Chapter 10
FATAL FLARE
ASTROPHEL
I’M UP WITH the starlarks. A habit formed on the smallholding where my father chose to conceal his doxy and natural son from the court’s censorious eyes.
A habit continued at the Asteum, using the precious hours of solitude to study, to train, to work harder than all the others to make up for the deficits of my blood. A habit I now can’t seem to break.
Just as I can’t scrub the sight of the Queen’s bluing lips, the limp hang of her limbs, from my memory, nor the bitter gnaw of my disappointment at the binding’s interruption, turning to a fierce burn of rage when Leilani dared suggest calling upon the Outrealmers – the sand-rats themselves – to chase after lost relics and vague prophecies.
Hyperion tried to warn me of her wilfulness, but when I saw her wearing my diadem, when I saw how lovely she’d grown – strange, yes, but lovely nonetheless, lovely precisely because of her strangeness – I confess myself beguiled.
Even blushed like a moonstruck fool. But the enchantment fast wore off.
Until the night of the ceremonies, I had no real understanding of the depths of her depravity, how far she’s sunk into the curse of her brand.
Now I understand the King’s barbed asides.
Without wishing to scare me off, Hyperion’s been subtly preparing me, ensuring I stand ready to guard against her corruption.
No wonder he sought to wrest control of the Throne from her.
I dress quickly, adding the Crescent Sword as an afterthought, enjoying the way it settles against my thigh. Leilani may have taken the binding from me, but she’ll never take this.
The morn is strangely bright overhead as I slip from the palace.
I must have woken later than I thought. But it seems everyone else has slept in too.
The palace is silent as the Void. Even the guard stationed at the door is yawning, rubbing his eyes, as I nod to him and set out on a brisk tramp through the gardens, intent on the stables.
I pin my gaze to the frosted grass, so I won’t have to see the garlands still festooned around the Rotunda, reminders of the ceremony that never was.
Again, that flare of rage surges through me.
I shall master this. A hard ride the surest way to settle my spirits.
There’s nothing like tearing across open hills, with no one to speak to, no pretences to maintain.
I’ve got jousting practice at noon and I need my head clear before then – not just to perform well at the tilt, but to maintain the Silver Tongue persona the courtiers expect from me.
I’ll not allow the Princess to unravel the guise I’ve spent careful sunrings perfecting. She’s taken enough already.
The earthy scent of hay wraps around me like a familiar embrace. The stables are also unusually quiet, no sign yet of the grooms. Better. It’s unseemly for a man in my position to saddle his own mount, but I enjoy the ritual.
I reach for saddle, bridle and crop and heft them towards the furthest stall.
Silvermist greets me with a snort. I pat his withers, produce a lump of honeyloaf from my pocket, which he snaffles immediately – tongue warm against my palm.
I slip the cool bit into his mouth. There’s a freedom in this: the rhythm, the liturgy, the warmth of worn leather beneath my hands, even the smell – it instantly calms me.
It’s why, when I first came to the palace, especially after nights when Leilani’s screams came thick and heavy through the ceiling, I sought solace here.
The stables reminded me of our smallholding – of my mother.
They gave me something solid to cling to in a world where everything was shifting around me: my home, my clothes, my very name.
Saddled, bridled, I swing myself up onto Silvermist’s back.
With a smart click of my heels, I guide him from the stables.
He, like me, is ready to move. We edge past the tiltyard, then skirt the hedge-maze, the nearby fountain conjuring the spectre of Leilani scrubbing her wrists bloody.
I shake myself. She deserves no measure of my pity.
Forcing my gaze starwards to dispel the memories, I draw sharply on the reins.
Silvermist bristles, straining against my command.
I draw tighter, bringing him to a complete halt, and blink.
But when I open my eyes, it’s still there.
The reason for the strange brightness of the dawnrise.
A beacon of white light spearing the bleeding-pastel sky. A fatal flare.
I curse under my breath.
What has she done?
With a flick of my crop, I force Silvermist to a gallop, steering him towards the palace. There’s not a second to lose. The Flarestone must be shrouded, Leilani’s reckless scheme brought to a stop. She would bring enemies to our borders.
I dismount, pound on the palace door.
‘Fetch the King,’ I say to the guard. His hair is mussed, and I make a mental note to report him for sleeping on the job, as he hurries to obey my order.
I don’t wait long. Hyperion soon descends the central staircase, crosses towards me. Confusion creasing his brow.
‘The Flarestone. She’s ignited the Sister-blooded Flarestone.’
Hyperion’s expression is blank as untrod snow. I wait for anger, for indignation to etch itself upon his face. But, aside from a slight feathering of his jaw, nothing. Surely, he didn’t know? Didn’t order this himself?
‘Where?’ The word rips bitter and urgent from his lips, as he turns to the guard. ‘Where is she?’
*
THE BINDERY.
Hardly a surprise. The King’s always kept Leilani on a tight rein, and never more so than since her failed escape bid. The Bindery is one of the few places she’s permitted to go.
‘Leave her to me,’ Hyperion says grimly as he forces open the doors to the great library. I nod, trailing behind his ground-gobbling strides, keeping to the shadows. A stab of guilt snakes cold in my gut. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. I strangle the feeling.
Leilani brought this on herself.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness.
Bruised fingers of dawnlight probe the windows, reflecting rainbows off the starcrystal bookcases, casting long shadows over the scrolling balustrades, illuminating the never-ending shelves of leatherbound volumes.
The must of old parchments weights the air.
Heady, oppressive. I want to fling open the jewelled-glass windows.
It was the same at the Asteum. I respect books, the knowledge they contain, but they make me uncomfortable.
Perhaps it’s the seed of doubt, the splinter of unease, places like this instil in me.
The whispers I can’t quiet that say I don’t belong here.
The light trip of footsteps echoes somewhere above us. I lift my gaze to the spiral staircase that connects all three floors of the Bindery.
Leilani is descending the stairs.
‘Father,’ she says, facing us from the opposite end of the booklined corridor. She doesn’t acknowledge me. She’s pale but her voice is surprisingly steady. Impressively so.
‘What have you done?’ Hyperion snarls.
She lifts her chin. ‘What I had to.’
‘I forbade it.’
Leilani clenches her fist. ‘You may have given up on Mother, accepted what the healers say, but I never will. I’m going to save her.’ Her eyes are glittering, she’s drawn herself tall. She looks… queenly. ‘The Outrealmers should arrive with the next full moons. If I can persuade them to—’
Hyperion strikes fast as a viper, grips Leilani hard by the shoulders.
Shakes her. Without thinking, I step from the shadows to intervene.
Hyperion turns, a challenge burning in his eyes.
I look between them. Torn. Leilani’s arms hang rigid at her sides.
But there’s no shock on her face. Only the tight-pressed lips of resignation.
This is not the first time her father has laid hands on her.
The knowledge weighs heavy as an anvil inside me.
I’ve not seen this side of Hyperion before; it makes for an ugly picture, like glimpsing the wasted face of a fever corpse when their serene death-mask slips.
I understood Leilani was disobedient, that discipline had been a necessary constant in her life.
But I never thought that discipline might extend to this…
My father had little time to teach me anything before he died, but one of his earliest lessons was never to lay hands on a woman in anger.
I remember Leilani’s childhood screams. Had it started even then?
Is this what plagued her girlish dreams?
But then I remember too, the limp hang of the Queen’s birdlike body in my arms, the gaping wound an absent father has left in my life.
All the stinking pyres. All the other fathers torn away too soon.
Leilani is not like other women. She holds dread power, the threat of Shadow within her. She could destroy us all… And she’s a traitor. She’s summoned enemies to our borders. Placed Estelia at the mercy of the Outrealmers. Perhaps Hyperion’s show of force is necessary.
I step back. It’s not my place to question the King.
Hyperion releases his grip on Leilani’s shoulders. Folds his arms. ‘I’ve sent guards to shroud the Flarestone. If any Outrealmers are foolish enough to come to the Barrier, they’ll be denied entry. I meant what I said. Cross me again and, heir or no, I’ll send you to the Veiled Sisters.’
Leilani’s breath hitches but she squares her shoulders. Defiant even now.
‘Think carefully before you do that, Father,’ she says, advancing towards him.
I step closer to Hyperion. This is instinctual too, the desire to lend support to his elbow. She pauses, eyes raking over me, making no effort to hide her disgust. She still has the ability to make me feel small in her presence.
‘Think carefully unless you want the entire court to know how tenuous a grip you keep on the Throne.’ She raises herself on tiptoe, whispers something I can’t catch in her father’s ear.
He pales. ‘How can you possibly know—’ His eyes flit to her brand. ‘Sorceress,’ he whispers.
The fear in Hyperion’s face mirrors the emotion which briefly consumed him in the Orbium when he presented me with my sword. Leilani must have used her cursed powers to learn of the threat the Outrealmers present. Their attacks must be imminent, the situation more dire than I’d supposed.
She smiles. An ice-brittle smile. ‘And just think of all the other things I know. What do you think would happen if those secrets got out? I’ve left records. If you stop the Council of Four from proceeding, if anything happens to me, they’ll be made public. Orthriel will make sure of it.’
How dare she blackmail her own father? Everything Hyperion has ever hinted at: her slyness, her malignant heart. It’s all true. I was a fool to feel sorry for her.
There’s a heavy pause, then Hyperion moves towards her, eyes narrowing to slits.
‘And how will you explain the arrival of Outrealmers?’
Peak’s sake! He’s not actually entertaining the idea?
‘I-I thought you might announce a temporary truce for the exchange of information, ways to slow the spread of the Sickening. An exchange such as used to happen in the Lustrous Age,’ Leilani says.
‘Everyone can see there’s been a shift of late.
The courtiers will welcome any chance of slowing the curse. ’
Hyperion huffs through clenched teeth. ‘I won’t leave your mother’s bedside to consort with traitors.’
I smirk. That’s right, set her in her place.
‘If you do this, Astrophel will serve as my proxy and chair the Council of Four,’ he continues. ‘You’ll defer to him, or not go at all. And if by some miracle you convince them to join you in this fool’s errand, he’ll accompany you while you search for the lost sceptre.’
Me? Go with her? Consort with sand-rats?
I start to protest, to stammer something about the danger to the realm, but Hyperion silences me with a flick of his wrist.
‘The Outrealmers are not to be told about the Sister-Stones,’ he mutters darkly.
‘They’d only try to steal them.’ His lips thin.
‘And measures must be taken to avoid the risk of contagion. Stars only know what foul plagues those sand-rats harbour, confined so long to a cesspit. I’ll not risk another outbreak of Flamefever. Not for anything.’
Leilani nods.
It’s agreed, then? I can hardly focus on the words spilling from their lips. How has she got her way again? These past few risings, Leilani has been pulling all the strings. Making the rest of us dance.
Hyperion is opening his arms, pulling his daughter into an embrace. I freeze. In all my time in their company, I’ve never seen him show any physical affection towards her.
His grip on her shoulders tightens again.
‘You may have a letter from the Elemagus, you may indeed be the chosen one.’ His voice is feather-soft, but pitched just loud enough for me to catch every word.
Of all Hyperion’s tones, this is the most dangerous.
‘But you’re still my daughter, my sworn subject.
You’ll not blackmail me again. Do I make myself clear? ’
The Princess nods, but her eyes don’t venture higher than his collarbones. She knows as well as I do that she’s walking on the thinnest of ice.
‘You’ll pay for this.’
He releases her, motions for me to follow him.
I don’t bother looking back at Leilani as we swirl from the library. Even the coldest of stares wouldn’t equal the chill Hyperion’s parting threat leaves lingering in the air.