RE: Monarch

The yoke was gone. Every hangup, every doubt, every fear, none of it seemed to matter anymore. The worst had already happened. My soul had been torn asunder and reconstituted, leaving me with more mana than I knew what to do with, and a new element. It was almost enough to distract from the ache, the hollow in my chest that widened with every breath.

“Come on Mari, get after it like the oversized bloodhound you are!” I yelled, radiating false cheer.

“You pansy-faced bastard!” Mari hollered after me, huffing and puffing, cheeks flushed the color of strawberries as she chased me around the courtyard with an axe. “What sort of fecking spar is this?”

The kind where I convince you I’m still capable of leading.

None of them showed any doubt or disloyalty, but I knew how it must have looked. Too weak to stand, practically quaking in my boots, completely checked out and a thousand windspan away as they combed Topside for Lillian. I needed to convince them that I was over it.

Mari slammed her axe into the fountain, sundering the stone. “Cocksucker!”

“Are we fighting or flirting?” I winked, then dodged away in a series of complex acrobatics that were more flash than practical, the sort of thing I would have never attempted in full armor. Multiple wind-aligned aegis’s placed strategically around my body made the maneuver effortless. I landed on top of a planter, balancing on one foot on the rim, arms out for balance.

She seemed to stop, center herself, and purge some of the anger instead of doggedly pursuing me.

Good. She learned from the grand melee.

With a slow, intentional motion, she leveraged the axe head towards me. “Your ass is mine.”

“Really doesn’t clear up my question.”

The jape did the trick, and Mari charged again. I meant to take her more seriously now that she was winded, but the flash of motion at the edge of my vision told me my one-on-one time with her was over. With an upward thrust of my arm, I summoned a geyser of water from the fountain and plunged it down on top of her, drenching her leathers before flash freezing it.

It didn’t freeze her solid. Not only would doing so have been lethal, there wasn’t nearly enough water for that, and everything I’d heard from water element magicians pointed to such feats being vastly more trouble than they were worth. What it did do was cover her in a blanket of frost, immediately sapping her body heat and bringing her to one knee.

I tumbled from the planter, diving beneath Zin’s slender blade, not nearly as gracefully as before. Still, I managed to right myself and face him. The dark elf wasn’t fully focused, and while his blade was trained on me, his attention was split between me and Mari.

“Already to the second stage. That really a new awakening?” Zin asked.

“Still getting the hang of it.”

I could manipulate streams of water better than a beginner, and the ice formation was an advanced skill, but there was one critical flaw. I couldn’t generate water from nothing. Much to Vogrin’s irritation, after many attempts, I wasn’t able to summon as much as a drop. The adjustments I’d made to my soul hastened my third awakening, but it wasn’t perfect. I’d need to venture inward again, see if there were any flaws in the existing structure before I started trying for more.

Zin stared at me. “Gonna make me run?”

I shook my head. “Tempting. But I think of the two of us, you’re faster.”

“I am.”

A crescent of focused wind barreled toward me with a flick of his wrist, lightning quick.

Grunting, I leapt back, gained ground giving me time to counter his magic with a crescent of my own. The two wind-spells bisected each other and split apart, dissipating.

Without missing a beat, Zin dove between them, practically flying as he swung his blade thrice wide, crescents of air creating a net. If I moved to the outside, the net would catch me. If I absorbed it, dove beneath or jumped over it, Zin would be right there in the middle, ready to follow-up.

So I didn’t bother.

I formed another crescent alongside my blade, discreetly summoning a stream of water from the fountain, body blocking the maneuver from view. Zin grinned at the apparent mistake, sensing victory.

A crescent blade of water, augmented and held together by air, Spiraled, dashing his spells, and slammed into his chest.

I advanced.

“Wait—” Zin started

I slammed my chitinous left fist into his head, pulling the punch at the last second. It still landed with enough impact to daze him, and he wobbled on his feet, openly glaring daggers. “Been ready for a rematch since the first time you sucker punched me, and you still end it the same way.”

“Sorry.”

“Hold it back at the end?” He asked.

“A little.” I admitted.

“Appreciate the spared concussion.” He gave me a dismissive wave before he turned away rubbing his jaw, walking over to where Maya and Alten sat on a stone bench. Maya'd been watching me like a hawk ever since I’d asked her to oversee, Alten—Well, Alten was almost completely absorbed by the apple he was eating.

Ping

Something tinked gently against the back of my armor, xescalt resonating.

“Alas. I have been felled.” I turned to see Sevran, lowering his spear from where he’d “wounded,” me.

The violet infernal smiled, crows-feet crinkling around his eyes. “A leader must always be aware of their surroundings, your grace. But that was only your kidney.”

“Suppose even if the blade punched through, I have a spare.” I mused. “How the hells are you so quiet in plate?”

“A mix of padding and practice.” His mysterious smile faded. “How much of this is an act?”

“Pretty sure Zin and poor Mari don’t think any of it’s an act.” I said with playful bravado, glancing over at where Maya was treating Mari’s frostbitten skin. I knew full well Sevran wasn’t asking about my martial prowess, but I wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. What happened could not be undone. And certainly not by talking.

The smile disappeared entirely. “Either way, I’ll have my answer soon enough.”

A charge went through the air.

I’d never seen Sevran fight in earnest, but I’d watched the elite spearmen in the enclave long enough to have an idea of how he would open. Either a fast jab towards the throat, or if the spearman was strong enough—which Sevran almost certainly was—a sweep. If an infernal spearman got you on the ground, the bout was almost automatically lost. The strengthened xescalt the infernals used for blades was strong enough to punch through almost anything except xescalt itself, which was more of a coin toss. And even with my xescalt armor, if he knocked me down first, it was a coin toss I’d lose.

Opposite me, I could see Sevran going through a similar process, eyes far away as he thought through the bout. But unlike me, I had a feeling he wasn’t thinking a few moves ahead. He had the same clarity and focus Annette did. She’d told me, once, that when she played Koss, if she knew the opponent, she could often visualize the whole match. Sometimes it went differently, but she identified the potential branching paths ahead of time and accounted for them.

Somehow I knew that Sevran was doing the same thing. It was unnerving. And I had a feeling that unlike a game of Koss, this bout would be over in seconds.

I tried to do the same. Force myself to think ahead, use my knowledge of the infernal spearman to prepare for whatever Sevran might throw at me. But I was at a massive disadvantage. He’d seen me fight twice now, and I’d never seen him wield his spear.

Need to get close above all else. Use the range of his weapon against him.

“From rest.” Sevran said.

I sheathed my sword, leaving my hand on the hilt.

He planted the tip of his spear in the ground.

Somewhere in the distance, snow accumulating on a rooftop fell.

Crunch.

I drew my sword and swung wide, stepping-in.

Sevran leaned back, just enough that my blunted blade missed his throat and passed harmlessly beneath his jaw, kicking the haft of his spear upward.

Only, he didn’t. Instead of seizing the spear, he ignored it, allowing it to spiral freely in the air.

Misdirect.

I caught his offhand wrist holding a nasty looking dagger, and skidded along the ground being pushed back as I spun my sword up and around his head, pushing the edge towards his throat. But I didn’t have enough leverage, and he caught the edge of my blade with his empty main hand.

With a shove, we disentangled, and Sevran caught his spear out of the air.

An explosively loud clap resonated through the courtyard.

We lowered our weapons, turning towards the disturbance. King Gil approached, continuing to slowly applaud. He was flanked by two of his honor guards, who had been at the entrance to the courtyard, as he made his way to us.

“A good fight.”

I could help but feel irritated by the interruption. “We were only getting started, your grace.”

My father laughed, unpacking a heavy bundle under his arm. “I’m curious what you’ve done to instill such loyalty in your sister, in so short a time. Despite my insistence—which was considerable, given the circumstances—she refused to relay what the two of you were planning. I had to get it from Thaddeus, or risk breaking her. Regrettably, I did the former.” Sevran bowed and took his leave.

I realized then what my father was wearing. At first, I’d mistaken the light armor for the leathers he typically wore around the castle, but these were worn and cracked, and considerably thicker.

Training leathers.

I swallowed. “To what do I owe the pleasure, father?”

“Is Sera alright?”

“She’ll be fine.”

“If I may ask, why would our plans matter to you?”

A massive hand grabbed the top of my breastplate and yanked me forward. His eyes were full of rage. “You almost fucking died, boy. And despite the infernal’s mystical yammering and your bodyguard’s cagey report, I had very little explanation as to why. Of course I looked further into your affairs. Of course that fucking mattered to me.”

Some of the fire faded, and he pushed me back. “You haven’t been quick to share with me since your return.” I was about to refute that, but he shook his head, silencing me. “I may not be much of a politician, but I’ve held the crown long enough to know when I am being cut out.”

“It was… complicated.”

King Gil snorted. “It is always complicated with you, boy. Probably complicated enough without forgetting who your allies are.”

I felt cold fingers grip my spine, as my father unpacked a shining object. It was a sword—or sword to be—a massive slab of steel with a hilt, the edges unsharpened.

“What are you doing?”

My father tested the weight, lifting and maneuvering the steel like it was nothing. “I’ve led many soldiers in my time. Seen enough men cut down to get a feel for the wounds that bleed, and the wounds that kill. They don’t always kill right away. Sometimes the man heals and the wound kills him anyway. They gape when they should move, tremble instead of falling back.” He looked at me coolly. “I won’t pretend to understand what happened to you. That’s the healer’s job, and the brand’s. What I do understand is that the wound slit you from throat to cunt. And while the rest of these fucks might buy that you’re ready to lead them into battle, I don’t.”

Fuck. I knew this would happen. I screwed up. Let him see me vulnerable. And now, he’s going to walk back that trust.

“Thaddeus didn’t know much, just enough to put together that you think there’s something under the city abducting the demis. Maybe there is. Maybe there isn’t. I’ve waited to move on it, because I have no desire to steal your glory. But I’ll be damned before I let you throw your life, and the life of these thankless fucks away because you couldn’t tell a wound that simply bleeds, from a wound that kills.”

Subconsciously, I dug my heel into the dirt, shifting my weight. “Then what do you suggest?”

His face grew serious, devoid of mockery or disdain. He leveraged the unfinished weapon at me, steel glinting in the sunlight. “I respect your accomplishments. They are not without merit. And because of that respect, I’ll give you a choice. Walk away. Or demonstrate for everyone watching that you are still the man you pretend to be.”