Page 9 of Aubade Rising
“I will not stand for the constant request to repeal the Difan, nor any other law pertaining to magical access in Trevesiga.” The man speaking is polished iron, every feature hard and smooth, a toughened veneer of privilege.
“Your opinion is noted,” the King responds dryly, ignoring the vitriol and gesturing for small stone discs to be distributed to every person in the room. “As I was saying, shall we take a vote.” My body flushes hot. I’m unexpectedly late and underprepared to cast my vote.
Historically, Concord positions were purely ceremonial, a way for the King to recognise loyalty, not expertise. With King Cado’s ascension last year, he disavowed dictatorial decision-making and decreed the fate of Trevesiga will be decided upon via democracy. This landmark decision initially kindled hope outside of the Mordros, but was quickly extinguished when the status quo remained. Why he’s elected to include me on hisConcord still remains to be seen.
“We can vote on this issue at every meeting from now until you force my resignation like you did for Lord Bal. My position and the others will not change.” The temperature of the room drops and goosebumps prickle across my skin as gazes turn to the King. He doesn’t rise to the challenge, face frozen like marble. The water in the reflection pool swirls ominously. King Cado doesn’t react except to turn to me.
“Sage, take a seat.” I tense as one by one members of the Concord deign to recognise my presence. Some let their disgust roll across their features, others maintain a poised neutrality. Fixing my expression with a sneer that mirrors the worst of their derision, I survey each one in turn, my nerves well hidden. My gaze catches on Captain Devath and a flinch breaks through my steely resolve. His face remains blank, no trace of recognition, so I pass the empty seat to his left and take my time settling myself as far from him as possible. Dervla would be proud of my nerve, but I tuck my hands deep into my robes so no one catches them trembling. The Concord member to my right, a woman with a sleek, twist of grey hair leans over and mutters under her breath, “The King is pushing for the Difan to be repealed. We are all requested to vote.” I nod at her kindness in clarifying for me and fold my hands neatly in my lap, mirroring hers whilst the voting tokens are distributed
The vote is called and one by one, the other Concord members’ stone discs are tossed into the reflection pool in the centre of the room. White for disagreement, black for alignment. White to maintain the status quo and suppression of all magic other than the Mordros, black for equality.
I drop my token in the pool. It sits lonely, a shadow surrounded by light counterparts until Captain Devath’s casual flick has his black disk spinning through the air and splashing into the pool with a flourish, ripples spreading wide. I catch a subtle glimpsebetween him and the King and the smallest of nods exchanged before the final member casts their vote. The King abstains. Regardless, one additional vote would not have changed the outcome, the Captain and I are sorely out-numbered and I release the breath I’d trapped inside. The Difan could have been repealed right now, the lives of thousands changed irrevocably.
“Now we can begin.” There’s no trace of disappointment in the King’s face at the outcome, casual nonchalance emanating out across the assembled Mordros. They expected the result and all I’ve done is reveal my intentions.
The discussions are tense. The topics vary: from mining and farming to taxes and trade agreements, or lack thereof. My silence is assumed and the barrage of arguments flies back and forth between Concord members. Several more votes are called, but nothing is achieved or agreed upon. One member will make a proposal, others will indicate their support only to be chastised by someone else, reminded of an alternative bargain and forced to withdraw. A complex web of allegiances becomes apparent with each faction fighting only for themselves. This does not bode well for King Cado’s reign as discontent simmers beneath the surface, the reflection pool coming close to boiling. A kingdom without consensus terrifies me more than a brutal dictatorship.
Recess arrives after several hours and the Captain is the first out of his chair, heading straight for freedom beyond the Concord chamber door. I follow suit, the breeze from the winding corridors chilling my flushed cheeks as I run from the squabbling and self-interest. I cannot hide in my rooms, I’ll be summoned back to the meeting, so I venture down the stairs, deeper into the soul of the palace.
The library is hard to find. A small antechamber, buried into the rough cliff edge is manned by a stern-faced librarian. The room is barren, save a small desk and heavy tome serving as a visitor’s log. The librarian gives a cursory glance at my Concord robes and I’m waved through to the shelves behind.
It’s a subterranean cavern and the only place in Chi An Mor where water doesn’t flow. The towering stacks of books disappear into the deep shadows that cloak the long aisles and obscure the depths. I shudder as the edges of the shadows reach for me. Libraries are never truly quiet: the tomes creak with age and the shelves sigh with weight. My fingers skim the brass plate descriptions. If I’m going to hide down here, I may as well make good use of my time.
Another lone figure flits through the stacks. I skirt them in the gloom until their Concord robes are illuminated by the oil lamps. As they draw closer, their hood falls back, revealing a woman my age. Intrigued, I venture into her line of sight. The woman startles when she notices me; our eyes catch and I see recognition spark in hers.
“The new Alchemist?” Her whisper carries over the breeze, the edges of her dark braid flutter. I nod and a smile breaks over her face as she turns so our paths intersect.
“I’m the King’s Archivist, Haelyn.” She greets me warmly and with a conspiratorial grin adds, “Already looking to skip out on your first Concord meeting?”
I laugh for the first time since returning to Pentargon. “Guilty, but then it looks like you are too.”
“Well, we already have something in common then.” Her tone is light but I shiver as the breeze picks up around us.
“Can I help you with anything in particular?” she queries. “Because there are better places to hide in Chi An Mor.”
“No, thank you. I’m just getting familiar with my surroundings.”
Haelyn nods and walks past me towards the exit, her long, intricate braid swinging behind her.
“Would you like to join me? I don’t plan to wait down here for them to find me.”
She’s read my mind. “I’d love that.”
“Come, let’s visit the Koes Dowr. I think you will appreciate it.” She waits for me to reach her, raising her arm to link with mine.
Chapter 8
The formal gardens are bland, all barren twigs and brown mud, waiting for spring. Haelyn leads us away from the palace and towards the southern boundary wall. A small, stone bridge with a delicately wrought ironwork entrance is cloaked from the rest of the gardens by a twist in the path.
She pauses halfway across the bridge and explains, “Koes Dowr means River Garden in old Mordrish.” This is the ancient language of the Mordros – typical for them to be so literal in their naming. They aren’t exactly renowned for their artistic creativity. “This is the King’s personal refuge, but it’s ours for the day.”
I peer eagerly ahead as we cross the bridge and enter the garden properly. It is extraordinary. Sheltered by the external palace wall on one side and a tributary of the River Targon on the other, it is completely separate from the rest of the palace. Tall trees obscure the lower levels of the palace from view and the air smells of forest moss. Small brooks bubble through the garden, with stepping stones of smooth pebbles creating winding pathways. Birds nest in the trees, braving the cold air to swoop down and pick at the remaining berries peeking through the undergrowth. It’s heavenly and I feel so at peace.
I turn to smile at Haelyn, “It’s truly perfect.”
“If I ever need to hide, then I come here. It’s my favourite place in the whole city.”
She looks at me, expecting to be judged, and continues. “With the ocean so close, not many plants thrive with the salty air and I miss the forests where I grew up. Coming here grounds me when life in the palace feels overwhelming.” A breeze blows over myskin as she talks, with enough pressure that the weak warmth of the day is lost on my bare skin and it hits me. Haelyn isn’t one of the Mordros, she’s a Zephyr, an outsider like me.
