Chapter 51 Sheuan
Sheuan
Langzu – inner Bian
Ayaz, the Cutter, often compared his interference with the mortal world to his favorite pastime of gardening; in particular, the pruning of trees.
Some branches were dead, he said, and some hindered the overall growth of the tree.
It was the justification he gave for murdering the wayward son of an Albanoran royal family, for manipulating a bureaucracy into doing away with half their regulations, and for stealing the funds meant to go toward building a bridge to a marshy isle in Pizgonia.
In all fairness, the murder of the royal son led to his younger sister taking the throne as an effective leader, the scrapping of the bureaucratic regulations led to unprecedented economic growth, and the failure of the bridge saved the nests of a rare bird that began a colony on the isle.
Ayaz always liked to say he did not cut without reason.
The castle was in an uproar when Sheuan returned, a hill of ants onto which someone had poured a glass of water. In spite of the recent riot, there were only two enforcers still at the foot of the ramp, their eyes wandering like flies let loose in an empty room.
“Tell me,” Sheuan said without slowing to stop.
“Kluehnn,” one of them had the presence of mind to gasp out.
That was all she needed to know. He was here.
He’d not announced his presence, nor had anyone known he was coming.
He must have traveled from the den, his aspect under some sort of cover.
It wasn’t unusual to see cohorts of godkillers moving throughout Langzu on the hunt, so no one had really taken notice.
She could hear more of the commotion when she reached the top of the ramp, the two doors into the castle still open, the enforcers guarding them milling about as though unsure what to do.
Kluehnn was a threat, but they also owed him their allegiance, their faith.
What an odd position they’d found themselves in.
But she didn’t have time to empathize. “Close the doors,” she snapped as she passed them. “You want the whole city to hear what’s going on? And there’s no point in letting all the cool air out. Don’t make me do your thinking for you.”
The doors shut behind her, the enforcers suitably chastened. One stood in the entrance hall, silver armband gleaming in the light that leaked through the shutters. She saw, through the arch behind him, a godkiller searching the great hall.
“The Sovereign is in his study,” the enforcer whispered. “He needs to speak to you right away.”
This was what she’d warned against, it had happened, and she still found herself caught by surprise.
There wasn’t any good way to prepare for a hostile visit from a god.
She found the main stairs thankfully empty, and practically flew up them.
The Sovereign’s study was on the south side of the building, overlooking the dried-up lakebed.
She found him inside, pacing the length of the room. Someone had pulled nearly all the books from the shelves. He stepped on papers as he paced, swept onto the floor like layered snow. A shattered teacup lay by his desk, the gold enamel glinting in the sunlight.
He was afraid. She could see it in his tight shoulders, his clenched jaw, the quick rhythm of his steps.
“They’ve taken over the cellar of the castle and they’ve set up residence there, I don’t know for how long.
The aspect wishes to meet with me.” He straightened, regaining a small part of his dignity. “Perhaps you can go instead.”
Was he really trying to send her in his place? When he was in residence at the castle now? “Sovereign” – she inclined her head – “would Kluehnn not think it an insult if the leader of Langzu sent his wife in his stead? I am high-ranking, but I am not you.”
He licked his lips, and she saw the sweat beaded below his nose. “Of course. It must be me. Go. Make sure there are no filters to be found anywhere. I can’t… I couldn’t stop the godkillers from searching the premises.”
How strange, to hear him admitting this powerlessness to her. For a brief moment, she wanted to reach out, to touch his face. He wouldn’t like it. He’d find some way to make her pay for it later, once he’d found some equilibrium.
Assuming, of course, that they got out of this alive.
Sheuan went, her heartbeat pattering in her chest in spite of her best efforts at calm. Panicking never did anyone any good. She had a filter in her room, hidden well. Likely no one would find it, or if they did, they wouldn’t understand what it meant. She had to hope for that.
The scar. Her mind turned to the note her father had left, so thin on any real details.
The tablets, which only described the gods’ countenances and their epithets.
Barexi with his antlers and sleek brown fur, Nioanen with his golden wings, Ayaz with his scales and his tail, Velenor who glittered like stone beneath the light of the sun, Rumenesca with her pointed ears, claws, and fox-like coloring.
Silver-haired Lithuas. Red-haired Irael.
What did the note mean? How did it meet with the clues she’d found beneath the warehouse – the blue gemstones and the altar still in use?
The wood creaked beneath her feet as she made her way through the hall, servants only glancing at her before continuing with their tasks. If that was what the Sovereign’s study looked like, the rest of the castle was likely a shambles. They’d have their work cut out for them.
Sheuan’s family was scattered, her husband ready to execute her when he found her more threatening than useful.
So needy, was she? Always grasping, wanting attention.
Wanting the warmth of a love that didn’t pick and choose parts of her.
She hadn’t gotten that from her family, from her mother.
So instead she’d sought power, to use her gifts for herself and see how high she could climb.
She had power now, but even the slim pieces of affection she’d had from her mother were gone.
There was nothing left, not even crumbs – all she had was her position and the mystery of her father’s execution.
What had he realized right before he’d died, before he’d had the chance to tell anyone else?
She could feel herself walking in his footsteps, unsure of where the ground grew thin, the place her father had fallen from without a rope to keep him safe.
They had to find a way to satisfy Kluehnn, to reassure him that the Sovereign was still loyal and acted only in good faith.
That any rumors that had reached his ears were unfounded, the hopes of desperate people yearning for an end to this slow, terrible decline.
She’d have to send servants to the clans the Sovereign had already doled out filters to, to remind them that if they spoke up, they’d receive no more, that Kluehnn would confiscate the ones they already had.
And if Kluehnn didn’t find any filters, he’d have no proof that the Sovereign was doing anything untoward.
A servant stood outside Sheuan’s door, her face pale, her lip trembling. Not a hint of relief when she saw Sheuan, only a darting of her gaze to the inside of her room and then back to her mistress. The door was open.
Sheuan felt her blood run cold. They’d already ransacked her room, then. She hurried to the door, unsure of where she was placing her feet, her head a haze of fear.
Someone was sitting on the bed.
Rasha’s face was narrower than when Sheuan had seen her last, the remnants of a healing scratch on her cheek.
One of the curling horns atop her head was missing completely, the hair falling around a pink and shiny scar.
Sheuan was so involved in studying her appearance that it took her a moment to see what the godkiller held in her hands.
The filter.