Chapter 57 Faron
FARON
F aron paced within the tent that had once been Isabelle’s. He kicked over the bed that she slept on, and he smashed the table that held the maps she once pored over.
“Why?” he screamed at Sariel. “Why would Aylah betray us? She took the same vows as us. She knows what Eder is doing is wrong, and still she… she…”
He couldn’t even say the words, and so he hit the table again, splintering its thick boards. His teeth clenched, grinding together as he fought a losing battle to contain his rage.
“I don’t know,” Sariel said, calmly watching from the opposite side of the now ruined table. “Her time spent imprisoned within the Grand Castle broke a deep part of her. Perhaps something of Eder’s philosophy appeals to her in a way that we cannot.”
“Broke?” Faron asked. “But Aylah’s always been so strong. I thought she had recovered.”
“Yes. I suspect you did.”
Faron grabbed one of the table pieces and flung it aside, the chunk ripping through the tent’s fabric.
“Damn it, Sariel, now is not the time to gloat! So I’m ignorant, fine, but damn it, if you knew, then why did you not do something?”
His brother’s gaze lowered, and finally Faron saw a bit of contrition.
“I tried,” he said. “I thought I had helped her. Perhaps not enough. Or perhaps I did not understand the nature of the wound.”
Faron tried to regain control as he fumed. He couldn’t lose his temper like this. He had to keep a clear head. Too much was at stake.
“Let’s think this through,” he said. “Aylah captured Isabelle instead of killing her. That has to mean something, right? Maybe there’s a chance to save her.”
“Or Eder plans to make an example of her with a public execution,” Sariel said, barely above a whisper.
“No,” a familiar voice said from outside the tent. “Not… not that. Not exactly.”
The brothers turned, and Faron’s eyes widened as Calluna slipped inside. Her head hung low, and her hands were crossed behind her.
“What do you know?” he asked his sister. “Was this your doing?”
“No!” she protested, her eyes widening. “At least, not taking Isabelle. But I know why Aylah took her. And that… that it’s… it’s because of me.”
Faron exchanged a glance with Sariel, neither certain how to proceed.
“Explain yourself, sister,” Sariel said at last. “We will both reserve judgment until you have spoken your truth.”
Calluna squirmed before them.
“I don’t know what the tower does, but I know it can be awakened.
I… I showed Eder how to awaken it. A hidden temple, and a key within.
That key, though, that should have been the end of it!
For it to work, it takes a sacrifice. Someone whose blood is blessed with radiance.
And the one who is sacrificed, they won’t just die. Not the death we know.”
She looked at them, tears building in her eyes.
“A true death. A final death. No rebirth. No return. The sacrificed would become less than mortal, denied even the cycle of humanity.”
Faron clenched his fists, and his voice shook with his fury.
“Why would you give Eder such a monstrous gift?”
“Because I didn’t think he’d use it!” Calluna shouted back.
“He’s been obsessed with the Tower Majestic since we freed him, and so I thought…
I thought once he learned the cost, a cost he’d never pay, then he’d finally abandon his dream.
Then there wouldn’t need to be a war, and we could be at peace again. We could be a family.”
Sariel’s voice was colder than mountain frost.
“You are right, Calluna. Our brother would never sacrifice one of his own.” He stepped closer. “But Isabelle is not one of our own, is she?”
Calluna retreated a step.
“I didn’t know,” she insisted.
“You tried to kill her once before.”
“So what if I did?” Her little face suddenly looked so much older than them all. “Let Eder sacrifice her! Let the tower awaken! I don’t care anymore. I hate you, all of you. Murder each other, make a game of it, but must I always be the one stuck between?”
She fled the tent, and Faron had not the heart to chase her.
A clearing throat turned both of them toward the tent’s open flaps. Marshal Oscar stood at the entrance, his arms crossed behind him. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
“You two are the strongest and bravest of my queen’s soldiers,” he said, stepping inside. “I pray neither of you have lost all hope. My fastest horses are in chase, and we may yet overtake your sister if she is headed toward Racliffe as we presume.”
Faron understood Oscar’s reasoning but knew it was hopeless. Yes, Aylah’s horse was burdened with a second rider, but their sister could also grant her radiance to the beast, strengthening it so it might run for days if necessary without rest. There would be no catching her.
“While we pray for her safe return,” said Sariel, “we should plan as if she will not.”
“Indeed,” Oscar said. “Which is why I have come for you. Soldiers rally to you. They trust you. And I… I will need that support. The vassal kings, queens, and representatives are coming here to discuss the future of the invasion. Will you stay with me, Godsight brothers? Will you lend me the strength you have lent my queen for so long?”
Faron and Sariel exchanged glances. Oscar had been a most loyal servant to Queen Isabelle, but if he were to have their support, there was one thing they must first know.
“That depends,” Faron said. “What future do you see for this invasion, now that Isabelle is captured? Will we continue, or will we withdraw?”
“We will not withdraw,” Oscar said with surprising harshness.
He paused a moment to gather himself. “We will not withdraw, for Isabelle made it clear to me she is willing to die a martyr for her cause. The Church of Stars must be destroyed, and the Astral Kingdom sundered. If Mitra threatens Isabelle’s life, then we counter with our own threat.
If our queen is executed, so, too, will we execute every man, woman, and child who lives within Racliffe, the Hanging City, and the Tower Majestic. ”
“The purge of tens of thousands, all for the life of one,” Sariel said. “Are you willing to go through with such a measure?”
“Aren’t you?” Oscar asked, and neither brother could deny it.
“All right,” Faron said. “That’s good enough for me. You have our support, Oscar. This war must continue, and we will win it, so long as these fickle kings and queens remain loyal to the protectorate.”
“A fact we will soon discover,” Oscar said, and gestured to the tent entrance and the approaching men and women visible outside it.
Faron recognized most of them, some draped in finery, others in armaments of war.
They were all vassals of the protectorate, though a few had been folded directly into Doremy itself.
Some were kings and queens, others sent to speak in their rulers’ place, such as Prince Druss.
By and large, Faron cared little for their presence.
They were a distraction, all too eager to bring their own troubles and opinions to Isabelle.
There was but once voice Faron wanted Isabelle listening to, and it was his.
“Thank you for coming,” Marshal Oscar said to each of them.
The friendliest face was that of King Allan, for Armane had joined Doremy on the day of Isabelle’s coronation.
Least was King Jehan, the dour, dark-haired man dressed in fine black leather armor.
Among them was young Prince Druss, speaking for Rudou, King Yarrick of Forez, the elderly Queen Ulma looking pristine in a black-and-teal dress, leading her soldiers of the newly surrendered Grenab.
Even Reglia had joined, the priest who spoke for the grand city-state of Cevenne.
Several more lords accompanied them, as well as elected spokesmen for the three nations of the Crowning.
They crowded into the tent, as they had so often when Isabelle discussed strategy. A pang of nostalgia hit Faron, and he had to force it away.
“I suspect this is a waste of time,” King Jehan said, his green eyes mirthless. “But let us hear your plans, Marshal.”
“Rescuing our queen is a waste of time?” Druss asked, sounding legitimately shocked.
“Watch your tone,” Yarrick was quick to add, his relationship with Jehan brittle ever since he abandoned the Blue Rivers Alliance.
Jehan sneered but said nothing. He didn’t need to.
The representatives of the Crowning were already talking about the burdens of the invasion and how they were so horribly taxing on lands left to rot and fester at the hands of the slain Silvein family.
Faron heard it all, and it washed over him like hot air.
None of this was new. None of this was interesting.
Lifetime after lifetime, he had watched royalty wage war against one another, listened to them claim poverty while upon golden thrones, and seen them sacrifice anyone and anything to have their way.
They would scheme and argue and try to turn Isabelle’s capture to their advantage, however little.
Enough.
“I will have silence!” he shouted, cutting off any potential arguments.
He looked upon the nobles, these kings, queens, princes, and lords who had been swept up in the great flood that was Isabelle’s protectorate.
Some had joined to preserve their power.
Some had sought to spare their people the brutality of a losing conquest. Others were opportunists, seeking to grow their influence and become mighty within the empire they expected Isabelle to build.