Cloud Rebel (R-D #3)(86)
"Braxlin Ironsmith, this child's name is chosen by the Mighty," the woman snapped back, her body glowing softly in the early evening light.
"I have no faith in the Mighty," Braxlin hissed.
"No? Your son will," she retorted. "His name will be recorded in Karathia's history as Ilya Rafael Ironsmith. The birth name has already been reported to the King. If you don't believe me, check for yourself."
With that, she disappeared.
*
Matt Michaels, AKA Jayson Rome
I sat on a comfortable chair on a balcony outside SouthStar's palace while Hank Bell strode around me. Criminals in an interrogation probably felt less intimidated. Every time he looked at me, smoke drifted from his nostrils.
He was pissed. I got that.
"Corinne did your work for you, and died for it." Hank wasn't mincing words.
"She separated her own particles," I attempted to defend myself.
"What choice did she have?" Hank hissed. "If she hadn't, Kalenegar or any other Larentii would be obligated. She merely relieved them of that responsibility. This shouldn't have gone as far as it did," Hank snapped. "If you'd killed the Lyristolyi who appeared in that meeting, it would have gone a long way toward preventing this disaster. With bodies to prove to the idiots still out there that neither you nor Colonel Hunter were responsible," he flung out a hand.
"Then," he went on, "if you'd tagged those f*cking Elemaiya before they left the White House, or had Keef and Schaff followed or any number of other things, all that could have been avoided. Somewhere along the line, you'd have figured out that a rogue god had arrived and was pulling strings if you'd done those other things and paid attention."
"I know." I did know. I was supposed to be in charge, and I couldn't say how many times Opal wanted to argue with my actions—or lack thereof. She'd been there through it all, while I'd left Earth faster than a rabbit chased by a hound.
"I'm relieving you of your duties there," Hank said.
That caused my head to jerk up immediately. "But," I said.
"You will retire the minute you return. You will make appropriate arrangements and fake your death from some disease or other, then remove yourself from the planet."
"But who will," I began. He intended to leave Opal in charge—I just knew it.
"Opal will decide for herself. I have other plans in place," he informed me. "Your services are no longer required."
*
Reth Alliance
Ildevar Wyyld, Founder
"I detest state funerals, especially when I detested the planetary leader the state funeral is for," I muttered as I studied my formal robes in the mirror. "At least I only have to focus on an elaborate burial box the entire time. It's such a shame that the creature ate Geethe and his companions, after all."
"I've identified everyone in those images," Norian responded. "One of them—Wymarr Belancour—I still can't figure out what kept him inside that chamber. We've had a bounty on his head for a while. Fisk Boralus—same thing. He was wanted on Lyristolys, too, so I can't imagine why he was meeting with Geethe."
"Perhaps we will learn those things in the future," I sighed. I had a very good idea why Fisk and Wymarr were meeting with Geethe—but I kept that to myself.
"Geethe always was a particularly sharp pain in our posteriors," Norian observed. "Lendill is already there; he says the guest suite at the Potentate's palace is free of illegal devices and your stay will be a safe one," he shrugged. "I don't envy you in any way, although the food is good on Lyristolys."
*
Morrett—Private Journal
I may never understand how or why I found myself in a long line of people waiting outside a castle door to be interviewed for employment at the castle. I had little to recommend me, after all, and as for explaining what I was—that was better left unsaid. The phrase hadn't been spoken, handing me from one master to the next to ensure my unwilling cooperation, and I hoped it had died with Fisk.
At first, I'd stared in disbelief at the date and time on my now-ancient comp-vid. I'd been flung more than four hundred sun-turns into the future. Yes, I'd double-checked, asking the man ahead of me by tapping my question on the comp-vid. He'd verified the date.
It stunned me at first—that revelation, but then the woman had achieved impossible things before, in order to deliver me from Fisk and the others. Therefore, I felt like a free man where and when I stood, and that meant I required employment to feed and house myself.
Perhaps they would allow me to work in the kitchen or as a castle servant who cleaned chambers and hall. Those things I could do well enough, and perhaps I could find a way to buy new books with my earnings—my comp-vid was now tucked tightly in a pocket and I didn't intend to let it go.
Whomever she was—the woman—had decided to let me live. I would do my best to justify her faith in me.
"You—what's your name?" a man at the door barked.
I made the sign—the one that indicated I couldn't speak. Then, pulling my comp-vid from its pocket, I tapped my name on it for the man to read.
"Morrett?" he pronounced it by rolling both Rs. I shrugged—that was good enough. "Come with me," he beckoned. "I think the Prince would like to see you."