Chapter 13
Theron
Theron sighed miserably as the first rays of sunlight tinted the horizon.
The King of Aureum had spent a restless night tossing and turning in a bed that felt empty without Aurora.
His wife believed herself capable of the impossible—travelling through time.
The weight of his despair was enough to crush him.
When had Aurora slipped into madness? Had her time in the vivarium broken her mind, or had she arrived in Trisia with the affliction?
No, she claimed not to have even practised her magic until around the time she arrived in Trisia.
Her visions of the future had only awakened with her magic.
Unless even that timeline of events was a delusion.
But if her madness was only a few months in the making, maybe that meant there was hope.
She had still been healing from grievous wounds when he’d met her.
Had she sustained them not in her homeland, but at the hands of Flora’s dogs?
That seemed the most likely. Flora had easily broken three of Epicasta’s husbands—three brave men of sound mind and excellent character.
What hope would his little fairy have had against such a monster?
And that was supposedly without the power to permanently swap the souls of her victims. Did the process itself scar the mind?
He needed to find Epicasta. She would know the full extent of her mother’s vile magic. It seemed Canthus’ soldiers would be scouring the whole of Aureum.
He would also need to speak with Myrina.
Near the end of his life, Uncle Leandros’ mind had suffered—not delusions like Aurora, but forgetfulness and confusion.
Perhaps she would have some advice that could help him in what came next.
He groaned. It could take months to fully reestablish himself.
Or longer if Polydorus’ investigation turned up a credible threat.
And in those precious months, his wife’s mind could slide further into the abyss.
Was there some way to kill all the beasts without anyone being the wiser?
He’d already informed Batea she had a spy in her kennels, given Orithyia had detailed information about the serpents.
Could he convince his cousin to slay them all and keep it secret from the nobles?
At least that way, he could begin treating Aurora as quickly as possible.
But if his ruse were discovered, they would suspect him of being a soul-swapped Viridian dog. Then he would have to face no end of challenges and coup attempts. He’d be lucky not to be fighting off assassins every other day, as he had in the early years of his reign.
The door to his bedchamber was opened by one of the attendants. He bowed deeply.
“Your Majesty, court will begin in a few hours.”
Theron hauled himself out of bed and allowed himself to be bathed, groomed, dressed, and adorned.
A long golden tunic of precious sea silk embroidered in deep blue fell to his ankles, paired with deep blue trousers tucked into polished leather boots dyed blue and tooled in gold.
Sapphires sparkled against the silk. A deep blue himation with gold embroidery was slung over his shoulder and cinched at his waist with a jewelled belt.
Rings adorned his fingers, decorative golden cuffs his arms, beautifully wrought necklaces rested on his chest, and heavy earrings dangled below his jaw.
But today was not just another day in court.
Only a fool would expect anything less than a vicious struggle.
“The full crown today,” Theron ordered as the day dawned.
None would dare be out before the sun was fully in the sky—not while the spirits plagued the land of Aureum.
The fear and disruption it caused his people would soon be untenable.
Since construction on the spire began, court now met only after the day had fully dawned.
With his return, Theron was likely to get an earful about it this morning.
As the attendant placed the crown on his head, Theron turned this way and that, admiring the golden spokes of the radiate crown in the mirror, meant to evoke the sun.
Studded with amber, citrine, pink coral and rubies, it was a work of art as much as it was a message.
Only the true monarch of Aureum dared wear such a weighty, splendid creation.
Properly attired, he was ushered into his throne room, where he ordered the floral arrangements in the hip-high urns to be replaced with something more celebratory.
After all, the king of Aureum had returned, and reminding his people to be grateful for that wouldn’t go amiss.
But when he looked up at his throne, one of gleaming sunstone with dragons curling around the top, some part of him ached.
If this world were fair—if Fate weren’t so cruel—Aurora would be seated beside him on the queen’s throne.
For now, all he could give her was a concubine’s pride of place at his feet.
“Bring a cushion for my wife to sit on,” Theron ordered. “And have someone inform her that she may attend court if she so chooses.”
But as the day fully dawned and his most loyal retainers took their spots at his side, his wife was nowhere to be seen.
The cushion at his feet sat empty as his courtiers began arriving and presenting themselves.
The Viridians, including Leukos, also presented themselves, earning scornful looks from every Aurean present.
Batea stepped forth and made the announcement.
“The sun of Aureum, King Theron, calls his people to court. Let the first petitioner step forward.”
Thus began a morning of land-grabbing between noble neighbours, inheritance disputes, wills contested by young widows and their older stepsons, merchants scheming to sell inferior copper, and blood feuds between families both high and low born.
Finally, Theron was back in his element.
The innocent and the just left his court pleased by his verdicts, while the guilty and greedy left in chains or grateful to keep their heads.
In disputes he ruled fairly. Criminals were punished swiftly.
He couldn’t help but notice that many cases that came forward had a distinctly Viridian flavour to them—widows and aging soldiers of Flora’s war pleading for aid, nobles and peasants attacked by Viridians in the mountains of the Dragon’s Tail, merchants harassed or cheated by Viridian merchants coming into Dragon’s Talon Harbour.
If they thought to test the allegiance of his soul, then they would find it unchanged.
As court neared its end, the mood of his people shifted. Gone was the wariness that had marked the beginning of the day. Doubts about his soul seemed to dissipate.
The next to step forward was an elderly nobleman of excellent standing, Lord Vettias.
Only a few wisps of white left atop his head, his shoulders refused to stoop with age, his bearing proud if stiff.
He was rarely at court and never acted without thorough consideration.
Once, he’d been an advisor to the former king, and even for a time had been one of Theron’s own advisors before he’d groomed Polydorus to take his place.
While often frustratingly stubborn, Lord Vettias was level-headed and refused categorically to align himself with Theron’s allies or enemies.
He passed his cane to an attendant and knelt with some difficulty.
“Blessings of the Triad on the sun of Aureum.”
“Speak, Lord Vettias.”
Lord Vettias got to his feet, retook his cane and stood to his full height.
“Your Majesty, first, allow me to congratulate you on your marriage. It was high time you took a wife. I hope we shall soon receive news of your heirs.”
Theron nodded. At the very least, that was one thing his elder courtiers could no longer harass him over. Whenever he did attend court, it was Lord Vettias’ most common petition.
“I come to you today with two petitions. The first is that I beg of you to take a queen. For too long the spirits of this land have been vengeful. For too long have harvests dwindled. Mighty rivers diminish into streams or become polluted. Only a fool would accuse you of not taking your sacred duties seriously, Your Majesty. You have done all in your power to pacify the spirits and bring plenty to the land. That is indisputable. But now that you have returned, and with a wife, I beg Your Majesty to take a queen. Whether you elevate your concubine or take a lady of Aureum, I believe you will choose wisely, but for the sake of the kingdom, please choose soon.”
And this was Vettias’ second most common petition.
Unsurprising, since his ancestral home lay at the foot of the very mountains Orithyia’s tower had befouled.
Perhaps Theron had been hasty in thinking he was finally free of this issue, that it would clear up once the offending tower was demolished.
Instead, the blight lingered even with the destruction of Orithyia’s spire.
But it wasn’t his fault the spirits were vengeful—it was Orithyia’s for building that tower without care for the spirits of the land.
“I will consider your first petition, Lord Vettias. But until the last remnants of the cursed tower are removed from the Dragon Spine Mountains, it will be difficult to pacify the spirits properly, even with a queen. How has your family been progressing on this task?”
His expression visibly soured. Were the old man not at court, Theron suspected he might have spat upon the ground at the mere mention of the spire.