Chapter 2
Wyatt sat quietly on the terrace stairs in the palace’s eastern courtyard, enjoying the sun on his face and the smell of the flowers budding in the nearby garden. It was the first day of the season, which was induction day for all the new Sovereign soldiers standing in formation in the courtyard, waiting to be called for their iridescent insignia. There were two Alters and a healer in front of the formation of recruits, and while one Alter used his magic to keep a small cauldron of shimmering metal molten, the other used her magic to pull a bit out at a time and meld it into the shoulder of the soldier before them, only to have it healed and sealed in immediately after. He remembered the day he’d received his own insignia so vividly that he refused to even glance toward the inductions, but he liked the sun and the flowers too much not to be outdoors, and the soldiers were so well-prepared for the pain of it that they rarely made a sound.
He focused on his notebook instead of paying attention to the ceremony, where he was using the fine point of a pencil to sketch an elegant sword hilt. He’d been working on it for days when he could escape his duties and get somewhere quiet, and with the sun warming his back and bare arms between the cool flurries of breeze, there wasn’t anywhere else he wanted to be. But his time alone never did last, and before long someone stopped on the stairs behind him, blocking the sun and casting a shadow over his page.
“What are you working on now?” the man asked, and Wyatt didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know who it was. It was one of his closest friends, Peter.
“A Delgado,” he answered, “like the one Claxton Taft used. ”
“Pirate?” Peter asked, and Wyatt nodded. “Can I see?”
Wyatt finally looked over and up, and then gestured his pencil at the step beside him. “If you sit.”
“Told by a captain to slack off?” Peter smiled, shaking out his fluffy, ear-length brown hair as he plopped down at Wyatt’s side. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“You were blocking the sun,” he accused.
“Fair enough,” Peter laughed. He held out his hand for the notebook, took it, and studied the intricate patterns that Wyatt had drawn into the hilt. He then flipped backwards in the book to look at others, mumbling to himself as his brown eyes scanned the pages, “Taft, Withers, Kent, Trace.” He looked up at Wyatt. “Captain Kim,” he said, snapping the book shut and holding it out, “you’ve been hard at work since I last saw you.”
Wyatt hummed and grabbed the book, but Peter didn’t let it go right away. He held onto it, and kept that smirk until Wyatt laughed, yanked it out of his hands, and bumped him with his shoulder in retaliation. He was glad to see Peter again, as they only ever saw each other on the occasions that Wyatt’s ship was back on Glasoro. Peter was a castle guard who loved his life on land, and despite the irony of him being an air Alter, he refused to join Wyatt and their friend Carter on Sky’s Honor’s crew no matter how they begged him. Wyatt, on the other hand, was one of the youngest captains in Sovereign history at twenty-four and was born for the sky.
“Do you have a new favorite?” Peter asked.
Wyatt shook his head and patted his own longsword — the handle of which was intricately and symmetrically engraved, and accented with inlays of dark, turquoise tutrium, which helped balance and lighten the weight of the weapon.
“Don’t know why I even asked,” Peter chuckled. He made a teasing reach for the handle. “When will you let me have a swing?”
Wyatt swatted his hand away. “When you learn to wield it properly.”
“Hello?” Peter gestured to the sword at his own hip. “I am trained.”
And they’d had this conversation enough times before that Peter grinned, mouthing the exact words as Wyatt said, “Just because it works, doesn’t mean it’s proper.” Wyatt laughed and added, “Shut up.”
Peter saluted him and said, “Yes, Sir,” and they both laughed again.
“How have you been, Peter?” Wyatt asked .
“Bored,” Peter answered. “They’re shipping a lot of soldiers out for some reason, which means less soldiers around, which means I get extra shifts.” He looked over and cocked his head. “You know why?”
“No,” Wyatt answered. “We only arrived at port yesterday.”
“Maybe you’ll find out, then. I was sent to summon you.”
“Where to?”
“War room,” Peter answered. “Your father gave the summons, but he wanted me to tell you that you’re meeting with Commander Parker and the emperor himself.”
Wyatt reached into the pocket of his sleeveless cerulean tunic and pulled out his pocket watch. “What time?”
“Fourteen hundred.”
“Peter!” He shot to his feet. “It’s thirteen fifty-five! He’ll kill me if I’m late!”
He didn’t wait for an answer, and was already running as he tucked his watch, pencil, and notebook into his various pockets.
“I’m sorry!” Peter ran alongside him. “It took me forever to find you. You can blame it on me.”
“He’ll do worse than kill you,” Wyatt told him.
They kept pace as they sprinted into the castle and through the halls, making their way to the war room, and they both skidded to a halt outside the door right at fourteen hundred. He stopped for only a moment to smooth his hands down the front of his tunic, inhaled a deep breath to try and recover from the run, and then pushed open the doors.
Admiral Mikael Kim’s face was as plain as usual, but his dark brown eyes were narrowed at Wyatt as he entered. Wyatt had inherited those same dark brown eyes rather than his mother’s lighter ones, as well his parents’ straight black hair — though, seeing as he was almost always on a ship and hated to get it cut even when he could, his hair was constantly about shoulder-length instead of cropped short like his father’s, and was tied up in a bun to keep it out of his face. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the annoyed stare he knew so well as the door closed behind him, and even though they were the same impressive height, Admiral Kim felt six inches taller when he was upset.
Wyatt postured with his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders stiff, and greeted around the room by rank. “Majesty.”
He bowed to the emperor, Mereck Anseau. He’d only met the emperor in passing once before, and he was an average man in every way except for the way he was adorned. He had brown hair, brown eyes, a slim build, and a forgettable face, but his clean white tunic was trimmed in gold, his black leather breeches were stamped decoratively with his family’s crest, his boots were polished and new, and he wore a thick golden bracelet on his left wrist that matched the golden chain around his neck.
When the emperor nodded at him, he looked toward the emperor’s right-hand man, a Caster by the name of Simon Beecher, and said, “Sir.” He was slightly shorter than average, but his lack of height made him no less intimidating. His jawline was as square as his shoulders, and his unwavering green eyes looked and lingered wherever they wanted with the confidence of a man who’d never met an equal.
As a Caster, he was above rank, and he wore no uniform or identifying mark. The only adornment he had at all was a gold ring with a round ruby in it, and his white tunic and black breeches were plain. His reputation, however, was anything but plain. Simon Beecher, they said, was a ruthless enforcer of Anseau’s wishes, and the strongest and most brutal fighter any witch had ever seen.
Wyatt gladly turned his attention away from Simon and onto Commander Theobald Parker – the commander of the entire navy. He was a kinder-looking man, with crow’s feet and laugh lines wrinkling his dark brown face. His uniform coat was the same cerulean blue with the same black breeches as Wyatt’s, though he had several more decorations on his left breast, and his had sleeves that were folded up to his elbows. His hands clasped in front of him were calloused and scarred from his years on a ship.
“Commander,” Wyatt greeted.
Commander Parker unclasped his hands and stretched one toward him from the other side of the war table. “Good to see you again, Captain.”
“You too, Sir,” Wyatt agreed, shaking with him briefly before turning to his father. He gave a respectful nod and greeted, “Admiral.”
“Captain,” his father returned, but the stern look still on his face made Wyatt’s stomach drop.
Whatever this meeting was about, it was important, and the expectation had been for Wyatt to be early. He’d already failed at the first thing expected of him even though he hadn’t known it, nor did he know what the next expectation for this meeting would be, and the pressure of that unknown coupled with the impending embarrassment of failure in front of these high-ranking men amplified that sunken feeling in his stomach. It felt like an eternity that he stood there under his father’s intense gaze, staring at the bridge of his father’s nose while the roiling feeling in his stomach took hold on his chest. Very few things other than his father ever made him feel that way, and he had to get that feeling under control.
He turned away from his father and toward the war table while he rejoined his hands behind his back. He rolled the knuckle of his middle finger between the index and thumb of his other hand, squeezing hard so the pinch would distract him from that heavy stare and give the whirlwind in his stomach an anchor point.
“Pleasantries aside,” Emperor Anseau said, and though Wyatt continued to pinch his knuckle, his attention returned to the men around him, “we have important business.”
“An update from Remigan?” Wyatt’s father asked.
Anseau nodded. “We’re ahead of schedule with the harvest, but the citizens have started protesting.”
Wyatt glanced around, already confused about what was happening. Mining companies usually took thirty or more years to harvest an island of all its mineral before it dropped back to the surface, and while he wasn’t intimately familiar with the harvesting schedule, he was almost certain Remigan wasn’t scheduled in his own lifetime. Or anyone’s, for that matter.
“The soldiers stationed there have requested a greater military presence to try and prevent escalation,” Commander Parker said. “Captain Kim, you’re an incredibly decorated soldier for your age, and your father sings your praises.”
Wyatt suppressed an admission that he was likely so decorated because of his father’s praises, and instead said, “Thank you, Sir.”
“That’s why we want you to assume position as Vice Admiral,” his father said, “and take a small fleet to the island.”
“Vice Admiral?” he repeated in shock, his confusion only slightly tempered by a budding excitement. “I captain a chaperone crew…” He protected merchant ships from pirates. “Are you certain?”
Commander Parker chuckled. “You’ve earned the opportunity, Captain. If all goes well, you’re looking at an official promotion.”
“Are you up for the challenge?” Anseau asked.
“Yes, Sir, Your Majesty, Sir.” He was grinning, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that his father was smiling too .
“Good,” Anseau said. “I’m sure you have questions, then. It’s time you’re briefed on our island’s situation.”
“Our island?” Wyatt asked. “Glasoro? I thought Remigan was the assignment.”
“Remigan is the assignment,” Anseau said, “but it’s only one of twelve islands we’ll be harvesting over the next five years.”
“Twelve?” he breathed, looking around at the others, none of whom appeared surprised. “In five years? What about the civilians, Sir?”
“The mining companies have already sent hundreds of transport ships back and forth to provide passage,” Commander Parker said. “And they’ll continue to do so.”
“And the indentured who can’t afford passage?” he asked. “They’ve not been given time to save.”
“All contract holders have been provided one hundred dominions per family under their charge,” Anseau answered. “That hundred is to be given to families to secure their own passage.”
Wyatt stared down at the massive altitudinal map of the empire on the table, busily searching for Remigan while his mind raced. Not sticking to the thirty-year standard didn’t feel right. It seemed the emperor was doing what he could to ensure that everyone who would leave the island could, but it didn’t help the uneasy feeling behind his ribcage.
“Glasoro has five years left,” Anseau said, snapping Wyatt’s focus to him. “And then it will fall.”
“Sir?” Wyatt said. “It’s showed no signs of sinking.” All islands did, decades before the energy at their mineral hearts ran out and they dropped to the surface, where that mineral was eventually reabsorbed into the planet’s molten crust and reenergized, so it could one day rise again and form a new island.
“Because it won’t fall by natural cause,” Anseau told him. “Do you know how long my family has stewarded this empire, Kim?”
“A millennium, Sir.”
“Almost,” Anseau agreed. “Nine hundred and ninety-five years ago, my ancestor made a deal with a Caster to tie our family’s sovereignty to this island so our reign would be long. She gave us a millennium, and then this island would fall, and our reign would end.”
Wyatt glanced around again at the others to see whether or not they believed it, but their faces were all sober and unreadable. “Are you certain, Your Majesty?” he asked. “Are you certain it’s real? ”
Anseau held his left arm out over the table, turning his thick bracelet around his wrist. “Do you see the lack of seams?” Wyatt nodded. “It’s laibralt. It was my father’s, but I awoke with it on my wrist the morning after I was appointed. I’ve tried enlisting the most powerful magic available to remove it. In fact, I’ve tried everything short of removing my own hand. It cannot be undone.”
But twelve islands? Twelve whole islands when Wyatt knew, he knew that not everyone would make it off before they dropped. There was always a loss of life, even with a thirty-year harvest. It was part of the reason they harvested so slowly. “Can we not evacuate Glasoro instead? Move to another island and start fresh?”
“We could,” Anseau replied, letting out a heavy sigh, “and will as a last resort. But I’m afraid I’d be left behind. I’m physically incapable of leaving the island, and I would fall with it.”
“We’ve been over the options, Vice Admiral,” Simon Beecher cut in. He’d been so silent that Wyatt forgot he was there, and his sharp voice made Wyatt jump. “This is the best way.”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” he said, giving his knuckle another pinch, “I have no doubt that you have. But I still don’t know what it is we’re doing.”
“It’s alright, Captain,” Commander Parker said. “Glasoro is larger and more populated than all twelve we’ll harvest put together.” Wyatt hummed his understanding. “But the mineral from those islands will be enough for Alters to mold a support along Glasoro’s underbelly, so that, when the time comes, we stay in the sky.”
“Like a net?” Wyatt asked.
“Exactly,” Anseau confirmed, and then let out a sigh as he looked down at the bracelet. “So you understand, then, that the deal my ancestor made is a curse. He didn’t care that one day, one of us would have to face the consequences. All he cared about was taking the easy road to power, and I’m the lucky scapegoat who gets to manage the fallout.”
“So, I take a small fleet to Remigan,” Wyatt said, “and ensure that the miners’ work isn’t hindered by civilians?”
“Right,” Parker replied. “Emperor Anseau would like the people to know that evacuating should be their priority.”
“Six months will go by fast,” his father added. “They don’t have time for protesting, and you should use force to show them that if you must.”
Wyatt stared, dumbfounded, for several moments longer than he should have. “ Six months?” That wasn’t right. That couldn’t be right .
“Yes, I’ve sent Alters to aid the miners and Remigan has six months,” Anseau confirmed, and despite his lingering shock, Wyatt forced himself to nod. There was so much he wanted to say and ask, even some things he wanted to argue with, but he knew what he was allowed to do and what he wasn’t, and he’d had most of his propensity for asking questions hammered out of him by his father’s iron will and, on occasion, his fist. So, he stood there for several more moments before the emperor said, “If you have no other questions, then that’ll be all, Captain.”
“Yes, Sir,” he replied, and was so caught up in six months instead of five years that he just stood there instead of deciphering what the emperor actually meant by ‘that’ll be all.’
“You’re dismissed, Wyatt,” his father spat. “Report to the docks.”
Oh. Right. “Good day, Sirs,” he saluted around the room, then turned to leave and met Peter outside while the others continued onto some other topic about Simon and an assassination.
“Well?” Peter asked the moment the door closed behind him, and walked along at his side as he headed in the direction of the palace’s southern gate.
“I have to go to the docks,” Wyatt told him. “They’re giving me a trial as vice admiral to take a fleet to Remigan.”
“Vice admiral!” Peter exclaimed. “That’s fantastic!” Wyatt hummed, and Peter studied him for a minute before saying, “You don’t seem too thrilled about it.”
“They’re harvesting twelve islands in the next five years.”
Peter grabbed his arm, abruptly halting their stride. “ Twelve? ” he breathed hoarsely. “In five years? Why? ”
Wyatt looked around while he eased his arm out of Peter’s grip, and once he was certain there was no one around to overhear, said, “You can’t tell anyone.” Peter nodded. “Swear it out loud.”
“I swear.”
“Anseau is cursed,” he said, “Glasoro will fall in five years.”
Peter stared at him for several long seconds, and then said loudly, “ Are you bloody joking? ”
Wyatt’s brow furrowed. “Why would I joke about that?” Peter inhaled deeply and pushed that breath through pursed lips while he stared at the ground. “I asked if we could evacuate this island instead,” Wyatt added. “Five years would be enough time to get everyone off if we devoted all our resources to it. More time than they’re giving the other islands. ”
“What did they say?”
“The emperor can’t leave the island,” he said.
“At all?” Peter asked.
Wyatt shrugged. “That was all he said. That he couldn’t leave, and he’d fall with the island.”
“Was it… suspicious?”
“I was hoping you’d be able to tell,” Wyatt said. “Beecher got annoyed with me, but I might’ve just been asking too many questions.”
“Well, how many questions did you ask?”
“I can’t remember.”
Peter hummed. “You do ask a lot of questions sometimes.”
“I know.”
“Was your father giving you that look he does?”
“I didn’t look at him, I don’t know.”
Peter hummed again, this time resting his chin between his index finger and thumb while he propped his elbow against his ribs. “I can’t say,” he said eventually. “But I don’t see why they’d go through all the trouble of harvesting twelve other islands when they could just evacuate this one. Right? No offense to the emperor, but it’s not like they couldn’t find another one…”
Wyatt glanced around again, worried that anyone would’ve been close enough to hear Peter say that. “You should keep those thoughts to yourself, you know.”
“Bah.” Peter waved him off.
They both stood there for almost a minute in silence while Wyatt considered the good and bad of what this opportunity could mean, but he knew that his father wouldn’t have recommended him for it if he wasn’t at least capable. So he’d go to Remigan, and he’d see to the task assigned to him.
Peter let out a loud sigh after that breadth of silence and said, “It’s a lot to digest, but at least they’re doing something about it. So, you’re off to Remigan, then?”
“I am.”
“Right, go on, then.” Peter gave a big smile and saluted stiffly. “Be safe, Vice Admiral Kim. Tell Carter he still owes me seven dominions.”
Wyatt chuckled and waved goodbye as he continued in the direction of the docks, calling back, “Stay out of trouble, Peter!”
And as he hurried toward a new mission, Peter called back at him, “Get into some, Wyatt!” As if that was something he’d ever do.