Shadowborn Page 28

  Center or the minor islands, it doesn’t matter who wins, Liam thought. Our world will never be the same.

  Liam jogged down Seralworth’s streets. It bore more warehouses than homes, and those warehouses were impressive structures several stories tall with curved brown roofs. Their long stone walls were all painted with images of fields and mountains, a nod to the proximity of the theotechs’ main fortress. The marble homes were carefully arranged around straight, wide roads, which allowed Liam to easily spot the gathering at the town center.

  Liam slipped through the enormous crowd, heading not for the wood stage Marius spoke upon but instead the gilded platform bearing Marius’s throne. Two knights stood guard, and they nodded upon recognizing him.

  “I’d have a word with the Speaker when he is finished,” Liam said to the first.

  “If the Speaker allows it.”

  “Alone,” Liam added.

  The two knights exchanged a glance.

  “Again,” the knight said. “If the Speaker allows it.”

  Liam paced as he half-paid attention to Marius’s plea for bravery and patience. A scowl crossed his face, and his heart raced. His fingers drummed the golden cannon of his arm. What he planned was dangerous. Marius might have shown him special attention the past few years, but that did not mean Liam was immune to punishment. To criticize the Speaker invited risk. To propose blasphemy to his face required the will of a madman.

  Your heart is true, Liam told himself as Marius stepped down from the stage, four angelic knights forming a protective barrier between him and the crowd. Marius knows that.

  The crowd parted, allowing the Speaker access to his carrier platform. Liam kept where he was, carefully watching Marius’s reactions. One of the knights joined the holy man’s side and whispered something. Marius looked over and saw Liam waiting beside the transport. His practiced smile slipped momentarily, further agitating the vipers wrestling in Liam’s gut. The Speaker waved the knight off, and the smile was in full bloom when he greeted Liam beside the platform.

  “Is there something amiss?” he asked as he stepped onto his platform.

  “I seek a private audience,” Liam said. “It is of great importance.”

  “Stand beside me,” Marius said. “We will talk while traveling to our next destination.”

  The Speaker settled into his golden chair, and Liam accepted the offer. Men took up the chains and lifted into the air. It never rocked, the platform masterfully controlled to prevent the slightest upset. The townsfolk gathered around as they lifted off the ground, waving and cheering. Liam wasn’t surprised. No matter how dire a situation, Marius had the power of personality to reassure.

  “So,” Marius said, slumping deeper into the chair now that he was out of sight of the crowd. “Given your homeland, I assume you wish to question me on Isaac’s death?”

  It had been a question of his, yes, but not the most important one.

  “It has made me wonder,” Liam admitted. “Some people think it is a cowardly act beneath you.”

  “That’s because it is beneath me,” Marius said. He glared at Liam. “What do I gain by executing Isaac in such a way? No matter how brave my words to the people down there, our army has been decimated and our victory no longer certain. Any further losses and we may need to barter for peace, but any attempt I make will carry the inevitable paranoia of another betrayal. Archoness Willer most assuredly wants my head, another stumbling block on any road toward a rational cease-fire. No, Liam, I did not send the assassin who took Isaac’s life, and if that is what you’ve come to ask me, then fly back to Heavenstone and stop wasting my time.”

  Liam was taken aback by the sudden anger. The Speaker was always careful to present himself as calm and in control even when discussing things in private. Had the recent trials started to affect him greater than anyone realized? Or was his patience growing thinner every time his decisions were questioned? What Liam did know was that he believed him. That raw anger, that overwhelming frustration, could be born of nothing else.

  “Forgive me, my Speaker,” Liam said, and he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “I met Archon Willer several times when I served as their Seraph, and I believed him a good man deserving a better fate.”

  “Stand up, knight,” Marius said. “All of Center is below us. I don’t need acts of piety here. Just speak your truth.” He sighed. “And yes, Isaac was a good man. He ruled with a sincere desire to help his people, an attribute rarer than one might hope. But you delude yourself if you believe him deserving a better fate. It was his nation that sparked this rebellion. It was his decree that officially began the minor islands’ war against our rule. Only Johan deserves greater blame for our current chaos.”

  “Forgive me,” Liam said. “A well-deserved rebuke. I should never let my memories interfere with my judgment. A good man committing treason loses his right to call himself a good man.”

  Marius hardly looked ready to continue the discussion. He pointed ahead, to a gray cluster of buildings wrapped around a sparkling lake. Clearholm, if Liam remembered correctly, and the second destination for Marius’s tour about Center.

  “Down there are a thousand people ready to pass judgment on a decision I never made,” he said. “When we land, I will assure them the cowardly act was not done by my hand, but they won’t believe that. They’ll think me saving face, or saying only the politically appropriate response for a Speaker. Some will loudly praise me. Others will quietly denounce me. All will have an opinion to share, and all will feel certain theirs is the correct one. Think of how mad this world has become, knight. A thousand praises and condemnations heaped upon my head like hot coals, regardless of my words, and over something I have not done. Such a sad land we rule, where the truth is decided by the ignorant mob.”

  “The truth will rise above the lies in time,” Liam said, trying not to let the cynicism win. It was painful hearing such world-weariness in the Speaker’s voice. Frightening, even. “Stand tall, and the storm will pass.”

  Marius stood from his chair and walked to the edge of the platform. He crossed his hands behind his back and gazed over the lands under his rule. “The truth doesn’t always win out. Sometimes it’s the easy lies that take hold. Have not even we theotechs told our fair share? We denied the survival of the demons. We pretended ignorance to the reason of the protective dome and the dangers lurking beyond. We told comforting lies, and now that they’ve been exposed, the people no longer trust us. We never should have hidden this from them, I see that now. How do we convince them we are in control of a situation we denied even existed? When the eternal-born attack again, how do we promise safety when we spent the past centuries insisting those eternal-born were dead?”

  Liam could hardly believe what he was hearing. He’d come fearing to speak blasphemy, but here he was listening to blasphemy from the Speaker’s own lips.

  “My Speaker,” Liam said, struggling to find the proper words. “If you need privacy, I will gladly leave and come back later.”

  Marius shook his head.

  “No, out with it, knight. I know there’s something else you wish to ask, and I don’t want that weighing on your mind until the next time we speak.”

  Liam joined the Speaker on the platform’s edge, letting his eyes drift out of focus as he watched Clearholm’s approach.

  “Do you know of what happened during Kael Skyborn’s execution?” he asked.

  A frown crept at the edge of Marius’s tanned face.

  “I received the report, yes.”

  “Then you know the feat my son performed?”

  “This changes nothing, Liam. Your son was a heretic then and he is a heretic now.”

  Liam flung up his arms, both real and mechanical.

  “How does it not?” he asked. “I saw it, Marius. I saw the wings emerge from his back with my own eyes, and they were beautiful. Our harnesses, our mechanical approximations, they are nothing but earthly attempts to re-create what I witnessed. It has to mean
something.”

  Marius pulled his attention away from Clearholm. His blue eyes narrowed, and Liam watched dormant rage spark back to life within the irises. When he spoke, Marius’s doubt and confusion were miles away.

  “Do you not remember?” he asked. “The great betrayer L’adim was once a lightborn like his brethren. He bore such wings when he committed the greatest act of treason imaginable against God and his creations. That your son bore them for even a moment means nothing. Deceit is how the shadowborn operates. It is how the sinful sway the hearts of the just. The weak stab their foe in the back, not the chest.”

  The Speaker pointed to Liam’s golden arm.

  “I wonder if I was wrong to grant you such a gift. Twice now your son has lived when death should have claimed him. Is your love of your treacherous family overwhelming your loyalty to God and his angels?”

  “My loyalty was true,” Liam said, unable to keep the anger off his tongue. “By my hand, Kael dropped to his death. If he was spared, then it was by God.”

  “Then you are no different from the people who believe I was involved with Isaac’s death,” Marius snapped. “You attribute the work of the devil to God’s hand and then demand an explanation from God as to why. You are wrong, Liam. It is that simple. From the words of angels, and the voice of God himself, I declare you deceived. Cast aside these heretical thoughts or I shall be forced to take action against you.”

  Liam trembled. The fate of a heretic was clear. The Speaker threatened death.

  “So be it,” he said, stepping back and dipping his head. “My pride is not so great as to think me above the wisdom of God’s appointed. Forgive me, Speaker.”

  “And you will be forgiven, in time,” Marius said. “Now go prepare at Heavenstone. Weshern will retaliate soon, I feel it, and the other islands will join them when they do. We must erase our initial failure with a crushing victory.”

  “Of course.” Another bow. Before he left, he had one last request. He tried to present it carefully, each word a footfall upon breaking glass.

  “My Speaker … might I speak to the three angels in the heart of Heavenstone? Perhaps they might know the source of the wings and ease my troubled mind?”

  “Do you not trust me to speak to them myself?” Marius asked. His look jammed a stake of ice into Liam’s heart. This wasn’t a question. This was a threat.

  “I trust you above all,” Liam said. “I was unsure if you would have the time, given the state of the war.”

  The Speaker didn’t buy it for a second. Liam stood there, arms crossed behind him, waiting for the ax to fall. He’d crossed a line. Damn idiot. Must his faith be so weak he would question the Speaker to his very face?

  “The next time I speak with them, I will ask about your son’s wings,” Marius said. “But I assure you, they will give me the same answer I gave you: the shadowborn is a deceiver. Sometimes you don’t need darkness to disguise the truth. You only need a light most blinding.”

  The platform started its descent. Marius settled into the gilded chair, his head resting back against the cushions.

  “Leave me,” he ordered. “Tend to your prayers, knight. I have no more patience for your weak heart. With war at hand we can only survive by the strength of the faithful. All else must be cast aside.”

  Liam bowed low. His golden wings flared with light, and like a shot he soared east. He left exactly as he came, with heart troubled, mind doubting, and certain of but one thing: the Speaker hid too many truths behind those sapphire eyes.

  CHAPTER

  25

  Kael paced before the door inside Clara’s room. The young woman lay on her bed, hands underneath her head as she watched him. She wore the black pants of their Seraphim uniform, her blouse a dark blue. It was still the brightest color he’d seen her wear since her father’s death.

  “You don’t have to be so nervous,” she said. “The meeting with my mother will go fine.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Kael asked. “I could make a complete fool of myself. Probably will. What if she thinks I’m insane and bans me from ever seeing you again?” He shook his head. “Forget it. It’s not worth it.”

  Clara rolled her eyes as she rocked to a sit and then hopped off the bed.

  “Kael. Stop. Nervousness is making you stupid. The Archoness will listen, and she won’t mock or banish you, all right? This is what L’fae asked for you to do, and this won’t even be the first time. You convinced Archon Evereth, right? I assure you, his mind was far more closed than my mother’s will be.”

  She grabbed his hand and tugged as she opened the door with the other.

  “Now come on,” she said. “Stalling will only make you worse.”

  The two walked the hall to the throne room. Avila was inside, surrounded with advisors. A long line of people waited to meet her. Kael recognized the more fanciful outfits of the traders. In some ways they’d done well; the increased scarcity had raised prices, but at the same time, bringing in new goods from the other islands had grown all but impossible. If trade didn’t reopen soon, their brief boon would end and the people would have to do without. He guessed several others to be mayors of smaller towns, and at least one to be a representative of the small population of Galen refugees, once again forced to relocate after New Galen’s complete destruction by Center’s cannons. The only face he recognized for certain was of Rebecca Waller, calmly jotting down notes on a board a half step behind the Archoness.

  “I guess we should get in line?” Kael whispered.

  Clara looked at him like he was insane.

  “I’m the Archoness’s daughter,” she said. “We aren’t waiting in line.”

  Clara took his hand and led the two of them to the front of the line. Kael’s neck blushed as he caught several of the traders glaring and muttering to themselves. Avila was discussing something with one of the advisors, the older man writing down occasional marks on a scratchboard. The next petitioner was about to step forward and receive attention. Clara stepped ahead of her, and she gave the elderly woman a cursory nod.

  “Forgive me, but this is of great importance,” Clara said.

  “Of course,” the woman said, words polite but tone icier than anything Kael could produce from his gauntlet. “We’d never interfere with the lovely young Willer’s daughter.”

  Avila finished her discussion. A curious look overcame her as she realized who waited next. The Archoness beckoned them closer.

  “Is something the matter, daughter?” she asked.

  Clara jammed an unseen elbow into his side. Kael cleared his throat and took another step forward.

  “Actually, this is a matter I wish to speak with you about,” he said. “Privately. It involves the theotechs.”

  A bit of her curiosity faded into caution. The Archoness beckoned to the other petitioners.

  “Please give your names to the soldiers so they may mark your place in line. I need a moment to rest and prepare before addressing more needs.”

  Not a soul looked happy about it but none dared voice their displeasure too loudly. Kael guessed they’d do that when safely away from the mansion’s soldiers. One by one they filed out, until it was just Kael and Clara standing before her throne. Avila politely ordered the other advisors away, out various doors on either side.

  “Well, we are alone now,” Avila said. She stood from her chair and smoothed out the wrinkles in her gray dress. “What is so important that you must interrupt state matters?”

  Kael took in a deep breath. He had to be confident. He had to sound like he knew what he was doing. Too much was at stake.

  “I know you’re prepping our Seraphim for an attack on Center,” Kael blurted out. He took a moment to compose himself, slow down his speech. “I’ve come to argue against it.”

  “Is there something the matter with the invasion plans?” Avila asked.

  “Not with the plans,” Kael said. “Just the concept. We need to end this war, now, or we’ll all be dead.”

  Beside
her throne was a small silver table covered with a blue cloth. Three glasses rest atop it, two with water, one with wine. Avila took the wine and sipped at it as she dragged out the time between the question and her response.

  “Center’s soldiers and machines killed thousands of our civilians. If Marius is not our true threat, pray tell me, who is?”

  Kael took Clara’s hand, and he squeezed it for comfort.

  “L’adim is,” he said.

  Avila tilted her head.

  “Who?”

  Good start.

  “The shadowborn,” Kael said. “The great betrayer that led the demons against the old world. He is the one who broke the dome that protected us and sent the fireborn raining down from the skies.”

  Another long sip of wine.

  “Even if this were true, we are safe in the skies. No demon may reach us, and should any try, we’ll crush them like we’ve crushed all our other foes.”

  “Not if we’re too busy killing each other,” Kael insisted. “L’adim is yet to show himself. Our armies are all weakened, and an invasion against Center will drain even more of our elements and diminish our numbers further. We’ve got to stop this, Archoness. Center’s been bruised and humiliated. Now is the perfect time for peace so we may prepare ourselves for the real danger.”

  Avila returned to her chair, and it seemed her spine was more rigid, her expression colder as she took her seat.

  “I have heard of you making similar claims during your visit to Candren,” she said. “We have already suffered greatly under Center’s religious zealotry. It disappoints me to see you prone to similar doomsaying.”

  “I speak the truth,” Kael said, feeling his opportunity slipping away.

  “As do I,” Avila said. “Weshern shall have both freedom and vengeance. I will not bow the knee to my husband’s murderer and ask for peace. Marius will bow to me, and when he does, I will be holding a sword.”

  Her mind appeared set, which meant only one option remained. Clara squeezed his hand again, understanding the same.

  “Do it, Kael,” she said.