Time #2
Fail. Die. Become a divine sacrifice. If he’d been born in Amar or Everna or even Kysan, the mere idea of sending a divine being to die would have been blasphemy.
But in rational Pavar, where intellect trumped all and the Cult of Ruth was treated as a sociological curiosity at best and a religious delusion at worst, a Flower was just another tool at the Archon’s disposal.
She had another Flower, after all. A better one, crafted in her own image. And Ardor, as he was now called, could only prove his worth by dying.
He’d stared up at his mother, determined to prove her wrong.
But that was before he’d met Xandar. That was before his robes were torn open and his body maligned.
And even then, he was adamant he’d make his remaining years count.
He would protect these people. He would fulfill a Flower’s duty, no matter how ill-equipped he was.
He had to know.
He had to know.
“You aren’t protecting me. You’re keeping me in the dark. If I have a child in this place, I have to know they’ll be safe,” he whispered in his champion’s ear. “I need to know now. Tell me. Who is he?”
Jain held him more tightly. “Beloved Eminence, forgive me, but I must protect you with every breath I take, and this is the only way I know how,” she whispered back, and she refused to answer.
* * *
AS HE SAT in the library, surrounded by comforting walls of books, Ardor pored over the royal family’s records.
Fortunately, the palace’s historian kept this area well-organized and up to date, and when he flipped through the topmost volume, he found the newest entry was a detailed account of his wedding.
The entry described the virile king of Kysan vigorously claiming his beautiful new Flower in a lavish public ceremony while the court looked on and admired his stamina and performance, assured that the ruby throne would remain strong for decades to come.
Obviously, the historian had not attended the ceremony, since it never happened.
He doubted the royal family’s historians had experienced anything in these books first-hand.
Ardor’s curiosity got the better of him, and he read the Kysanian version of the prenuptial dinner.
King Xandar was described as gracious and fair, an architect of peace.
Ardor himself was a beautiful trophy, a fertile and highly sought prize hard-won after years of tension.
The author spent an entire paragraph describing Ardor’s unparalleled beauty and how much the people loved him.
Ardor almost smiled. Kysanian propaganda truly was ridiculous.
The historian was like a child boasting that their mother was smarter and stronger than all the other mothers, and their father was more beautiful than any man on earth.
Perhaps it was fitting his consort was equally ridiculous with his flattery and big heart.
Big heart. Before now, he never would have characterized the Kysanian national character as “big-hearted,” but thinking back to Lady Ambani and Lord Patel and the consort, and even Xandar, to some extent, they certainly had big feelings.
Compared to the solemn halls of Pavar, where restraint and stoicism were the highest virtues, it was refreshing.
Granted, the Kysanians lagged behind their Pavarian counterparts technologically and scientifically, and their economic policy was rubbish, but there was an underlying openness his countrymen might learn from.
Ardor continued turning pages, going back in time.
Subtly different shades of ink and paper marked the age of various passages.
He went all the way back to the king’s birth.
These pages had certainly been replaced.
They were not as aged as the ones before and after.
According to these records, Xandar’s mother only had one child.
He looked closer, and amid all the flattery and boasting, he caught a passage noting Xandar’s mother was from Amar.
Of course. Leya had accompanied Eminence Heavenly from Amar when she married.
Forgotten Amari language lessons bubbled up in his mind, the earliest of these numbers and ordinals.
Xan, sin, cen... As Pavar’s relations with Kysan grew increasingly perilous, Ardor’s language studies pivoted to Kysanian to establish fluency.
That fluency aided him now, and after consulting two Kysanian-Amari dictionaries, he had something.
She’d named him Xandar. First son. Ardor closed the dictionary. They looked so similar. Essentially identical. In Amari, the second son would be…
“Sindar,” he murmured.
Leya stiffened where she stood nearby and quickly peered over at what he was reading. “Eminence?”
“Does the name Sindar mean anything to you?”
Leya glanced all around. “Please, Eminence,” she whispered. “You mustn’t ever speak of His Majesty’s twin. It’s forbidden. The king will be most upset.”
Sindar. Second son. A “twin” brother.
Flower eggs could not be split, and a Flower could not survive the gestation period of two zygotes with the royal mutation.
To have “twins,” Eminence Heavenly required two consorts.
Royals were told a Flower imprinted on their first mate and could not breed with anyone else.
It was a necessary and prudent lie, and by birthing twins, Eminence Heavenly risked exposing that lie.
If such information became public knowledge, the lives of Flowers everywhere would become even more restrictive.
Ardor’s mind was reeling. He had to know why any Flower would do something so risky, and there was only one person who might provide answers. “I must speak to the king,” he told Leya.
“Please, Eminence,” she said. “I beg you. The king has changed, and he is so very fond of you, but his brother is long dead. There was a coup… Speaking his name is forbidden. You must not ask him about it. It will drive a wedge between you. I can’t bear to see it!”
The fear in her voice brought his quest to a halt.
She was right. This information was deadly, and Jain was wise to keep it from him.
Ardor must tread lightly now. He had no proof, only an insane hunch pieced together from disparate sources.
He could not corner the impostor and demand answers, however badly he wanted them.
“You’re right,” he said. “We should leave the past behind us.” He closed the history book with a finality he hoped she’d believe.
After some hours reflecting in his apartment, he was glad he’d made this discovery after conception.
It was one thing to breed with an impostor, and quite another to breed with a would-be usurper whose very name was forbidden.
Ardor wasn’t sure he would have been able to do it, regardless of the stakes.
The twin—technically, half-brother—was playing a dangerous game, and the fact Jain and the advisers were in on it didn’t lessen that danger. He didn’t care what happened to him. All he cared about now was his baby. If anyone ever found out Xandar wasn’t the father, the baby was in jeopardy.
Ardor touched his flat belly as he gazed out the window of his apartment. The warmth was still there, and it spurred him to take up his pen.
He couldn’t deal with a face-to-face meeting, and no one expected him to have one.
Tradition dictated that a Flower and his consort be separated for the duration of the pregnancy, and Jain was likely already making preparations for his move to the paternity suite on the other side of the palace.
No one would question reticence on his part.
He wrote:
Your Majesty,
I am pregnant. All is well. I have canceled the upcoming ceremony. Tradition dictates we remain apart during my pregnancy, and I believe this would be best for both of us. I trust you will keep our verbal agreement. In the meantime, I will write to you regarding our child’s progress.
Eminence
Leya watched him nervously. She hadn’t forgotten his utterance of the forbidden name. She would be reluctant to deliver a letter under these circumstances.
“May I confide in you?” he asked. “I have a secret.”
Her expression changed. “Yes, Your Eminence. Of course.”
“I’m pregnant. I want to tell him, and I don’t want to wait until our next ceremony.”
Leya’s eye lit up. “Oh! Oh, praise clever D’ruth! You’re—!” She clapped her hands over her mouth. “You’re pregnant!” she whispered. “What a wonderful secret!”
“Yes,” he said, in a laughing whisper back. “It won’t do for the king to find out last. He’ll be terribly put out. Will you deliver this letter? Discretely, of course.” He showed it to her.
“Oh, yes,” she cried. “Oh, D’ruth smiles on us! After that last ceremony, I just knew!” As soon as the letter was stamped and sealed, she all but flew out of the apartment, happily singing divine hymns under her breath.