XIV | LOSS LOSS
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Celvene frowned. "Does it matter? Didn't you say I had to follow the ritual Virion put into place?"
And I had said no, she thought with a bitter edge. I'm just not allowed to back out.
Oriel inhaled for a long moment before sighing. "If you're having second thoughts, I can get you out of it. Or try to, at least. Your heart didn't seem to be in it when we spoke last."
"Where'd you get that idea?" She paused. "How did you even know where I was?"
"Dear, it's part of my job to keep updated with everything that happens in the palace.
I knew you'd arrived the second you walked through the gates.
I also wasn't looking for you. I was looking for my protégé.
You were simply a welcome surprise to find.
" Their hand tightened around the curved head of their cane's serpent head.
Were they having second thoughts about Celvene becoming queen?
"I've been alive long enough to know when someone is having doubts.
It would be normal for you to feel uncertain about all this. "
Was she having doubts? She swallowed. "No. I'm not. If I was, I wouldn't have accepted Aleksandr's ridiculous deal. I'd still be at the circus."
"Then you're not going to appreciate my news. Have you heard of the balls Virion threw? Lavish, expensive, grand."
"I can't say I have, but I don't like where this is going."
"He would host them for the general public every time the army lost a battle. It was his way of raising the spirits of the dampened. What better way to cheer someone up whose wife died than to dump all the alcohol you can afford down their throat?"
"That's where all the money for the war was going?"
Oriel shrugged. "I tried countless times to talk him out of it, but he was a stubborn man. He said it was the only way he could improve morale." Celvene's face must have twisted with rage, because Oriel chuckled. "He was a man I never hoped to understand. His mind worked in mysterious ways."
"We could have won the war with that money. Did he not understand that?"
"He chose not to. Aleksandr will be hosting a ball in two nights as a way of reassuring the kingdom his rule will be one where he protects and serves.
He sent the army out tonight to fight Noriya, and to no one's surprise, Aizasea was crushed.
Naturally, he wasn't fighting with them, yet he was surprised when only a few troops made it back alive.
We're running out of people willing to fight.
We had long ago. But he still wants to comfort the public. "
Celvene's jaw locked. If Aleksandr thought he'd be celebrating the deaths of innocents—with their blood on his hands—then he had another thing coming. "Take me to your study, Oriel."
Oriel's eyebrows raised, and one corner of their mouth curved up. With long strides and a determined frown, Celvene and Oriel wove their way through the winding halls of the palace.
After a few minutes of walking, they arrived outside Oriel's study. The door was impressive—a mixture of smooth oak and foreign inscriptions. She wondered if they were runes, or long forgotten languages that Oriel had come across in their studies.
Inside, various faded glass bottles were strewn about on the shelves, storage containers, and desks crowding the room.
Miscellaneous decorations—primarily barrels and sconces—gave the room a certain charm Celvene had expected.
At the end of the square room was a large desk, with a heap of crinkled papers and ancient books lying on the wood, which Oriel sat behind.
They readjusted their glasses and ducked under the desk.
"Was there a reason you chose a private setting? I won't complain. I'm merely curious," said Oriel. They reappeared a moment later with a stack of thick papers in their hands.
"I don't trust Aleksandr to not have guards eavesdropping on what we say," replied Celvene. "Is there anything you can do to stop this ball? Either of us?"
Oriel gave Celvene a look, as if to say nowhere is safe in the castle, before clearing their throat.
"Aleksandr gains more power by the day. He convinces more and more of the king's guard to join him on his cretinous quest for the throne.
Soon enough, anyone with any influence in Aizasea may follow, and I can do nothing about that.
"I don't have much authority in this castle, especially with no ruler appointed and the council disbanded.
I may outrank Aleksandr, but that doesn't matter when there is no one to enforce the hierarchy, and he is desperate enough to do whatever it takes.
He'll lie about who's next in line for the throne as it suits him—he told you he was next in line, when that's far from the truth, but it will be near impossible to deny his claims. I've come to learn that many don't care for the evidence placed in front of them, and will choose to believe whatever their heart desires.
"Not to add that he has the entire army at his back, because it's filled with obedient whelps who don't know how to think for themselves.
I know him, as unfortunate a fact that is.
" Oriel sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose.
Their tone was sour, a stark contrast from the usual calmness they carried in their voice.
"I don't want this to happen, but I'm afraid I'm quite powerless to stop it. "
"But with this ball... he'll convince the entire kingdom!" Celvene gritted her teeth, though she refused to let her temper flare yet.
Oriel was silent. Then they straightened an ajar book on their desk before wiping their gloved hand off on their clothing.
They angled their gaze so it locked onto Celvene's, and their mouth set in a thin line.
"I would love to help you. I would. And it is my duty, as you are the rightful heiress, but this is a unique situation.
Aizasea has never seen the crowning of a new ruler, much less a false claim to the throne.
You can overpower Aleksandr at this rate by persuading Aizasea of your worthiness before he can sway them, or by killing him.
We both know only one of those is a plausible option. "
Celvene bit her lip. She'd killed one man before, and it had led to her promising she wouldn't take another unless she would die because of her reluctance.
Whenever she thought of the memory, all she could feel was the frigid glass of a shattered beer bottle in her hand and the sound of blood gurgling.
It wasn't something she liked to think about often, of course.
Then there was another who perished from Celvene's hand, but that incident was an accident—an accident she would never be able to scrub from her mind, no matter how hard she tried.
She tightened her hand into a fist, averting her gaze. Shame washed over her, and she bit back a sigh. "And how do you suppose I do that? Half of Aizasea hates me, and the other half doesn't know I exist."
"Now, that's not true. I would say it's more like ninety percent to ten percent at this point."
Celvene frowned. "That's not helpful."
"Apologies, dear. I care for statistics."
"This is too much, and is it worth it to fight a man I can't win against?"
"You can win, Celvene. It's just a matter of getting the right people on your side and avoiding angering the people who don't believe you're a lost cause yet."
"And how do you suppose I do that?" Celvene asked, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Her braids were loose, wavy strands brushing her jaw as she blew the remaining hair to the side. "I doubt anyone is willing to give me a chance."
Oriel's shoulders dipped in a shrug, and they turned to their fireplace.
A low, amber flame sprang to life in their palm, which they blew onto the dry wood.
"I cannot control the royal lineage. I can, however, recommend your next steps, as your advisor.
If I were you, I would approach anyone in the city with power.
Especially anyone running the streets of the Evergold Enclave.
Convince them you're worthy and Aleksandr is not.
I can't guarantee any of them will want to see you or will take your words to heart, but it shows you have initiative.
Perhaps Councilman Beelze will appreciate your courage.
He doesn't have the power of a prince—none of the merchants do—but they almost rival the princes in status and wealth. "
"How am I supposed to find them?" She lifted her gaze and shrunk as soon as she met the cold, calculating eyes of Oriel.
"Have you never left your house? I thought you traveled all over Aizasea—sorry, Fellstride, for your job."
Celvene rolled her eyes, leaning against one of Oriel's tables. She wasn't going to dignify that with a response. The bottles behind her clinked together. "Where can I find them?"
"Well, as I'm sure you know, Aizasea is divided into what we call sections.
Virion oversaw them all as the king, but he delegated the finer details of each section to the demigods who stood by his side against Zelphar, gifting them the title of prince.
Most of them are still alive, and they've built grand castles comparable to this one to reside in.
The rest have perished, some with violent, gruesome deaths.
" Oriel sighed, dragging a finger along their desk, which collected a fingerful of dust. They flicked it off with a grimace.
"I need to clean. The sand in your hourglass is still falling, is it not? "
So many demigods, yet none were close enough to Virion to take over the throne when he died?
"I'm not cleaning for you, Oriel. I'm not looking to be a servant for the rest of my days.
And that history is great, but I need to know where they are.
Not who they are. I've heard of most of them.
I don't know where they live." Celvene inhaled, shutting her eyes.
Her apparent ignorance was making her reluctant to continue speaking to Oriel; their title shined whenever they had a conversation with Celvene, which she suspected made them happy.
"My dear, I'm the king's scholar.
If you ask for information, it's going to come with an explanation, whether you want it or not.
I've spent far too long researching the most mundane of Fellstride's history so I could give Virion the advantage in the war.
Information he did not use, might I add.
Perhaps that's why Aizasea has been losing so badly. "
"Oriel," Celvene said, her voice practically a whine. She wanted information so she could go use it. She didn't care for semantics. "Where can I find them?"
"Again, I thought you left your house for the circus. How have you never seen any of their castles?" Oriel tipped their glasses up and blew a stray strand of hair out of their face. "They're not exactly small."
"I'm never looking for a random prince's castle.
Instead, I'm looking for the big red and white tent that I'm supposed to risk my life in every week.
" Celvene bit back a groan; getting this information out of Oriel was proving far more challenging than it needed to be, and she was starting to wonder if she was better off leaving and finding the castles herself.
She dug her heel into the ground and turned to move.
"Well," Oriel said quickly, ducking under their desk.
Their voice faded, and Celvene had to strain to hear them, "as I was saying, you're going to be dealing with very.
.. extravagant castles. The demigods have decided that if they're going to live forever, they're going to do it in luxury.
They don't care if the rest of the city is cold and starving.
They're happy, warm, and well-fed. They're not even technically princes, but Virion knew their egos would eat up such a pretty little title.
If you're going to become queen, I suggest you brush up on Aizasea's history and geography.
You'll embarrass yourself if you act like that in front of an audience. "
Celvene wrung her hands together. "Do I at least get points for already knowing where Virion's castle was?"
"I would be concerned if you didn't know where it was, seeing as you can see the castle from half of the windows in Aizasea's buildings."
"Aizasea is huge! That has to be an overex—"
"Dear, if you become queen, you're in for a shock.
Virion was constantly juggling how to expand Aizasea to fit the growing population, plus the war, plus assassins—which, evidently, he didn't prepare for well enough—plus every other duty of a king.
You're in for a nasty shock if you're crowned queen. "
"If Aleksandr is successful with this ball, will the princes attend?
" Celvene's mouth set in a thin line, and while she'd asked Oriel the question, she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer; would she have the courage to approach immortal princes, asking them for a blessing in her pursuit of the throne?
She wasn't sure.
"I would imagine so. They're fake royalty, and royalty has a certain image to the public they need to maintain.
You can always test your luck with someone like Fulergo instead.
He's a pimp nestled deep in the Slums, at the Mahogany Magic brothel.
He has a lot of influence over the brutes that lurk around there.
He may be more receptive, though I'm unsure if he's the type of person you'd want on your side. "
"Why not all of them? The princes and the... less favorable influences?"
Oriel chuckled, and their mouth curved up in a smirk. But when they held Celvene's stare for a moment and she didn't so much as crack a smile, their smirk faltered. "You're serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be? The more people on my side, the better."
"Dear, how much time do you think you have?" they asked. "Aleksandr is a determined man. He'll have the throne in half the time it takes you to convince all the immortals and other influences. Perhaps less, if he's that fixated on taking your power."
"Well... I don't know. Maybe you're not giving me enough credit.
Maybe those immortals will love me, talk amongst themselves for a bit, and then I will have powerful allies on my side that will make Aleksandr give up the crown.
" Celvene knew this was a load of crap, and judging by the way Oriel didn't remove their gaze from Celvene's, they did as well.
But if she could get at least a few powerful people on her side by the time Aleksandr threw the ball, perhaps she'd be able to speak out.
Perhaps she'd be able to tell her name, her story, and get people to see her for who she was: a queen.
Their queen. She could sway the entire kingdom and beat Aleksandr at his own game.
"You need to be realistic if you want to have any chance of inheriting the throne," Oriel said, finally averting their gaze to look out their window.
Celvene relaxed, her stiff shoulders losing some of their tension.
"Virion was realistic in all ways but one, and while his hubris did kill him, it also led to his rule being far longer than anyone could have dreamed of.
No one expected a man who'd been dishonored and removed from grace to rule over his own lands for thousands of years. "
Celvene eyed Oriel, and morbid curiosity got the better of her as she blurted out, "You're not from here. I mean, obviously, you're a Khezzintian demigod. How did you get in here?"
"Well, that's a little personal, don't you think? Why do you ask?"
Celvene grimaced as the one person she didn't want to pop up in her mind flashed.
The white hair and crimson eyes, the radiant smile, the jovial laughter.
.. She didn't know what Melantha did to be stuck in Noriya, but she suspected the girl's heart wasn't fully in it.
If it was, Celvene wouldn't have left that alley alive.
Or maybe Melantha had been more rotten than she'd let on—for all Celvene knew, Melantha had absorbed the nastiness she claimed her family possessed like an eager sponge, and it had led to her staying in Noriya with joy in her heart.
But when they'd been separated, she'd told Celvene her family was forcing her to go to Noriya—at the time, it was not by choice.
She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd see Melantha again.
Maybe not any time soon, but eventually.
Celvene didn't believe in coincidences. She had to have stumbled upon Melantha for a reason.
Even if the two of them together were like steel and flint, and their mere meeting ended up in flames, she knew there was a calm behind the veil of fire. She just needed to find it.
"I just... can't imagine everyone who lives in Noriya is a bad person.
Some of them have got to be misunderstood, and they're stuck there against their will with no way to escape.
And if I'm going to be a good queen, I want to be able to help those who deserve it.
No matter where they reside," Celvene said, biting her lip.
Her words held truth, but that was a fact Oriel questioned as they raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I snuck my way into Aizasea, of course," they said, their voice as flat as the piece of paper they picked up. They walked to the front of their desk and rested their bad leg against the ground, wincing.
"Seriously?" she asked.
Could Noriya's force field be broken? Was there a way Melantha could sneak out, perhaps during a battle, and be brought into Aizasea?
"No." They smoothed the paper out with a hand and tipped their spectacles down so their gaze met Celvene's.
"The force field wasn't even here when I arrived; I was one of the ones to help construct it.
Now, is your ignorance of Aizasea's hierarchy limited to just the landscape, or do you not know anything about the immortals, either? "
"I mean, I know some of them..."
Oriel sighed. "Take this. It's not a map. You're going to learn your way around Aizasea one way or another, especially if I'm going to help you become queen. If you look blind as a bat running through the city like you have your legs tied together, that reflects poorly on me."
"I'm glad you have your priorities straight," Celvene said.
"So am I." They held out the paper, which Celvene took once she'd crossed the room. She tried to ignore how small Oriel made her feel, towering over her.
She'd be lying if she said Oriel's behavior didn't make her feel bitter.
When she'd arrived in Aizasea, she'd had nothing on her but a few coins and the clothes on her back.
She'd been promised a better life there, so she set out to make that a reality, working day and night.
She didn't have time to stop and explore the city.
And she had an inkling that despite Oriel's past with other kingdoms, they had led a far more privileged life than Celvene could afford.
They'd lived in luxury with Virion since becoming an advisor, which had to have been hundreds of years ago by this point.
On the paper was a list of what Celvene assumed to be each of Aizasea's princes, along with the select few demigods that happened to reside in the city.
Their occupation, residence, and domain were all scrawled next to their names.
Did Oriel keep track of them, or was this copied from the city's population records?
"Djulia is a farmer?" she asked, her eyes scanning the paper. Out of all the immortals, none were Virion's children; she supposed it made sense, given he had no family, and a child of his could have inherited the throne.
"Why is that a surprise? She's a child of—"
"I'm not surprised," said Celvene. She crumpled up the paper and stuffed it into her pocket. "It's just... not a very... fitting job for a demigoddess, I suppose."
As Celvene looked up, she could hear the words Oriel didn't speak: Didn't you work in the circus?
And she was going to be queen.
"Right," she said after a stretch of silence. "I get it. My job isn't all that great either."
"I didn't say anything," Oriel replied. "Aleksandr will send you an invitation by tomorrow evening, I'm sure.
He knows it'll ruffle your feathers. So I suggest you see an immortal by then and show up to the ball in your best attire.
Show him you think he has no power over you, even if the truth is far from it. And..."
Celvene glanced up, fingers gliding across the surface of the list. "What?"
Oriel appeared to consider their options for a moment, shifting from side to side, though they placed more weight on their good leg.
When they leaned against their desk, crossing their arms and blowing a tuft of hair out of their face, Celvene half-expected them to laugh in her face.
Or slap her. Or anything negative—after all, that was all she'd seen the past few years.
But their next words were not what she expected: "Though Virion disbanded the Royal Council, I've kept in touch with its members.
We've decided to meet for dinner at The Black Sheaf come nightfall tomorrow.
One of the former councilmen has an in with the owner, and he's procured a hidden room on the second floor, away from any prying ears.
We were planning to discuss any options we have against Aleksandr's forcing himself onto the throne.
If I may be... well, direct, it would be lovely if you could join us. "
When Celvene looked down, she'd clasped her hands together, fingers fidgeting against her knuckles.
She sucked in her cheeks. Oriel's proposition was.
.. daunting, to say the least. To meet the entirety of Virion's old council, nestled away but still in public, speaking about treason—although the word treason was heavy.
Aleksandr still had no right to the throne; was it considered a crime against the crown, or were his actions treason?
Either way, it didn't matter. Celvene, at present, had no way to stop him, treason or not.
"I'm surprised you'd like to have me," Celvene finally said, then almost cringed at the words. Why would she say that?
One of Oriel's eyebrows quirked up, but their tone remained light as they said, "I can rescind the invitation if you'd like."
"No. Sorry," she said. "Slip of the... um, tongue. I'll be there. Thanks."
"I've put in a good word with the other councilmen for you.
They're expecting big things. But I trust you won't disappoint.
You haven't so far, and I don't believe many could say the same if they were in your place.
" Oriel moved to sit in their chair, dipping a quill in a pot of ink.
"Now go and rest. You have a big few days coming up. "
"Thanks, Oriel," Celvene said, turning to leave. But before she did, she glanced over her shoulder. "I appreciate it. All of this. I appreciate the sarcasm less, but still. Even if it's your duty as the king's scholar, you're the only one that makes me feel worthy of anything."
They froze, then a small smile crossed their face. "You're welcome."
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