56. Saige
Saige
Ineed to talk to Archer; I need to tell him that the Confluence is finished, but the assembly called the meeting of minds is upon us. So, the magical tome continues to burn a hole in my satchel as we find our places.
The hallowed halls of the Eros Atrium are a stark contrast to the cozy quarters my friends and I have stayed in.
Three days have passed since Archer summoned the rulers and influential figures of Lorevael to answer the threat to the realm, and now they sit in beautifully crafted high-backed chairs that have been placed in an oval around the throne room.
Wariness and fear line much of the ethereal beauty in the gathered crowd.
Many of the Azkari, I realize, have been here before, on the very precipice of darkness at the hands of Malevron.
Azkari and mortal nobility, heads of armies, royalty.
All have answered the Black Flame’s call-to-arms. The hall is awash with silk and jewels, with beautiful faces and skeptical whispers, with armor and swords.
The Prince of Desires himself stands atop the dais before me.
I haven’t so much as laid eyes on him since I spoke to him in his chambers, since he showed me the final battle between himself and Malevron.
I went out on a limb for him. I thought I could make a difference, make him see that he’s know alone in his pain.
And I thought we could meet somewhere in the middle of it all.
But I can’t keep holding him up. He needs to stand on his own.
He’s right, I can’t fix him. Only he has that power.
It has been a surreal few days, working on the Confluence, which is now tucked in my satchel slung over my shoulder.
I’ve found myself shrinking back into myself—old habits die hard.
It hurts. Archer’s absence hurts in a way I haven’t experienced before.
Like part of me is missing. Like there’s a hole in my chest. I stand with Raven, Yevna, and Grim on the edge of the room, trying to fade into obscurity amidst all the opulence and noise.
“Look!” Raven elbows me in the side. “Isn’t that the queen of Hanniel?”
Rubbing my rib, I follow her gaze across the room, where the mortal ruler does indeed sit in one of the chairs, surrounded by her counsel and guards.
“And the king of the eastern kingdoms,” Yevna says, pointing towards the far end of the hall.
“King Brennan. Archer did well to include the mortals from the start,” she murmurs, turning her attention back to the dais, where the General—the Prince—now stands.
“That’s the first thing they did wrong last time. ”
The whispers of the courtiers filter through the hall, words of suspicion, declarations of condemnation, vicious slurs against Archer all roil together because of the brand that was forcibly burnt into his flesh.
His expression is a mask, but I have no doubt he can hear their murmurings, that he is barely containing his rage at being associated with Malevron.
When I’d made the same assumption in the forest, he’d burst into black flames.
I can only imagine what he’s feeling having his own people make that mistake.
Silence washes over the court, as Archer lowers himself into the throne of molten glass and surveys the crowd gathered before him.
His commanding voice cuts through all. “Welcome to Ignizar,” His words carve through the chaos and project to the far reaches of the atrium.
“I wish our gathering was under happier circumstances. First, I wish to address the question on all your lips, though I will only do so once.” His green eyes scan the throng, lingering on me for a split second longer.
“I am Archeron Dawnstrider, Prince of the House of Desires, second son to the High King and Queen of the Azkari. I am also the general who fought in the Reckoning known to many as the Black Flame. History as you know it, is a lie. During the final battle of the war, I did not kill the enemy tyrant, Malevron. I was only able to incapacitate him, at great cost to myself. For the last two hundred years, I have been imprisoned in a place called Gravereach. There are others still trapped there; other warriors from the Reckoning.”
“Then what of Malevron? You say you didn’t kill him?” the Queen of Hanniel speaks out.
“I did not. He cursed me with a half form, tethered to Gravereach with the rest. But in doing so to me, he also did the same to himself. For the past two hundred years, we have both lived a semi-corporeal existence, all the while Malevron has been plotting to make his comeback, to take the territories of Lorevael by force. You’ll have received reports of activity in the Wailing Wilds, of weapons warehouses broken into, of Azkari bookbinders going missing.
It’s all Malevron’s doing. He searches for something to help him reach the height of his full power once more. ”
Archer’s eyes slide to me again. “Grayson, if you’ll bring forth the Confluence.”
Air twists in my lungs as he motions for the small table that has been placed in the middle of the hall.
With all eyes on me, I retrieve the book from its protective wrappings and cross the shining floor, the flames and molten lava churning just beneath my boots.
The crowd part for me, their murmurs echoing in my wake.
Trying not to tremble, I deposit the Confluence on the table and step back, feeling suddenly cold and empty as a pang of dread punches through my chest.
When I return to my friends, Raven laces her fingers through mine and squeezes my hand. “It’s over,” she whispers. “You fulfilled your end of the bargain, Saige. You’re free.”
I give her a small smile, but something uneasy still roils within me. As the book gleams on the table for all to see, I hear it again—that strange whispering between realms, a calling…
Archer addresses the gathered nobility again.
“This is the Confluence. It is essentially a master key to Azkari magic, including the secrets of our connection to the Weave. Malevron has been seeking this powerful book in order to break the limitations of his own magic. It was from this object that you all felt the surge of power throughout the lands. He has awakened all manner of old allies—his monsters and minions from wars past to obtain it. I saw them myself in the Eldergrove in the House of Reveries—mirudytes in the forest, and souldren elite in the mortal kingdom of Hanniel. There are no doubt many more horrors where they came from. Portals that have been long closed to Morzanmyre are now compromised, some open altogether.” Still seated in the throne, he leans in.
“He is close to obtaining a physical form. He appeared in Gravereach as a reflection in flooded water, and again in Hanniel in the mirror-surface of a souldren elite’s armor.
As Lorevael was once before, we are all bound to the same fate, no matter which house, which kingdom we hail from. ”
Murmurs break out across the atrium, just as a wave of goosebumps break out across my skin.
“It’s true… It’s been found.”
“How do we know he doesn’t mean to take it straight to Malevron?”
“Of course it was the House of Reveries that suffered the first strike.”
“What’s a mortal girl got to do with it?”
“Why are the humans here?”
I shift from foot to foot, wanting nothing more than to shrink away from their scrutiny.
And despite Archer’s lies to me, I feel sorry for him, knowing how much he’ll be hating the stares, the attention.
I can practically feel his shame, his hurt, radiating from him.
But he is not my responsibility. He never was.
Instead, I lean into the support of Yevna and Raven who stand tall at my sides, and Grim growls in the direction of anyone whose stare lingers too long.
“How do we know what your intentions are, Black Flame?” someone calls out.
“Yes! How do we know you’re not the cause of this evil in our midst now?”
Atop the dais, Archer pinches the bridge of his nose, as though he knew this was coming, as though he’s already exhausted.
It’s Daemos who steps in. “If Archeron wanted to use the book against us, do you not think he’d have done so already?
Instead, he has called a meeting of minds from all over Lorevael, for us to jointly decide what to do.
Does that sound like the actions of a Azkari who cares little for the people to you? ”
Archer’s face becomes a mask of cold calm.
“I bear the brand because it was forced upon me,” he announces to his people.
“Against my will, the enemy burned that mark into my skin to shame me, to control me, and were I ever to escape, to ruin my reputation among my allies. Malevron may have succeeded on those fronts in the past. But I have never aligned myself with him, nor will I ever.”
The hushed arguments continue, but Daemos holds up a hand, silencing them. “We are not here to ascertain my brother’s past actions. We are here to decide as one what is to be done with the Confluence.”
At its name, the book whispers in a foreign, ancient tongue. The way my blood runs cold, the way the hair on my arms rises, tells me it’s Eztherian—the tongue of Morzanmyre.
“I say we use the book to close the portals.” A sable-haired Azkari stands, stepping forward to address the meeting.
“It was my territory that bore the brunt of this initial attack. I believe these gateways to still be open, giving Malevron and his minions direct access to my territory. I need these portals sealed, before any more of his monsters come through.”
“That’s the other brother,” Raven whispers. “Prince Eryx of the House of Reveries.”
Junior, I realize. I can see the similarities between this man and Archer and Daemos. Their dark hair and features, the way they move… Even their voices are similar.
“I say we use it to awaken your High King and Queen at Anwyn,” the mortal queen Cordeliah says, as she too, stands. “To wield the Confluence for anything else is madness.”
“So you’re willing to let mirudytes wreak havoc on the House of Reveries while we chase their ghosts?” Eryx says coldly. “The portals need to be closed—sealed for good this time. The only thing powerful enough to do so is that book.”
Archer’s voice is low, but it cuts through the hall like glass. “The souldren and mirudytes are only the beginning.”
All gazes turn to him, and to the haunting eye seared into the side of his neck, the very thing that to them, marks him as a servant of evil, the last person who should be anywhere near a discussion of the fate of the realm.
His words hang like a pendulum between him and everyone else.
“If the book finds its way back to Malevron, its energies could be used to strip the Azkari of their powers entirely, neutralizing us and putting us at his mercy. It could allow him to reshape the fundamental laws of the Azkari realms and magic itself to his whims. He is gathering his armies as we speak and he will be awakening far worse things than what has already crossed through the portals. And he will send out his riders to claim the Confluence.”
“And why should we believe you?” Eryx challenges.
“Because, Brother, I know his mind better than most,” Archer says slowly.
“And I know the rot in his heart. There is only one path forward, only one course of action to take…” He inhales deeply, as though he is bracing himself against the world.
“The Confluence will be restored and once it is, we can use it to learn of our connection to the Weave, how to protect it from Malevron, and how to stop him removing the limits on his own power.”
Eryx sneers. “Is that all?”
“No,” Archer replies bluntly. “The Confluence was nearly destroyed once, and I suspect some of its magic lingers there still. Therefore, it must be returned to Anwyn. And we must decide who will be the one to do it. We need someone who will carry it across the Wailing Wilds, and the plains of Morzanmyre. Someone who can protect it, who will not be lured in by Malevron’s falsehoods and tricks. We need a champion of the Confluence.”
“Why can’t we just destroy it?” King Brennan of the eastern mortal realms shouts.
“Because its magic is tied to the Weave itself,” Daemos says, stepping forward. “Which means the magic of our people lies within those pages. If it were to be destroyed, it could mean the end of all Azkari..”
“You think an object as powerful, and as complex as the Confluence can be unmade by any hand here?” Archer asks, scanning the onlookers before him. “This book was forged and sealed during the Triad’s Ascension in Anwyn. Only there can its magic be separated and used for the defeat of Malevron.”
Chaos erupts throughout the atrium, a roar of voices like I’ve never heard before.
It’s all I can do not to reach up and cover my ears.
Anger is rising and rising, and I’ve never seen a group turn on each other so fast. I inch closer to Raven and Yevna, worried that violence will break out across the atrium.
“What is the Triad’s Ascension?” I ask my friends in a whisper. It’s a term I’ve heard mentioned here and there, but until now, I never thought to ask more about it, assuming it was a secret Azkari custom.
“It’s a celestial event,” Yevna murmurs, not taking her eyes off the mayhem unfolding around us. “Where there’s a kind of alignment between the sea and the sky. It’s supposedly when the Weave is at its most powerful—”
“Order!” someone shouts. “We need order!”
But the pandemonium rages on, until suddenly, a wave of black flames encircles the room, heat blazing through the architecture, the fire beneath the floor rushing to life in response.
Archer’s voice echoes through the flames. “Time is of the essence. I will not bring Malevron’s wrath down on my house alone, I will not keep the Confluence here longer than necessary. Every party here has until noon tomorrow to discuss their concerns, and to put forth their proposed champion.”