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I’ve never met a member of the priory who wasn’t.
The ecclesiastic figure sits at one head of the table elevated on the dais. I can place everyone else: Natheran Reiks the Sixth sits at the vicar’s right. Next to him, there’s a young beauty with silver-white hair and empty eyes. Like King Natheran, the queen of Flaur doesn’t look her age. The colors of her kingdom are light blue and gold, but she’s all in black, even her crown, though a sapphire the size of a fist rules at its center. At her right, there’s a crownless ochre-skinned man in red. I don’t know him, but his Dorathian wild silk gives his allegiance away. Zale Devar lounges on the next seat, two men standing at his side. I notice the resemblance. It’s not entirely physical, though all three are pale; they share the same aura, the same coldness.
Zale’s underage, so these two must be his regents, or the Ravelyn ambassadors.
The elder princess of Vanemir, Selia’s sister, sits next to the other head of the table, occupied by Valina herself.
I understand the arrangement: though the gods are long gone, Valina represents the shade, and Vonderk, the light.
Almost every kingdom sent their actual ruler. No wonder the square was so full. I want to ask whether such illustrious attendance is the norm, but the religious man starts to speak, his voice amplified through the theater.
“We’ve gathered today to address the threat organized rebels might pose to our respective countries, and to Xhera as a whole. For years, we’ve been at peace.” His voice is frayed like old parchment. “A precarious, uneasy peace, as each kingdom retains customs that may offend their neighbors. But peace nonetheless. I, who have seen the last war, see the value in peace. With this in mind, I propose we hear these rebels. Listen to their demands, and reasonably give a voice to the changes our younger generations want to see.”
Valina snorts. She’s never been one for subtleties. “You’ll remember your order started the last war because you wanted change then, too. You wanted a world where I, and those like me, don’t exist, so that the commons might feel more relevant.” She smiles at him pleasantly, showing all of her teeth. “How did that go for you?”
The man’s face burns bright red. “We’re not rehashing the old days. Who knows what these young men and women demand this time?”
“If I were to hazard a guess? More money, mostly.” Zale’s advisors lean forward to speak to him, but he dismisses them with one imperious hand. “That seems to be the kind of shit people want.”
“We have been working on improving life as a whole,” says the Flaurian queen. “It’s been slow progress, like any real change, but look at what we have achieved in the last hundred years. I remember a time when half the kingdoms didn’t have any running water or electricity.”
“Commons don’t see that, because they don’t live a hundred years,” the Dorath envoy says. “It’s all about the now with them.”
I shake my head. They’re unbelievable. Every single person around the table is a semi-immortal, and their contempt for their common subjects is blatant. If anything, they’re proving the rebels’ point with their nonsense.
“Rather ghastly, isn’t it?” Reiks whispers. “If someone’s starving, they’re not going to be happy because they happen to have water. They’re still dying. Yet they don’t get it.”
I nod, eyes on my great-grandmother. She’s smart. She’s going to say something, right?
“Tell me you didn’t call for a meeting to talk in circles again.” Valina inspects her black nails and bats her lashes. “Some of us have things better to do.”
“I didn’t call for this meeting at all,” Vonderk retorts, gesturing to Zale. “The young king has something to share.”
I feel the temperature drop in the room, though looking at Zale, I can’t notice any change in his expression.
He stands and produce an unrolled parchment out of his jacket. Over the dais, a hologram of the document flashes, large enough for everyone to see it.
The familiar map of Xhera looks like a third-year geography project: all the capitals were circled. “Our intelligence retrieved this map from a rebel compound right after a meeting. It is our belief that they mean to attack all relevant cities in one strike. I’d like to call a vote. We need to call martial law, increase the protection of each one of our courts, and lend forces to the peace warriors of Magnapolis in order to prepare.”
“An attack of that magnitude is improbable,” the Aevar princess says, frowning. “Our castles are well guarded, often by demis. The rebels must realize that would be suicide.”
“And yet they’ve brazenly struck blow after blow at us the last few years,” counters the Flaurian queen. “They might dare start a civil war throughout Xhera. We’ll crush them, though.”
“Will you?” Valina asks, unruffled. “Don’t get me wrong, you might end up victorious in the long term. But if every common rebel of Xhera were to focus on six points all at once, and you’re unprepared?” She grimaces. “I’d say heads are going to roll.” After a moment she adds, “Not that it has anything to do with us. I don’t see the Darklands targeted.”
And no wonder: there’s no actual poverty in the Darklands. Some people have more riches than others, but no one starves, and the doors of the Frejr house are always open to anyone who might need a roof through the winter, be they men, beasts, or anything in between. Rising against our authority wouldn’t make any sense.
“If we fall, what do you suggest might be the target of the new regime?” Zale asks.
Valina smirks. “I can handle common soldiers.”
“The might of five countries against you?” Reiks the Sixth smirks. “I’d pay to see you fall.”
“You already did. Twice. I’m still here.” Valina rolls her eyes. “Let’s vote, as the boy says. All those in favor for reinforcing the capitals and Magnapolis?”
Zale’s hand is the only one raising around the table, but I see Reiks and Mar lifting theirs.
“The council members rarely ever vote for anything. Their voices each count for a hundred of ours,” Marline whisper to me.
