AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Maybe, just maybe, I’ve truly earned that comparison now.
Immediately outside the city, the recently constructed stone mansion where Sulla is taking in riven pupils comes into view near the bank of the river. Seeing it gives me another whiff of relief despite my worries about tomorrow.
My mentor had nearly as long a recovery time as I did after the violence at the kingship trials, though her injuries were mostly physical. But she’s nearly as hale as she was before, simply needing a cane to reduce the strain on her weakened legs if she’s on her feet for long stretches.
I’ve stopped by at least once a week to help however I can with the training. So far she only has two students—a girl of eight whose magic only just showed itself, and a boy of fifteen who traveled all the way from Icar after hearing of Silana’s new policies.
I’m not sure how many other riven who’ve escaped execution there are in the world, other than us. But if any are hiding in the shadows like I once did, I hope they find the faith to give a real life a chance.
Within the main city walls, all signs of the Order’s presence have been eliminated. Banners with the Melchiorek family crest stream from flag poles, and we travel through a square where a new statue of Queen Petra has just been erected—perched on a throne at the top of a tower alongside the three helpers she managed to pull up with her, as she did during her final trial for Creaden.
I’m glad most people remember that moment of cooperation and camaraderie more than the chaos that followed.
The royal army Petra has reconstructed has spent a significant part of the past several months rounding up the remaining scourge sorcerers and vocal Order members. The former don’t pose much of a threat without their accomplices to draw power from.
Quite a few of even the true believers of their cause swore themselves over to Petra’s service after witnessing the message of amity and peace the godlen projected through me. The Order’s pockets of influence have quickly dissolved.
Those whose destructive behavior couldn’t be easily pardoned have been assigned to various types of enforced labor to the true betterment of the country. I believe a certain chief of staff who once worked for Baron Cyris has been sent to the mining camps near the Icarian border—far from my beloved courtesan, who she’ll never get another chance to blackmail.
I can gaze out the window without fear of setting eyes on two other incredibly unwelcome faces. After I returned from my convalescence, Petra offered to extend a similar punishment to my parents for contributing to Lothar’s campaign against me. She told me I could even confront them myself along with the arresting officers.
But presented with the opportunity, I found that more than anything I wanted to never again have to see the people who scarred me in so many ways.
So our queen came up with a suitable reprisal of her own. My mother and father have been ordered to travel from town to town with an escort of royal guards, sharing their shame for failing their riven daughter and counselling all of Silana to avoid their mistakes—to help rather than harm any children who show signs of the wildest of magic.
Thinking of it brings a bittersweet smile to my lips. May their story save at least one child from the same misery they inflicted on me.
At the edge of the middle wards, we pass several workers pulling apart the remains of the old city walls that so starkly divided the elite from the rest of the city. Petra has been working on expanding the throughways and hiring outer-ward citizens for various building and clean-up projects around the city’s fringes, and the atmosphere across the city has already become brighter.
When we disembark from our carriages in front of the restored Capital Palace, the queen herself comes out onto the front steps to meet us.
“It’s good to have you back,” she says in her brisk but warm way. “Now let’s finalize our plans for handling the Darium delegation.”
Simply standing in the audience room with the members of the delegation feels like a subtle dance no one’s taught me all the moves of.
How many guards can Petra employ, to match those our long-time enemies have brought for their own protection but not come across as overly threatening? How close should we position ourselves; how loudly should we talk?
Which subjects will we address, and which will we tiptoe around as if the empire hasn’t been trying to crush Silana back into submission for the past eighty or so years?
Thankfully, I’ve got a lot of practice at adapting on the spot.
Petra is doing most of the talking anyway, with Tinom—who’s serving as her main overall advisor while she’s settling into her new royal role—occasionally interjecting. The old magic advisor’s attitude toward me has taken quite a shift since he watched the godlen he worships channel their divine power through me. To my shock, I returned from the Temple of Tranquil Skies to find him outright respectful. He apologized so fervently I couldn’t see the use in staying angry.
Both he and our queen are taking a polite but cautious approach with the head of the delegation, a sturdy-looking man with a soldier’s bearing but the ornate clothes of a nobleman, fitted and heavily trimmed in the Darium fashion. Since we’re meeting in Silana, Admiral Varus has conceded to speaking in the local tongue. But while he’s said a lot of fancy words about how our countries might eventually cooperate, he hasn’t produced anything remotely concrete.
I think he’s paying more attention to Petra’s movements and her interactions with the rest of us than to what she’s saying. So far he hasn’t shown any signs of casting magic toward her, though.
Possibly word has also gotten out that Petra’s loyal riven sorcerer has a knack for sensing supernatural power. I can protect her simply by existing.
It does make for a welcome change.
Since Petra and Tinom are already focusing on him, I let my gaze wander over the rest of the delegation. As well as his four guards, Admiral Varus brought along a young man he calls his assistant, a woman who’s a devout of Creaden, and one of the princes of Cotea.
The delegation leader only gave a brief explanation for the latter’s presence, but from what I understand, Prince Bastien has some role in Emperor Tarquin’s court. He came with the delegation to speak to how any agreements made will be reflected in the actions of our nearest neighbor among the empire’s conquered countries.
The slim, almost gaunt fellow looks a year or two younger than me. He stands straight but lets his shaggy auburn hair fall forward to shadow his eyes, his mouth set in a tight line.
He’s trying to hide it, but I don’t think he wants to be here at all.
