Chapter 35 A Test of Loyalty
A Test of Loyalty
Footfalls pelt down the throne room. Aesin pour out of tunnels and crevices, more with every minute.
They crowd the cavern in clusters on train cars and juts of rock.
Once settled, they silently turn their gazes to the dais, before which stand Sascia and Nugau.
They know something is about to happen; news that their prince awaits his mother in the throne room traveled fast.
A coil of nerves winds tight around Sascia’s rib cage.
Her nails flick the gemstone scales of her aesin jacket.
Her Doc Martens shuffle against the moss-spotted concrete.
Fire licks at the flesh of her still-healing wound where her shoulders have tensed up.
She tries to ease them back down, but it’s impossible. Fear knows no command.
By her side, Nugau is sculpted marble, a pillar holding up a temple of ancient gods.
His back is straight, his neck long, a hand draped casually on the pommel of his sword.
Last night, with her fingers in his hair, something shifted between them.
He woke her up with a hand against her cheek.
He helped her wash her hair, buttoned up her jacket, and laced her boots for her.
He didn’t speak a word of what’s to come and neither did she, the silence growing heavier with every step toward the throne room; if all goes well and Nugau commands the aesin to retreat to Itkalin, these last few moments of tenderness will be their goodbye.
Thalla stands stoic on Nugau’s other side, alone, as Orran is still not well enough to move. She glares daggers into the knot of council members gathered around the dais. The tallest—Ktren’s parent, Thalla explained—watches Sascia with deathful wrath.
A chorus of steps heralds the Queen’s entrance.
A dozen guards spill into the throne room, flanking their queen.
She is dressed for battle: plated in intricate onyx armor and carrying an antlered helmet beneath her armpit.
She does not sit in her throne, but rather walks to the edge of the dais and looks down at them.
Before her feet lies the evidence Nugau and Sascia gathered, the newspapers, the video, a few photographs.
Nugau showed them to the aesin after Sascia faced the Ul’amoon, and he’s displaying them again now to remind them: ymneen rules us all.
Then, to Sascia’s surprise, Nugau bows deeply to his mother. When he addresses the army in a loud, authoritative voice, Thalla leans close to Sascia to translate.
“My queen, my mother, you have tried to protect us as best you can. But it is no longer enough. The itka have opened the door and knotted our time with the human world’s.
We can no longer rely on strength of arms and weapons.
We need to find the true purpose of the itka’s choices, to save the humans and be saved in turn. If you won’t do that, then I will.”
His courage stumbles, but only for a moment, as he casts his gaze around the cavern. Then he throws his shoulders back, fists his hand, and raises it to his chest—
Before knuckles can meet skin, before that first thump, a whorl of the Queen’s power wraps around his wrist, freezing his arm in place.
The room replies with the unmistakable sound of blades being drawn from scabbards.
Nugau’s allies jump out of their seats. The guards position themselves between the crowd and their regent.
The Queen’s shimmering violet eyes, so much like Nugau’s own, skip over her son and land on Sascia, measuring her up. Whatever she sees, it’s not satisfactory—her lip curls.
She speaks, and Thalla translates. “There is no need for the Thistha Ren, my son. You have proven already that you have strength, wits, and heart. I will gladly and willingly yield my throne to you.”
This is everything Nugau ever wanted, forgiveness and validation and power over the aesin, and his face reflects the giddy hope in his heart. Even Thalla is smiling while she interprets, but something feels wrong to Sascia. By the dais, Ktren’s parent wears a triumphant smile.
It’s a trap, Sascia thinks, a second before the Queen speaks again.
Tension seizes Nugau’s body. His fingers clench into fists by his sides. Sascia’s eyes are tracing reactions: most aesin seem skeptical at first, but then their stance begins to change. Frowns form on their faces. Doubt simmers beneath their gaze.
“Thalla,” Sascia whispers carefully. “Why aren’t you translating?”
The Queen has stopped speaking. The attention of the whole room is on Nugau.
Thalla doesn’t answer, which frightens Sascia all the more. “Please, Thalla.”
Teardrops lift off the corners of Thalla’s eyes.
They float in midair, tiny shimmering beads.
“The Queen says that the prince has proven his strength, wits, and heart, but these last few weeks have made his people doubt his loyalty to the aesin. His ability to put his kin first. And so she offers him a bargain: she will make him king if…”
The lady trails off, folding her fingers over her lips.
Nugau turns to Sascia then, his features laced with a hundred different emotions. “She will make me king,” he says, “if I kill you.”
What will you do? Sascia wants to ask. What will you say?
But she doesn’t need to. She can see the answer on Nugau’s face. On the hard planes of his forehead, the resolute narrowness of his eyes, on his lips, pressed close with resolve. Here is everything Nugau ever wanted, a chance for power and bravery and peace.
In one smooth twist of his wrist, he summons his scythe out of the Dark—and lunges at her.