Days of Blood & Starlight(87)

So Akiva broke the seal and unrolled the scroll, and read the summons aloud. “To appear before His Eminence, Joram the Unconquered, First Citizen of the Empire of Seraphim, Protector of Eretz, Father of Legions, Prince of Light and Scourge of Darkness, Chosen of the Godstars, Lord of Ashes, Lord of Char, Lord of a Country of Ghosts—”

Hazael grabbed the scroll to see if the last three were really written there, which they were not, and it was he who continued reading. “In gratitude for heroic service to the realm, is summoned Blood Soldier of the Misbegotten, Akiva, Seventh Bearer of that Name…” Hazael stopped reading and looked up at Akiva. “You’re the seventh? That’s a lot of dead Akivas, my brother. Do you know what that means?” He was very grave.

“Tell me. What does it mean?” Akiva prepared himself for mocking doom. Six bastards had carried the name before him? It was a lot; too many. Some must have died in infancy, or at the training camp. Hazael was probably going to tell him the name was cursed.

But no. His brother said, “It means that the cremation urn is full, no room for your ashes. You have no choice.” He smiled his hapless, open smile. “You have to live.”





62


CHAIN


Heroic service to the realm.

For “heroic service to the realm,” Akiva was summoned to Astrae. If this had happened months ago, in the wake of Loramendi, it might have made sense. But medals had long since been pinned, spoils divvied. Akiva had been overlooked with the rest of the Misbegotten, so why was he summoned now?

Liraz was uneasy. “What if Joram knows something?” she asked. They were in flight, nothing but the Halcyon Sea in all directions. She liked flying over the sea—the vastness, the clean and ashless air, the quiet. But she did not care for their destination.

“What could he know?” said Akiva. “But even if he does, there may never be another chance like this.”

There may never come another chance to stand face-to-face with their father and end his brutal life. Liraz had never even seen Joram up close. Now she would, and he would bleed. “I know,” she said, and left it at that. Any protest she might make would sound like fear—of Joram. Of failure.

Liraz was afraid. It was a stinging fear, like flying into a sandstorm; it shamed her, and she would never admit to it. Fearless Liraz. If only they knew what a lie it was. She wanted to say, It’s too dangerous. She wanted to convince her brothers that in Astrae—in the Tower of Conquest, no less—there would be too many factors beyond their control. Better we vanish now, she thought, and undercut Joram from outside the Empire than fly into his trap. His web.

Though she didn’t voice her fears and was certain she didn’t show them, Hazael drew a little closer to her side and said, “Joram probably just wants to use our illustrious brother to his own ends. To fight the rebels? Who better than Beast’s Bane? Especially with all focus on this mad Stelian conquest.”

Liraz said, “Or it’s to do with the mad Stelian conquest. Akiva is Joram’s only link to the Far Isles.”

Akiva was flying off to the side, lost in thought, but he heard. “I’m no link. I know no more of Stelians than anyone.”

“But you have their eyes,” she said. “That might earn you a parley, at least.”

Akiva looked disgusted. “Could he think I’d play emissary for him? Can he imagine that I’m his creature?”

“Let’s hope so,” said Liraz, her voice sharp. “Because the alternative is that he suspects you.”

Akiva was silent a long moment, before finally saying, “You don’t have to be part of this. Either of you—”

“Damn you, Akiva,” she snapped. “I am part of it.”

“Me, too,” said Hazael.

“I don’t want to put you in danger,” said Akiva. “I can kill him alone. Even if he does suspect something, he could have no idea what I’m capable of. If I can get to him, I can kill him.”

“You can kill him. You just might not get out,” Liraz finished for him, and his silence was his acknowledgment. “What, die and be done? How very easy for you.” With Liraz, most strong emotion manifested as anger, but in this case the emotion really was anger. With what they had set in motion, she wouldn’t even have her regiment to return to and the illusion of a life. She would be outcast, traitor to the Empire, and she knew she didn’t have it in her to build a movement behind her. Akiva could; he was Beast’s Bane. And Hazael. Everyone loved Hazael. But who was she? No one even liked her but these two, and she sometimes thought that was only habit.

“I don’t want to die, Lir,” Akiva said softly.

She couldn’t tell if he meant it. “Good,” she said. “Because you aren’t going to. We’re going with you, and any dying is going to be done at the other end of our swords.”

Hazael backed her up, and on Akiva’s face, gratitude vied with the emptiness that Liraz had started thinking of as his “death wish” look. She remembered a time when Akiva had laughed and smiled, when in spite of the violence of their lives he had been a full person, with a full range of emotion. He had never had Hazael’s sunshine demeanor—who did?—but he had been alive. Once upon a time.

Fury stirred in Liraz for the girl who had done this to her proud, beautiful brother. How many times now had he gone away to find that… creature… and come back broken? Broken and broken again. Creature. It sounded ugly, but Liraz didn’t know how to think of the girl: Madrigal, Karou, chimaera, human, and now resurrectionist. What was she? It wasn’t disgust she felt for Karou, not anymore; it was indignation. Incredulity. A man like Akiva crosses worlds to find you, infiltrates the enemy capital just to dance with you, bends heaven and hell to avenge your death, saves your comrade and kin from torture and death, and you send him off looking gut-punched, diminished, carved hollow?