Chapter 5
FIVE
After three weeks, the rations grew thin again. The people of Solmiris grew once again impatient with the Lunarethians, and though her people tried their best to belong, to earn their keep, no one in the city gave them the chance.
Jesenia had finished singing the orphans to sleep, searching for an empty space on the streets to rest herself, when she heard whispers and hushed tones slipping from an alley.
The voices were impossible to discern at first, but as Jesenia crept closer, she overheard the voices of two men.
“It will happen before the next council convenes.”
“Who would believe the pacifist filth would make an attempt on the king?”
“The people will believe what they see, and our coffers run deep enough to paint the truth.”
She didn’t stay to hear more. Jesenia slipped away from the alley, her pulse climbing with each echoing footstep as she ascended the city toward the Golden Citadel.
She could not see their faces, but the way they spoke of her people made it clear that they had to have been Solmiris citizens.
Whatever their grievances were, their intent was unmistakable: they wanted to stage an assassination of the king.
And she knew in her bones that if they succeeded, the refugees would be the ones paying the price, no matter their innocence.
Jesenia’s legs ached from climbing the steps toward the citadel, but her speed did not falter. She did not know when this council would convene, but she knew it had to be soon, and so she could not hold onto this information for even a moment.
The great citadel rose like golden fire at the top of the hill, vast and gleaming. Its gilded columns caught the soft moonlight so brilliantly it hurt to look at. Banners of crimson, ivory and gold unfurled from towers and above archways, pledging loyalty to the Angel-King inside.
The crimson-cloaked guards at the gates shifted as she came into view, their halberds lowering in perfect unison, points mere inches from her chest.
“Halt, foreigner!”
Jesenia’s throat was dry from running, and she lifted her trembling hands to move her hair that had been stuck to her brow from sweat. “Please–please, I have to speak to the King. It’s urgent.”
The guard on the left tilted his head toward her. “Your business?”
“They mean to kill him!” she blurted. “I–I–I don’t know who, but I heard them! An attempt would be made on the King’s life before the next council. Please–”
“Your kind is not permitted in the upper terraces,” one of the guards said, his weapon still poised toward her.
Jesenia flinched at his harsh tone, but stood her ground, forcing the words through the pounding in her chest. “Please, they will kill him! We have to save him!”
The guards paused for a moment, shared a glance, and then–
They laughed at her. They laughed at her for a few long, humiliating moments, before straightening their spines again, disdain returning to their voices.
“Another fanatic,” one said.
The other turned his attention back to Jesenia, taking one measured step forward. His arrogant authority leaked from his armor and stance. “You will return to your quarter. The King is in no danger here. You will not bring your unrest into our gilded halls.”
The words hit hard, yet she kept going. “But I heard them plotting–”
“Off the streets, refugee. Now.”
Jesenia’s nails dug into her palms, the feeling of helplessness and the frustration of being taken for a liar swelling beneath her ribs.
“Please, I swear it on my life–”
“Enough! Go home, girl. I will not say it again!”
For a moment, Jesenia stood there, the sheer weight of this information holding her in place. Jesenia turned to walk away, but paused a half-step forward. Her gaze fell over her shoulder, calculating if she could just slip in between the two men…
And before she could think about it, she ran, trying to squeeze through the space between them, shouting to anyone who might be nearby.
“Assassins! Assassins in the city! They’re coming for the king!”
Her voice drew the attention of servants and other guards. From behind her, an onlooker threw a piece of fruit at her.
“Lunarethian filth!” a man shouted. “Always stirring trouble!”
The guards quickly caught Jesenia by the arm, twisting it behind her back and forcing her to the ground.
“Stop resisting!”
“I’m trying to save him!” she cried. “Please!”
But they didn’t want to hear it. They were more concerned with keeping her quiet than saving the man leading their country. In their eyes, she was just another vagrant shouting lies to try and earn her people favor.
She struggled against their grip, her hair falling loose across her face. The guards held her down when they shackled her wrists together, and as they drug her away, her cries became background noise in a city too proud of itself to listen.
The cell was small and damp, carved into the stone beneath the eastern barracks. The air smelled of rust and old rain; each drop from the ceiling struck the floor like a metronome counting down her hours until judgement.
Jesenia sat on the cold stone floor, arms wrapped around her knees. The thin shawl she had brought from Lunareth did little against the chill.
She’d spent the night listening to the muffled echoes of soldiers changing shifts above her, the clatter of armor, the occasional barked order. All of it frightened her, because it meant they were deciding what to do with her.
She was sure she had done the right thing in trying to warn them. Her body moved before her mind could stop her, but she should have known they wouldn’t believe her. Not even if she swore it on her life or all the stars in the sky.
They had only listened long enough to have reason to arrest her.
Inciting unrest, they called it. Disturbing the peace.
Jesenia scoffed bitterly at that. What peace? The city had been cruel to the Lunarethians from the moment they walked through the gates, isolating them like a sickness waiting to spread.
Many hours passed before a noise at the end of the corridor pulled her head up.
A man soon appeared outside of her cell.
He wore no helmet, and even in the dim torchlight, she could tell that his armor was more ornate than the guards that arrested her, but nowhere near as intricate as the king’s.
He must have been a superior. The man’s hair was reddish, eyes green, and his clean-shaven face was worn with time, but not unkind.
He quietly studied her through the bars for a moment.
“What is your name, Lunarethian?” he asked at last. His voice was deep and even and commanding, but it lacked the cruelty so many of the other guards spoke to her with.
She hesitated. “Jesenia.”
He nodded, his expression something like pity. “I am the Angelicus Prime, Rohannes.”
Jesenia was quiet with confusion, for she had never heard such a title. He sensed her lack of understanding, quietly adding, “I am the highest ranking officer of the Angelicus Hastati. I am here on behalf of His Majesty.”
“I only tried to save his life,” she said sharply before he could continue. “If that is a crime in this city, then keep me in these chains.”
Rohannes tilted his head. “Chains do not make your words false.” Before Jesenia could comprehend what he said, he unlocked the door without another word. “Come.”
“Why?”
“Because you have been summoned,” he said dryly.
Jesenia stood slowly, her legs stiff from the long night. She held out her arms, expecting to be bound again, but he only gestured for her to follow him.
They walked through the narrow hallways in silence. The further they went, the warmer the air became—the scent of burning oil replacing mildew, the faint hum of voices returning. The shift from dungeon to palace felt dizzying.
The throne room doors loomed ahead, sunlight spilling through the cracks like molten gold. Jesenia squinted her eyes at it, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Rohannes rested a hand on the door handle, his voice low. “Mind your tongue, Lunarethian,” he warned, before pushing the doors open.
Light flooded around her, and Jesenia stepped forward, semi-blinded by it. She felt small beneath the vaulted, domed ceiling, the air perfumed faintly with incense, the floors polished clean until they held her reflection.
And then she saw him.
The great Angel-King Val-Theris stood near the tall windows overlooking the back side of his citadel, his wings drawn close, each feather pale fire against the dying light. He didn’t turn as she approached, but somehow she knew he’d felt her presence.
“Alive,” she whispered to herself.
“Your Majesty,” Rohannes said from behind her. “I bring you Jesenia of Lunareth, as requested.”
Jesenia was unsure whether to bow or speak, so she simply stood in the center of the room. When he finally turned to face her, his expression was unreadable.
“There was an attempt on my life this morning.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“They were stopped,” he continued, voice low, steady. His gaze lingered on her face, searching, as though looking for something he could not name. “You tried to warn me.”
She swallowed hard, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat. “I—I heard whispers. I thought if I came here…”
“They told me you came to the gates.” Something like regret shadowed his features then, faint but unmistakable. “My guards serve me, and so their actions were mine. And I turned you away.”
She shook her head quickly. “Your guards did what they thought was right.” Her voice was so quiet, carefully minding her words as instructed.
At last, Val-Theris stepped closer, his movements smooth and deliberate, until the faint glow of the windows cast him in warm, fractured light.
The feathers of his wings shifted gently, catching particles of dust in their wake.
“You could have done nothing,” he said. “You could have let whatever was coming find me. Instead, you tried to stop it. For that, I owe you a debt.”
Jesenia blinked, startled. “I didn’t do it for a reward.”
“I know,” he said, a faint ghost of softness touching his mouth. Not quite a smile, not quite sorrow. He studied her for a long moment, and then said simply: “One favor, Lady Jesenia. Anything within my power to give is yours.”
The words landed like stones in still water, rippling outward.
A thousand desperate thoughts surged through her head: jobs for her people, safety for the quarter, passage away from Solmiris entirely.
She thought of the murmurs in dark alleys, the angry citizens sharpening knives in silence, the refugees’ unrest always one spark away from being set ablaze.
And yet, when she finally found her voice, she heard herself say, softly: “I would ask only for a warm meal for my people.”
Val-Theris’s brow furrowed faintly, as though he wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly. “A warm meal?” She nodded, forcing herself to meet his gaze. He continued to look at her, stunned. “You could have asked for anything. Wealth. Jewels. Property. Yet you ask for a meal.”
Jesenia averted her gaze, humiliation staining her cheeks red. “I meant no offense.”
For a moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched, quiet but sharp, and Jesenia felt the weight of his attention in every shallow breath. Then Val-Theris inclined his head once, solemnly, as though she’d asked for something vast and sacred rather than simple and small.
“Done,” he said softly.
Her throat ached with words she couldn’t find, gratitude burning hot beneath her ribs. She wanted to thank him, but as quickly she had been summoned, Rohannes led her out of the room, and Val-Theris turned his back to her.
Outside, the city’s unrest lingered, but in the weight of the king’s promise, Jesenia felt the faintest shift in her, that maybe he hadn’t abandoned her people entirely.