Page 12 of The Eye of the Fifth
‘What is his trade?’
‘Bladesman, my lord.’
‘A warrior,’ Gedeon said, impressed. ‘Where is he now?’
‘I do not know, my lord. He was called away to the capital two years ago. I have not seen him since.’ Amala’s throat bobbed slightly, but her chin did not dip.
‘A man that does his duty is a noble one,’ Gedeon reminded her. ‘Your father serves our Empress, as do we all. There can be no sadness in performing one’s duty.’
A few seconds ticked by. Amala stared blankly ahead before answering: ‘Yes, my lord.’
Gedeon began pacing again. ‘And your mother? Is she alive?’
‘Yes,’ the girl said, and Gedeon could have sworn her expression hardened. ‘She has magic but it is weak. Too weak to wield. She stays in the camps with my younger siblings.’
He had expected as much: most women born with little to no magic were used as rearers, their sole duty to reproduce as many off-spring as possible with the view that all children, magically gifted or not, would serve a purpose in the Empress’ growing army.
‘She did not want me to come.’
Gedeon paused, taken aback by the boldness of the young human before him. Engaging in such a conversation with a fledgling was ill-advised and against protocol, but intrigued by the child’s nerve, he couldn’t help but ask the question that rose on his lips: ‘Didyouwant to come?’
Tension rippled through her thin arms as her hands gripped tighter together. Gedeon heard her heartbeat quicken. ‘I… I am afraid to answer that question truthfully, my lord.’
‘Master Gedeon,’ he corrected her.
‘Master Gedeon.’
‘Speak freely, Amala. Your truth will bring you no harm in this instance.’
Her throat bobbed again, but for the first time, her dark eyes met his. ‘No, Master Gedeon. I did not want to come.’
In all his years of training the fledglings, Gedeon had never experienced an interaction such as this. Unapologetic honesty from a being so young. He should have reprimanded her for it, or struck her for her insolence. He thought about reiterating the importance of duty, of the glory and honour that came with it, but instead found himself quietly asking, ‘Why?’
She hesitated before answering, as though wondering what the price for her audacity would be. Gedeon didn’t pry for a response and waited. Eventually, she found the words: ‘Because my life is not my own. There can never be freedom in duty.’
Had his brother been the training master instead of him, Gedeon was sure Sekun would have killed the girl on the spot for her dangerous thinking. ‘I thank you for your truth, Amala,’ Gedeon said, though an uncomfortable feeling had begun to materialise in the pit of his stomach. ‘Though I must warn you not to speak of such things again in this castle. For your own sake.’
Amala nodded and broke eye contact, staring forward once more. ‘Yes, Master Gedeon.’
Glad of her obedience and the end of an unsettling conversation, Gedeon unlinked his hands and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. ‘Shall we begin?’
???
There was only one place in the Black Castle that Gedeon truly despised. It just so happened to be the place he was required to be in once a week, every week from the second he had come of age.
The Throne Room was a place of grandeur, of ancient beauty. Remarkable in its infrastructure, with its shining obsidian floors and white marble pillars that ran the length of the room, holding up the tall domed ceiling that was painted with a grand depiction of the Old Gods, Xados and Xusyn, in all their former glory.
It was a work of art that represented the Void Ages, when the Gods of Night and Sun had ruled over Droria, before the ascension of the Four Mothers. Gedeon knew the Empress had ordered the addition of the mural to the ceiling upon her succession to the throne over onehundred and fifty years ago, a clear and proud exhibition of her devotion to theoldreligion, not the new. It was unsullied by the hands of time; some spell to prolong its life had been cast over the brush strokes, and appeared as though it could have been painted just yesterday.
At times, Gedeon was certain the beady eyes of Xados were alive, following his every move, watching what had become of the world below. Though it wasn’t the God of Night’s apparent fascination with him that upset his well-controlled nerves.
Gedeon had His power of darkness thrumming through his veins after all.
The feeling of unrest he felt was deeper than the watchful eye of a God. It was as though the Throne Room had witnessed something terribly harrowing, and carried that anguish in the veins of its very walls, unable to forget or relinquish the pain. Of course, Gedeon had witnessed disturbing things in the Throne Room himself; Empress Azar was not known for her benevolence. But the abhorrent memory the room held onto was not one Gedeon could recall… he was not even sure it was real.
After a long day of fledgling training, Gedeon took his place beside the Black Throne and deliberately ignored the male standing still and waiting on the other side.
Likeness was not something he and his brother had in common, both in appearance and personality. One was golden-haired and teal-eyed like their mother, the other black-haired and black-eyed like their father. At least, that’s what Gedeon presumed, for neither son had ever met him. Sekun was the golden-child, and looked every part of his title as crown prince, though it was his temperament, not his looks, that had Gedeon doubting his brother’s success as future Emperor. Their mother had a sure and long reign ahead of her; but it would be Sekun, his dense-headed brute of an older brother who would take the throne after her passing, and not Gedeon. He had always thought he was better suited to rule.
