Chapter 37 #2
I didn’t know what I was missing when my world was so narrow.
I never knew how good it feels to have people who love and trust you enough to leap to your aid without hesitation.
And as I look fondly on these two Vanzadorian women—the last people I would have sought for friendship—I silently vow to follow their example going forward.
I want to be a queen who reaches out instead of retreating in.
Our lives are meant to be shared—like the sun, spreading its life-giving light across the planting fields.
If we share ourselves with only a select few, they risk being scorched by the heat and intensity—the way I was burned by Rowenna’s love.
I was so close to her fire, I didn’t even realize I was burning until she was gone.
“Where is your father?” Queen Tessa asks Alaric for at least the sixth time. “What on earth could the two of you have to say that’s more important than my morning salon? I requested cheese soufflés today, and now they’ll have fallen flat.”
I watch Alaric’s jaw work. He’s about to take the biggest leap of his life, and neither of his parents are truly here to witness it.
I grab his hand and hold it tight. “You can do this,” I whisper.
He nods, his eyes wide with fear, but he gives a small squeeze in return. “We can do this.”
He kisses me and his mother on the cheek—the signal for Delphine and her helpers to get into position—then he strides to the front of the balcony and grips the rail with both hands.
I’m struck by how strong he looks with his back straight and chin lifted, wearing a silk jacket so fine it’s nearly translucent.
His face is freshly shaven, his boots polished to a high shine, and his wild hair has even been oiled back, making him look less boyish and brooding, and more serious and competent. More like a king.
A wave of overwhelming pride and admiration surges through me. A feeling dangerously close to love.
Alaric clears his throat and raises his hands. “Thank you for joining me this day,” he begins, but he’s instantly cut off by shouted questions and demands for King Soren.
Each word makes Alaric flinch, but he rolls his shoulders back and forges on. “My father’s absence is exactly why I’ve called you here.”
“What do you mean absence?” Von Nevus steps forward. “Where’s the king?”
Another councilor quickly joins in. “You called us here? I thought we were summoned by King Soren.”
“If you would let me explain—” Alaric says, but the crowd begins to murmur and roil.
The cantankerous gray-haired councilor barks out, “We want the king’s explanation, not yours!”
The rest of the council shouts their agreement, infecting the crowd with their fear and suspicion, until the entire congregation is calling for answers.
Alaric looks around helplessly. He waves his hands and demands silence, but no one listens. The councilors continue yelling and stoking the hysteria until Alaric slams his hands down hard on the railing and bellows, “You can’t hear from my father because he’s dead!”
For one protracted moment, the square falls quiet.
Sweat beads down my cheeks, and I’m gripped by a wave of nauseating heat.
This is not how we planned to break the news.
The announcement was supposed to be calm and controlled, methodically revealing the sick in the hospital followed by the memory of Besnik’s death, to highlight Soren’s crimes and instability compared to Alaric’s quiet strength and control.
Instead, Queen Tessa lets out a bloodcurdling wail and collapses on the balcony, and the already riotous crowd devolves into chaos.
Attendants fly up the metal staircase to assist the queen, while the councilors charge forward, shouting words like traitor and murderer. Servants and courtiers dart this way and that, unsure where to go, which way is safe.
It reminds me of the hysteria the day I left Tashir—when flames were devouring our fields and Soren could have used his power to stop the destruction.
“Alaric!” I shout. “Use your power!”
His horrified gaze snaps to mine. “Against my own people?”
“Just to command their attention. Show them you’re every bit as powerful and capable as your father.”
Alaric stares into the chaos with a pained expression. Then he raises both hands, and tremors rattle down the balcony and roll down the teeming streets. The cobblestones crest and sink like waves, making it impossible for the people to stay on their feet.
At first, this causes even more terror and confusion, but slowly, the cries begin to fade as the people of Vanzador are forced to sit on the ground and look up at Alaric, directing the stones from the balcony the way a conductor leads an orchestra.
Soon, only Soren’s councilors remain on their feet, still hurling accusations and shaking their fists.
With a weary sigh, Alaric moves his arm in a slashing motion, and a deep gash splits the earth, severing the councilors from the rest of the crowd.
The blue-robed men and women stumble and flail, desperate to keep themselves from tumbling into the abyss, and I’m more than a little disappointed when Von Nevus doesn’t fall to his death.
Alaric straightens, adjusts his waistcoat, and calls out in a firm voice, “Listen! And I will relay all that has happened.” No one moves or speaks, and after several deep breaths, Alaric continues.
“Last night, I confronted my father about a troubling discovery I made recently with the help of my wife.” Alaric slides his arm around my waist and pulls me against his side—his heartbeat hammering through me in a frantic staccato.
“There is a hospital, hidden in that warehouse”—Alaric points to the textile factory—“and it’s filled with Vanzadorian citizens on the brink of death. Your very own mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, have been wasting away in agony without your knowledge.”
Von Nevus’s head snaps up, eyes blazing. “Lies! If Vanzadorians were missing, don’t you think their families and friends would know? Stop trying to divert our attention from your crimes! Tell us what you did to King Soren!”
I tighten my grip on Alaric’s waist, willing him to feel my strength and support.
After only a slight pause he shouts, says in his loudest voice, “If you don’t believe us, see it with your own eyes!”
He points again to the textile factory, and every head turns at the sound of metal doors opening.
Several moments later, Delphine and the servants she recruited to help emerge into the square, each of them carrying or escorting a weak, hollow-eyed patient.
I made sure to include prominent figures like Elodie’s mother, Councilwoman Tomasko, and innocent babies, like Lady Hawthorne’s supposedly deceased child, to make it clear no one was safe from Soren’s treachery.
The crowd silently parts for the grim procession, and as the sick are carried through the throng, teary-eyed families rush forward.
“Where have they been all this time?”
“How is this possible? I was at the funeral!”
“What have you done to them?” a noblewoman demands, pointing between Alaric and the council, unsure where to lay the blame, which feels like our first step toward victory.
“This is the unforeseen consequence of sacrificing our memories!” Alaric says before Von Nevus or other councilors can cut in and spin their lies.
“My father encouraged all of us to give our memories abundantly in order to secure our borders and increase the output from our mines. He even offered incentives, like promises of wealth and status to those who sacrificed the most. He made us believe there was no reason to hold back—no ill effects from giving away these trivial moments. In fact, he convinced us the tithes were a blessing—a way to forget tragedies and blunt our pain and suffering. But this the true cost of the memory tithes.”
Alaric gestures sadly to the parade of sickly patients, still unresponsive despite the deafening commotion.
“My father was knowingly taking far more from us then we ever dreamed—or consented to,” Alaric continues.
“When we give too much of our past to the earth, we no longer have enough life essence to support our souls—or to pass on to our children at birth—creating bodies that are too weak and depleted to survive on their own.
Bagrava, from Tashir, is the only thing keeping these patients alive.
“Soren knew this was happening, but instead of finding more sustainable ways to fuel our power, he hid the sick away, manipulated you into sacrificing your memories of the truth, and invented stories of their death or disappearance so you’d carry on depositing more memories.”
Von Nevus breaks rank from the other councilors and stands at the edge of the gulf Alaric created to contain them.
“Do you know what you’re saying? What you’re doing?
” he snarls up at Alaric. “You need their memories just as much as your father did—even more so, since your power is fledgling and weak!”
“I don’t want your memories if this is the cost,” Alaric booms for all to hear.
“I didn’t think my father would either. But when I confronted him, he refused to accept responsibility.
Not only that, he lashed out and tried to kill me to keep me from sharing this information with you.
Just as he killed my brother, Besnik, in a fit of rage, years ago…
” Just as he did five years ago, when he killed my brother, Besnik, in a fit of rage. ”
Alaric nods at me, and I release the memory from the silver button once more. Instead of watching the past, though, I watch the crowd, their eyes wide with shock as the golden light of the past surrounds them. It’s so quiet, I swear I can hear every beat of Alaric’s thundering heart.
Once Besnik is dead and memory Soren has commanded young Alaric to forget, real Alaric speaks again, no longer needing to shout to be heard.
“Despite these heinous crimes, I did not harm my father. He tried to shove me over a cliff edge and lost his balance, resulting in his own demise. I’ll admit, I didn’t use my power to save him.
It seemed better for one man to perish than for the entire nation of Vanzador to lose their life essence.
Better that I should be your king, inexperienced though I may be, than a man who was willing to lie and take advantage of you in such an appalling manner. ”
“Traitor!” Von Nevus yells. “You might as well have pushed him!”
But unlike before, very few citizens take up his cries.
Flutters of hope take flight in my rib cage and I urge Alaric on. “It’s working. Keep going!”
Alaric grips the rail in both hands and stands even taller.
“Being King of Vanzador is never what I wanted or planned—my brother would have made a far better king—but I am what you have, and I vow to do everything in my power to lead and protect you in a way that doesn’t compromise your well-being.
I won’t stop searching until I find an alternative means to fuel my power and a cure for those already affected by the memory sacrifice.
“My wife, Indira, has agreed to aid us in this cause.” Alaric looks down at me, and his tender, proud expression makes the butterflies beat their wings even more erratically.
Thousands of eyes are watching me, but I see only Alaric’s.
“Her bagrava is the only reason these people are still alive,” he admits gravely, “and she has generously offered to grow even more bagrava on the mountain to sustain their condition, but this comes at great cost to her and the people of Tashir. The amount of bagrava our sick require is so great, her own people are suffering on the brink of starvation. But Indira has agreed to help us nonetheless, because she has seen the goodness and strength of Vanzador and its people. She believes we are worth saving and that we can work together to sustain each other.”
Alaric raises both arms high in the air, signaling the end of his speech.
I wait for the crowd to erupt with cheering.
For people throw themselves at his feet and offer their admiration and loyalty forevermore.
But no one says a word. Not even the councilors.
Alaric’s panting as if he just sprinted across the Tomb Flats, and the smile plastered across his lips grows even wider, bordering on desperate, the longer the silence stretches.
How can they stand there and say nothing? How can they possibly deny this man as their king?
Mercifully, Queen Tessa clears her throat and hobbles forward. I completely forgot she was there, standing behind us throughout Alaric’s speech.
“Is it true?” Did your father really kill Besnik?” She sobs the name of her firstborn. “Was he truly responsible for this sickness?”
Alaric nods and reaches for her hands. “I’m sorry, Mother, I know you loved him. And I know you would have counseled him to make different choices, had you been aware.”
Queen Tessa pries her hands free and collapses in a heap, wailing as she tears at her skirts. It’s heart-wrenching and horrifying. The entire square is captivated.
Alaric eases down on one knee and tries to help her to her feet, but Queen Tessa swats him away.
“Don’t help me up.” She wipes beneath her eyes and places a gentle hand on Alaric’s cheek. “I want to be the first to kneel before the rightful king of Vanzador.”
She prostrates herself on the ground before Alaric, and goose bumps flash down my body as a deafening cheer rises from the square below. One by one, the multitude follows her lead, dropping to their knees, until only Garitt Von Nevus and a handful of sour-faced councilors remain.
“How do we know the king is truly dead?” Von Nevus demands. “We should bow to no one else until Soren’s body is found.”
“We recovered his body for those who wish to see and pay their respects,” Alaric announces, but other voices are surging up from the crowd.
“I never want to see Soren Alaverdi again!”
“Even if he lived, he’s no king of mine!”
The shouts of agreement are instant and deafening.
A palace guard draws his sword and aims it at Von Nevus’s chest. “You will bow before your king.”
Grudgingly, Von Nevus and the others sink to the ground until the entire nation is on its knees before me and Alaric. A Tashiri gardener and an unwanted prince. Somehow the rightful king and queen of Vanzador.