Chapter Twenty-One #2
“At least,” the one man said, “he’s vowed to do something about the stain. Maybe this time he’ll lock those infested bastards in their cages and throw away the key.”
“Maybe they’ll even bring back the fire pits,” the other man said, a smile in his words.
“I heard Halcin burn hotter than the rest of us. Would make for a great bonfire.”
The men’s laughter was a knife to Shadach’s throat, the voices fading down the hall as the pressure in Shadach’s chest made it difficult to breathe.
The fire pits. The stain. Two hundred years ago, the Kingdom had burned alive supposedly infected Halcin in fire pits after General Lakna had taken to calling the Halcin, “the stain.” He had said the Halcin were a stain on society, that their very blood was tainted and the God had created the Halcin only to test the strength and superiority of the Selats.
No one dared use the term anymore. Certainly not in a public space where someone could hear them.
Had Aristen really promised to “do something” about the Halcin?
Had he himself called them a “stain?” Aristen would never try to reignite something so evil, Shadach’s inner voice echoed.
That would be too far. But the tightness in Shadach’s chest told him he wasn’t convinced of his own thoughts.
Or at least, he wasn’t certain. Uncertainty about something so dangerous was terrifying.
Aristen was not a monster. Despite everything, Shadach truly believed that.
But a lot of men who were not monsters were capable of monstrous things.
If Aristen thought bringing back the Dark Times would endear him to the general public, if he thought he could use the Kingdom’s thinly veiled hatred of the Halcin to rally the Kingdom around him, if Aristen thought it would draw Shadach out of hiding, Aristen would do it.
Shadach was the obstacle to Aristen winning the ultimate prize: being the most powerful man in the Kingdom.
But simply winning was never enough for Aristen.
People had to want him to win. They had to love him.
If Shadach was feeling charitable, he would have said that Aristen was a victim.
That his father had ensured that desperate trait by depriving Aristen of any love, of any approval, his entire life. Shadach wasn’t feeling charitable.
Sitting on the bed, Shadach stared, unblinking, at the door.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe that conversation he’d overheard had been wrong.
But as Shadach sat in the quiet and the foreboding he knew that even if those men had been wrong this time …
they might not be wrong next time. The Halcin were always at risk.
They were always an easy target. After all, was this not why Shadach had left home all those years ago?
To, in his own small way, change the fate of the Halcin?
There was only ever one way to keep them safe. My way.
Chills, at once cold and hot, rippled through Shadach’s body at the words in his head.
The words that were his, but not. No. They were certainly not his.
Shadach looked around expecting to see a cloaked figure, the Shadow God himself, whispering in his ear.
There was no one, but Shadach couldn’t escape the feeling that the voice in his head, the conversation outside, was far from a coincidence.
Perhaps it had been orchestrated by a god who was tired of being ignored.
Now you’re catching on.
Shadach shook his head, terrified and humbled that the God he had worshipped so passionately last night, had worshipped all his life, saw fit to come to him. To speak to him …
To give him a kick in the ass.
Shadach didn’t want the power of the entire Kingdom, but his wants did not matter.
There was only one way to keep Aoife safe.
Only one way to make sure the fire pits never came back.
Aristen could not be allowed to become Emperor.
Not Aristen, and not any other high powered Selat looking to line his pockets with gold and public adoration.
My thoughts exactly, the God whispered. There was only one way out of this, then.
Shadach had to become Emperor.
~*~
“Don’t look at it yet.” Aoife sat on the bedroom floor, moulding a bit of clay into …
something. The earth around the inn was rich in malleable clay and Aoife had brought some home last night, inspired by their worship.
Shadach wasn’t allowed to see it yet. Apparently.
They had only been here two days, and they could not stay much longer for fear of being found, but amidst the fear and the chaos Aoife had found time to stop.
To do something precious. To make something lovely.
As he watched her mould the clay despite the chaos of their lives, finding enjoyment in what she could create with her hands, Shadach felt a profound peace settling over him.
He was falling for her in ways he couldn’t even describe.
She had him. She had him so completely it was staggering … and terrifying.
Turning to a ratty bag on the bed, Shadach took out and counted the loaves of bread and blocks of cheese Aoife had smuggled from the kitchen. He smiled to himself, losing count more than once as he kept getting distracted by the sight of Aoife creating her art.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s good.” Shadach put the food back in the bag for the fifth time.
“Says the seasoned artist,” Aoife quipped.
Shadach smiled again, though his smile wavered when he thought of all that was ahead of them. He had told Aoife his resolve. That he would be Emperor. It was the only way. But saying such a thing was much easier than doing it.
Aoife’s face twisted in concentration, her hair tucked behind her ears. He wondered what it would be like to have Aoife by his side as Emperor. To have her to talk with, to laugh with, to vent to, to love.
Perhaps she would put her own stamp on the Kingdom.
Her own unique brand of artistic beauty.
Shadach shook his head. He couldn’t let himself think that far ahead.
Not yet. There were so many barriers to them ever getting back to safety, it was a fool’s errand to even imagine. Yet, he couldn’t help it.
“Are you ready?” Shadach came up behind her.
“It’s not ready yet.” Aoife sounded scared as she hunched tighter over her project.
“I get the feeling you’ll never think it’s ready.” Shadach kneeled beside her.
She glanced at him, petrified. Then, taking a deep breath, she held out her art. Her hands trembled. It was rather … blobby.
Shadach took it in his hands. “What is it?”
“I knew it, it’s terrible.” Aoife went as white as death, taking the clay back and shoving it against her chest. Hiding it. “You can’t even tell what it is.”
Shadach laughed, gently uncurling her fingers from around her art. “Let me see.” He held it out, turning it around. Studying it. He was trying, honestly, but he could still only see a blob. “Is it a vase?”
Aoife dropped her head into her hands. “It’s a teapot.”
“Fascinating.”
“Shut up.” Aoife grabbed the teapot from him and hid it in the bottom folds of her dress. “It’s awful.”
“Why are you so obsessed with it being good?”
“You clearly haven’t met my family if you’re asking me that.”
“Did you enjoy making it? Moulding it?”
Aoife rested her head on his shoulder. The fit of her body was so perfect against his, Shadach could only conclude the God himself had had a hand in it.
“Of course I did,” Aoife said.
“Then what else matters?” Shadach kissed the top of her head. “Skill comes with time.”
Aoife sighed, her body softening as she begrudgingly accepted his argument.
“I took as much food from the kitchen as I could manage.” She took the teapot out from beneath her skirt and gave it the faintest of smiles.
“Are you sure you want to leave already? If you gave me a few more days I could collect more food.”
Shadach’s smile was wry. “Want may be a strong word, but we don’t have the time to waste. The longer we stay in one place, the greater the risk of Aristen finding us.”
After Shadach had told Aoife about the conversation in the hallway, she’d confirmed there had been chatter in the inn about a new emperor being chosen: General Holt.
There had also been chatter about General Holt’s speech afterwards, and the Halcin had been a prominent focus.
The words “finally address the Halcin problem” had been used.
Not quite as deadly as calling them a “stain,” but dangerous nonetheless.
Before General Lakna had made his true feelings about the Halcin known, he had more than once talked about the “Halcin problem.” Aristen wasn’t a fool.
He knew his history and had chosen his words wisely.
If enough of the Kingdom rallied behind something as extreme as bringing back the Dark Times then Aristen would oblige.
If not, then he could say he’d merely meant stopping the Halcin drug trade.
Shadach didn’t know which interpretation of Aristen’s words the Kingdom would ultimately favour. That terrified him more than anything.
“How are we going to prove Aristen is a usurper?” Aoife said, pulling Shadach out of his terrible thoughts. “He’s due to be coronated in a few weeks.”
“A lot of people saw you chosen as the God’s Messenger that night.” Shadach got up and grabbed the sack of food from the bed. “We have to go back to the Emperor’s City.”
“But you already said that was impossible. Aristen’s men are everywhere.” Aoife watched him, seeming to worry he had slightly lost his mind. Shadach was certain he slightly had.
Glancing out the window, Shadach judged how likely he was to break something if he tried to climb out the way he’d come in. “That was when we only had the Xana for help.”
“Right. Now we don’t even have them.”
Shadach laughed, turning to see her tense face. “We’re going to get help from somewhere else.”
Her face twisted into equal parts hope and suspicion. “From where?”
Shadach jimmied open the old window. “The Halcin.”
“What?” Aoife’s word was half-scream. Composing herself, she said, “I thought you said that wasn’t an option.”
“It wasn’t. But desperate times and all that.”
Desperate times indeed. Shadach had told Tafana that the Halcin would not help.
Or if they did, the person Shadach would have to become to earn their help would not be worthy of being called “Emperor.” A part of him still believed that was true and it was something he would have to safeguard against with all his strength.
But another part of him, the bigger part, knew the God was not to be denied.
And if Shadach was to save himself, to fulfil the God’s wishes, to save Aoife, to save his people …
the least the Halcin could do was help save their own skin.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Aoife said.
“It’s a terrible idea.” Shadach pulled Aoife into his arms, kissing her forehead. She melted into him like warm clay. “But it’s the only one we’ve got.”
Her worry softened, just a little, as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close. “Okay then.” She pulled back, beginning to fashion a knotted rope out of the bed sheet. “You’ll have to teach me some Halcin on the way.”
“Of course.” He kissed her mouth before gripping the make-shift rope and climbing out the window.
As the snow-laced earth came closer and closer to his feet, Shadach tried not to think about the gravity of what he had committed to.
Of what he was doing. Of where he was going and all that waited for him.
Home.
He was going home.