paradise of milk and honey in return for her
soul. She can feel her will slipping away, and in its place finds only a
grey-white haze. She tries to shriek, to scream, to claw out her eyes to hold
off its siren call.
In
a crackle of thunder, a hundred new powers are born. When Estelle opens her
eyes, the lion-headed Child lies broken beneath the new weapon’s fury. Before
the sun sets, the rest of the easterners have joined it in death amidst the
grey hills of the north.
She
folds the report over and tucks it into the sleeve of her formal kimono. She
runs a hand through her hair, one finger unconsciously tracing the livid
healer’s mark that cuts across her left eye. “May I depart, Your Royal
Highness?” she asks, and the Crown Prince nods once to her.
As
she strides from the Royal Council hall, her boots ring out against the marble
flagstones. Alessandro rises silently, the faint crooked smile on his lips
growing in time with Mineko’s every step. Behind him, Yamato Komaru stands at
attention. He has been standing there through Nadeshiko Komaru’s ascension to
Kosaku Sone’s Council seat, and through Jet Touraine’s appointment as Royal Tutor.
He has been standing there a very long time.
When
the echoing sounds of Mineko’s departure dies away, Alessandro speaks. “Before
I comment on Her Grace’s report, I thought I might share some happy news. This
morning, my wife summoned a physician to her side, and she confirmed what we
suspected: she is with child. I had considered naming the new child after the
general who brought me victory in the east, only to find that I have not
received a victory in the east.” Alessandro stands with his back to Yamato. The
general does not move, and could be carved of stone. The Crown Prince smiles
broadly. “I fear Melisande would be an unfortunate name for a boy, so perhaps I
will have to go win this war myself to see it done.”
Alessandro
walks halfway to his seat before turning back towards Yamato and addressing the
Royal Council. “When spring comes, the serpents will attack Komaru again. And
when that time comes, I will ask you for assistance, and you will provide it.
If I ask you for your weapons, I expect you to give them to me. If I ask you
for your peasants, I expect you to give them to me. If I ask you for the wealth
of your coffers, the fruit of your labors, or the secrets of your petty little
schemes, you will give them to me. You will do so because if you do not, all
you treasure will be lost. And if you are thinking that I need not be obeyed –
that you can let my demands go unanswered, or rest their weight on other
shoulders – I urge you to think again. For though I have been caged here for a
year now, I have not been idle in my captivity. Do not make me show you what I
have prepared.”
Alessandro
comes to rest two scant feet from Yamato. In a voice pitched to carry through
the hall, he instructs Yamato, “You are my chosen implement to end this war. Do
not fail me.”
His
every footstep echoes in the silence he leaves behind as he departs the hall.
She
has waited eighteen months for this day. Even now, as she lays in her bower of
silk and pillows, she can still remember His touch upon her body, feel the
sensation of His fingers as they caressed his skin. Despite the warmth of the
room, she shivers. Her husband, attentive, ignorant, places his hand on her
forehead, but she pushes it aside. She shouts at him, curses him, but the words
are distant and do not affect her. She is happy. He leaves. She is the heart of
the sun. Nothing can touch her.
Half
an hour later, another contraction wracks her body. When it subsides, she has
thrown her covers aside. She sees her swollen belly clearly now, impossibly distended
by this, her first child. Imagining how He will feel in her arms, she runs her
hands over her abdomen. The Child moves restlessly within her, and with a
mother’s intuition she can tell that He won’t be long in coming.
She
is right.
It
is the last thought she ever has.
He
sits in the Hawk and Hare, staring in disbelief at his brother’s admission.
When he arrived, the tavern was dark with the smoke of the fringe of Komaru
City’s nobility. Now, with four hours of beer and sake in him, all Ruby can see
is his brother Kyan, framed against a sea of sooty black. “Say that again,” he
demands.
Kyan
does so. “I intend to challenge the Duchess of Touraine to a duel to avenge
Opal’s death. She’s sworn the Code of Blood. She will accept. She has to.”
Ruby
sets his cup down with great delicacy. “But she won’t fight you herself. She’ll
choose a champion.”
“I
know,” Kyan nods. “but it’s all I can do for Opal. The Touraine may have chosen
to make a truce with her, but I can’t forgive her for poisoning him. I’ll offer
terms to the death, with no healer to interfere.”
Ruby
has never seen his brother like this. Kyan’s eyes are as big as saucers. Ruby
considers shaking him, but can’t find his way around the table. “I don’t see
why you want to do this. She has taken the oath. If she had Opal poisoned, all
it takes is one voice in the Royal Council to call her to trial….” Ruby slams
the palm of his hand into the scarred surface of the table, sending his sake
splashing across it. “Damn it, Kyan, I only have one brother. Opal treated you
like trash. Why do you care so much?” As he grinds his hand into the table, he
feels splinters dig into his skin.
Kyan’s
expression is rapturous, “Because it’s my chance to show him how wrong he was,
Ruby. At last, I can prove myself to him!” He sobers quickly. “Besides, you
fought for Tem. I thought you, of all people, would understand how I feel.”
Ruby
lifts his hand and stares at his palm before clenching it shut. He closes his
eyes, focusing on the pain for an instant before pushing aside, far, far away
to a place that holds a sharp laugh and a pair of warm brown eyes. When he
opens him, he sighs. “Damn you, Kyan.” He places his hand on his brother’s arm.
“Besides, I taught you everything I know. You might just win.”
Kyan
beams, and waves the barmaid over for another round of drinks. When the sun
rises, so does Kyan Touraine. Within an hour, he stands before the Royal
Council and issues his challenge.
He
follows his routine, rising an hour before sunset. He makes a quick breakfast:
three grey-spotted eggs from the nests of the shorebirds, a dollop of creamy
white cheese, and a handful of chopped greens from his garden, the tender first
shoots of spring. It’s a good meal. He enjoys about half of the omelet before
his son Severin returns and interrupts. He sighs. It’s typical.
The
door to the observatory bangs shut behind Severin, but the boy is already in
the kitchen. “Papa! I brought the food you requested. The grocer raised the
price on the sour bread again, but I convinced him to give it to me at the old
price just this once. And there’s a little bit of fruit from the south, too! I
got a little….” Severin stops, realizing his father is looking outside the
window, not paying attention to him.
Heavy
black clouds loom on the horizon, gathered like somnolent guardians around a
distant point. They have gathered a veritable flock of paler clouds around
them, and to the west, across the ocean, these heavenly sheep burn in rosy
flames. Again, Gaston sighs.
Severin
bites his lip. “Papa, I’m sorry it’s cloudy again. Isn’t it usually, though,
during the spring?”
Gaston
nods. He takes a bite of his omelet, savoring the taste of the goat’s milk
cheese. He wishes he had a little dill left, but it ran out a month ago. He
swallows, and answers his son. “Yes, but it’s also this time of year that the
stars move.”
Severin
sits down beside his father. Neither of them have come to terms with their
discovery. Severin, a precocious twelve year old, feels the same visceral fear
as his fifty year old father at the notion of the heavens themselves shifting
above them. “Well,” says Severin, “they move fastest after tomorrow, right?
Maybe it will clear up.”
Gaston
takes another bite of the omelet. Not looking at his son, he says, “Severin, do
you know what’s significant about tomorrow?”
Severin
shakes his head, and his father explains. “On a specific day every year, a
number of nobles converge on an ancient castle in Touraine lands. They remain
there for a day, and then leave. Then, the stars move.”
The
boy grimaced. “Dad, that doesn’t make any sense. Why that castle? What’s
special about it?”
Gaston
Saury, reputed as the wisest astrologer in the kingdom of Komaru, turned again
to the window. “I don’t know, son, but I do know this. That storm that hangs
motionless on the horizon? It’s centered on the Castle of the Sea.”
In
the 216th year of Paraceln’s Age, a sea of gravestones greets those
who come to the Castle of the Sea. Beneath each stone lies a body that once
held life, a man or woman who died to protect, to seize, or to destroy the
ancient citadel. Though they are dead, they have not been forgotten. In memory,
they will live forever in the minds of their families. In spirit, they will
live forever in the depths of the hungering sea.