TRAITOR
Sidoné Rask, small king of Sharp-Shin precinct, is late to the Hall of Princes because for quads someone has been, at best, neglecting to inform her of meetings, or at worst, actively stopping messages from reaching her.
As the only second-generation small king, Sidoné has plenty of enemies not of her own making, and thanks to her blunt—honest, she’d claim—nature, a few she made all on her own.
Sidoné is not opposed to conflict, though at least one of her enemies, Beremé mé Adora, would claim that a thirst for violence is bred into Sidoné’s Bow blood.
But the truth is Sidoné was raised to believe one ought to fight for what is right, and though her fights have not always ended in success, Sidoné has never regretted jumping into a fray if it is on behalf of her values or, to be as blunt as she’s accused of being, on behalf of the woman she’s been in love with all her life: Amaranth mé Esmail, the Moon-Eater’s Mistress.
The current problem is that Her Glory reigns at the very pinnacle of Sidoné’s list of suspects.
It is perfectly within Amaranth’s abilities and likely agendas to keep Sidoné far away from whatever mess she and her brother have gotten into.
The Moon-Eater’s Mistress has certainly stymied Sidoné’s every attempt at engaging in mirané politics ever since they were thirteen and Sidoné forced from her side.
As if once Sidoné could no longer be Ama’s everything, she was no longer allowed to be anything.
But in the year since that Silk rebellion and the impressive spider array, Amaranth has been different, and the Vertex Seal, too.
Nothing Sidoné has argued has penetrated Garnet’s thick skull, and he used to be the most sympathetic.
Twice Sidoné has managed to needle information out of Anis mé Ario, the no-longer-new-in-reality-but-always-new-in-Sidoné’s-heart body-twin.
The two truths Sidoné has gathered are first, that the Vertex Seal’s emergency commands issued only days after the rebellion must be followed for the very survival of the people of Moonshadow City, and second, that whatever Lyric’s inner circle originally awaited that would have fundamentally changed the Holy Design itself is late, or possibly never coming.
The circumstances are so mysterious, and this secret event so late, it has undercut the trust most small kings of Sidoné’s coalition and the mirané princes themselves were willing to put in Lyric.
Sidoné wants to believe in Amaranth and her brother, but they need more information.
They need real information. Amaranth won’t even see Sidoné anymore.
They used to sometimes have drinks after a garden party in some small king’s manor, or Sidoné might join Amaranth’s blanket for iced fruit while everyone enjoyed a production of old Sarenpet plays, and Ama allowed Sidoné to sit a bit too close.
It’s been quads since Sidoné felt close to Amaranth, with the exception of that morning in the Moon-Eater’s Temple.
Amaranth in her element, demanding, commanding, but needy, too, desperate for what only Sidoné, apparently, could bestow.
Though afterward Sidoné had been off-balance, so aroused, almost lightheaded with how dangerous it was to take from the Moon-Eater, how dangerous to let herself slide into Amaranth’s intimate orbit, she’d believed that moment made a difference to Amaranth.
Sidoné expected to be kept. Let in and held close by Amaranth’s falling force.
Instead she’d chased after Her Glory and been shut out.
Completely. For a year. And of all people, Amaranth had allowed in Hehet méra Davith!
Even now, as she strides into the Hall of Princes, Sidoné feels the pull of Amaranth’s inner design, more than she feels the youthful awe at the cavernous black-and-white dome, more than she feels interest in the Vertex Seal on his red-rock throne with Garnet beside him.
Though Sidoné is lonely and angry, she moves around the edges of the crowd toward where Amaranth holds space perpendicular to Lyric.
Ama is surrounded by handmaidens, lounging on a short dais of her own, her body shouting indolence—but Sidoné sees the sharp gleam of her attention held on her brother.
They are here to give another command. Something to explain, perhaps, or counter the last disappointing quads of effort that are loosening, fading, as the leaders of Moonshadow lose faith in this wild scheme to shore up the design foundations of the city.
Out of habit Sidoné marks her fellow small kings in the crowd—all but Saltbath is here, as usual.
There’s the newest, Nielle mé Dari, who took the title from her dead husband and is much too loud for Sidoné to befriend, except she appreciates Nielle’s honesty.
In character, Nielle is frowning deeply, which almost pulls her off-balance features into something nearing pleasant.
There is Beremé, too close to Amaranth but seated near the fore of the long table of princes, and there is Hehet méra Davith, Beremé’s opposition leader.
That alone used to make Sidoné prefer the older miran, until he snuck into Amaranth’s circle.
Hehet leans idly against one of the massive pillars, fingers toying with a quartz-and-metal charm at his belt. It is—
Sidoné stops in her tracks. The cylindrical charm is a concise force-blade!
He shouldn’t have it in the Hall of Princes.
Only Garnet and Seal guards are supposed to have weapons here, so near to the Vertex Seal.
Does nobody else recognize it? What useless fucks, Sidoné thinks viciously, pushing through toward Amaranth now.
She keeps her eye on Hehet, unwilling to call him out before she directs Amaranth’s attention to the situation—this might be Amaranth’s doing, after all, damn her.
Earning scowls from miran who already dislike her, she keeps shoving through.
Sidoné knows her goal. It isn’t befriending the mirané council, no matter how that might sometimes help her.
Just before she reaches Amaranth, Hehet’s head comes up. He meets her gaze with blood-red mirané eyes and smiles in relief. As if Hehet was waiting for Sidoné to arrive!
Then he nods acknowledgment at her and pushes off the pillar.
Something caught between dread and anticipation pulls Sidoné to a stop.
She watches Hehet walk confidently toward the throne. He doesn’t look at anybody else, only at Garnet and Lyric.
Sidoné takes a step forward, warning too thick in her throat but too fast to track.
Hehet darts forward and there’s a flash as his concise blade flares to life just before it slides easily into Garnet’s stomach.
Hehet jerks it up, catching on the lower ribs, and he grasps Garnet’s shoulder, pulls him close, and Sidoné swears Hehet says something before shoving Garnet off the blade.
It crackles and Garnet crashes to the ground.
“Garnet!” screams Amaranth, and the entire crowd of mirané princes erupts.
Sidoné barges through the final people and grabs Amaranth around the waist just as Her Glory flings herself toward the throne. She’s screaming and fighting against Sidoné’s grip, but though Amaranth is all luscious strength and just as tall as Sidoné, Sidoné is trained.
Twisting, she jerks Amaranth off her feet, but catches her and pulls Ama’s arm behind her to lock her in a hold. Anis is there, helping, tears streaking down her face already, and the other mirané handmaiden Ziyan mé Tal, arms out to block Amaranth.
By the time Sidoné can look up again, Hehet has the Vertex Seal hostage, pressed up against Hehet’s chest. The force-blade glitters under Lyric’s chin. It casts jagged light up Lyric’s face, distorting it, and Hehet snarls something in Lyric’s ear.
The Vertex Seal lifts shaking hands to his forehead.
“No, no,” Amaranth is panting. Her Glory struggles, but Sidoné snaps, “Stop. What is happening?”
Lyric méra Esmail digs fingers into his skin and peels his face away.
“This is an imposter!” Hehet cries, some design accentuating his sharp voice so it carries over everything. “Lyric is not here! This imposter has tried to lead us for quads—with the support of the traitor Moon-Eater’s Mistress.”
There are screams and horror, and then Sidoné sees Seal guards move in from the edges, along with soldiers of the city army.
Lapis mé Matsimet, the Mirror General of the Empire Forces, walks toward Hehet, but not to take him down.
She is on his side. The military, the Seal guard, are on Hehet’s side.
Sidoné stares at the blotchy face of the imposter Vertex Seal. He looks familiar, softer, paler, not even mirané, which—!
“Take Amaranth into custody, for our answers,” Hehet commands.
That breaks Sidoné out of her horror. She drags at Amaranth. “Let’s go, go with me, Ama, now. Now, run!” She grabs Amaranth’s wrist hard, tugging with all her strength. “Shield us,” Sidoné snaps.
Her small guard and only two of the handmaidens push people off, while Ziyan backs away from them, stricken. Over the sudden sound of clashing weaponry, Sidoné can hear Amaranth call, “If you are loyal to my brother, help me!”
But everything is chaos in the Hall of Princes as miran struggle to choose, to move, to get over their shock.
Sidoné has no blade—she doesn’t bring weapons where they are not allowed!
—but she has her body, and she uses it to clear a path out of the hall.
She ignores everything but getting Amaranth out. Everything else can wait.
“Sidoné, Sidoné,” Amaranth gasps when they burst into the sunlight.
“Not yet, Amaranth,” Sidoné says, gazing out at the possible paths through the complex of the Vertex Seal, analyzing fastest versus safest versus where the army is most likely to be. “First, safety.”
“Thank you,” the Moon-Eater’s Mistress says.
Sidoné risks a glance back. Amaranth’s gorgeous face is pinched, her hair a disaster, and her big eyes leaking. But those eyes are on Sidoné, and Sidoné feels the look like a punch. She nods, then transfers her hard grip from Amaranth’s wrist to her hand and winds their fingers together.
Then she gets Her Glory out of the palace.