#catheda

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[divine--right]

The Beast

by Lyra

It was still early in Catheda, just past dawn. Spring was starting to creep its way through the cracks of the city, and standing in his office, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down at the spreading metropolis, Godwin could map it's progress.

The parks towards the central district were brilliant splashes of color between the grey, steel, and glass of the factories, the offices, the towers.Green urged up through the dried desaturated ruins that winter had left of the lawns. The hollow husks of trees perked up their fingers towards the sun, vivacious buds springing to life from the seemingly lifeless twigs. The downtown and commerce sections of the city were lined with blossoming trees, each one racing to out-pace the other with it's need to burst free, to scramble back to life once more with all the heavy branches to prove it. And from where he was, looking down at the city rather than sitting amongst it's folds and limbs, he could see people moving over the streets, eager to engage with the world once more now that winter's shackles had eased free.

It never ceased to amaze him how the earth, with seemingly so little effort, created so much from so little. Color surged, plants expanded, the world heated, so much change, so much energy, and from what? It seemed nothing at all, simply a breathe of air, the steady turn of time, and everything fell into place. He wondered, mused, if there might be armies of unseen workers beneath the soil, within the branches of trees, turning and spinning invisible machines with strong orders at their backs to accomplish such impossibilities.

Fall he understood. It was easy to fall. Easier than most people knew. It took so little to simply stop, to let things crumble away. Very few things truly wished to be alive, he'd concluded. If they did why would they let themselves slip apart so effortlessly?  Individuals clung to life of course, but no one clings to something that tightly if they don't know just how easily they could lose hold of it. And when you piled lives, one on top of the other, when you snapped all those clumsy existence into a chain, into a knitted community, their totally effort to survive did not grow stronger, it grew weaker. The systems and structures that formed to unite lives, to allow survival, they were fragile things, and the more wills that joined them the weaker they became. Strange, he'd always thought, how people valued ten lives so much less than one, and a hundred lives less than ten, in many circumstances. The larger the fabric of lives, the easier it was to tear apart. It required no effort at all to do so, simply for the thread that ran through them all, binding everything together, to stop weaving, for the one man that woto just let it go. Then collapse. Then loss.

Governance, Godwin had found, was similar to being the constant master of an evolving mechanical beast, that possessed a malicious will, no sight, and was constantly plagued by other alien mechanisms nipping at it's ankles.

The beast was filled, toes to tip with other smaller fleshy beasts, who did not even know their home was alive unless it stumbled and they fell off their seats. They didn't truly see that the food they ate came through it's mouth first, or that the waste they produced fell through it's digestion afterwards. People were too busy clinging to their own easily misplaced lives to think of things like that. The beast was great, and always growing, always changing. Some days it needed to swim a river and such ability had to be provided for. Some days it needed to climb a mountain and such ability had to be provided for. Some days it needed to eat grass, some days meat, some days stone, and such ability had to be provided for. But this beast was cursed, doomed by the mistress of time to always move forward, to always run, and no new country it had to cross was ever the quite same. The beast needed to drop appendages as easily as it acquired them, and as a blind creature, it needed a careful master directing it's journey onward.

The master needed to guide the beast over hills, oceans, forests. And the best masters saw as if their eyes were constructed of telescopes, seeing not the present, but the future, the next country rather than the current. It hurt, to look so far ahead, but it was as it must be. The master had to prepare for the days yet unseen, live not in the present but in the shifting ominous cloud of things not yet passed. Looking ahead did not mean seeing only landscapes and obstacles, but other beasts that would circle and slash at it's heels, or pass harmlessly by. Sometimes preparing for such encounters meant building the beast a poisonous skin that was death to bite, sometimes it meant making it's shape match the oncoming creatures so they might mistake it's nature, and sometimes it meant taking careful aim through telescopic eyes and squeezing a trigger. The master had to guide the beast so smoothly that the creatures within never stopped guarding their own fragile lives, for if they did so, the cogs and gears of the beast would stop turning and it would crash into stillness.

Strange. How nature seemed to manage so effortlessly, how the beast of the world, which indeed must need the most vigilant and stern master of them all, hardly seemed to require one at all. But that was just the point wasn't it? In the beast of the world he, Godwin, was merely a creature along for the unperceived journey. The job of the master was to remain invisible. Maybe one day, if he looked close enough, far enough, he might glimpse the secret cogs of the world. Maybe one day, he would look into the great master's eyes and ask to understand such secrets.

Godwin knew that his beast was slightly different. When a beast stumbles so hard that every one of it's passengers crashes to the ground as well, they cannot help but suddenly know the nature of their lives. They cannot help but see the master and the fault he caused. They cannot help but hate. And when a new master picks up that beast, gear by gear, until it stumbles to a walk once more, and then a run, and then a climb, they cannot help but know his face. They cannot help but love.

From where he stood Godwin could see the factory the event was to held at in just a few hours. The factory was one of the earlier that he and Sarai had opened, a few months less six years ago. There were crowds gathering in the surrounding park already, blankets being spread, clusters of life settling into the space. The podium had been arranged in front, the factory still turning behind, it's breathe still pushing grey and white into the sky above. Clouds snuck across the sky but they seemed to lack conviction, he suspected the sun would be shining through by the time he stepped out in front of his people. There was a massive screen erected above the stage. His face would be nearly the size of a building, looking out over all of them, his voice filling the air with the force of a storm. Two banners hung on either side, one of himself, fifteen stories tall, the other of Sarai. Crowns on their heads, lights in their eyes.

The divine blood. What a concept. His father's blood had been as divine as his. He had been a cowering creature stained with his own shit clutching at a fourteen-year-old's feet, snot and tears running down his face. Divine did not come from blood. It came from will. Definition was a careful craft. Gods were built, not born.

He checked his watch neatly. The sun came to Metraterra sooner than Catheda. Sarai would likely be awake by now, especially if her dawn-sickness continued to plague her. Such inconvenience. It marveled him, even to this day, what she, what all women bore for the lives they created.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, working the necessary swipes quickly. It rang twice.

"Good morning," Sarai's voice smiled through the phone.

He could see her face, even hundreds of miles away. The sunshine suited her. Catheda was grey more days than not, and he could hear the light of her homeland shining through her now, filling her like a cup of clear, sweet water.

"How are you?" Godwin asked, sitting down in the stern-backed chair that faced his tidy desk.

"Oh, sick, happy, sleepy, you know," she answered.

"I didn't wake you did I?"

"Oh no, I've been awake a little while, should have been up well earlier. The house has been up for hours."

"Houses always wake earlier than people," Godwin said.

"Only when there's a few particular people there to rouse them," Sarai argued.

"How's the sickness?"

"It's not as bad as it was, getting better. He's settling in."

"Boy then?"

"I think so," Sarai says. He can almost see her through the telephone running a hand over her belly, less than half the size of what it would become soon enough. "Just my luck. Two boys. They'd never forgive me if this was still home."

"How's your cousin?" Godwin asked.

"He's alright." She paused. "It seemed good at first, better. It's become... challenging."

"It's quite the change," Godwin said, "for the girl."

Sarai sighed through the phone. "Of course it is, I suppose I just didn't realize just how dramatic it would be. I'm glad I came. I can't imagine if Eammon was alone."

"And how's Jozef," Godwin asked.

Sarai brightened. "He likes it here. At least I think he does, you know how reticent he can be sometimes. He's quite cynical for a ten-year-old."

Godwin smiles. "I'm afraid that might be my fault."

"I'm sure it's your fault," Sarai smiled back. "But this is good for him, I'm so glad he's here. He's never been around animals like this, or the fields. He's getting color in his cheeks. It's handsome. Good for him."

"I'm glad," Godwin said. And he was. He liked to see her happy, and to see Jozef develop. Both him and she went into their son in equal measurements, and if he prepared accordingly, Jozef's reign would be twice as successful as his own had been. And that was truly what mattered in the end. Persistence. Legacy.

"It strange, isn't it," Sarai started, her voice taking on that tone it always did when she was feeling reflective: misty, and filled with the knowledge that time, once set, stamped the world in one shape, but might have pressed into any form at all, "it's been thirteen years. Already. Although, maybe that's not quite right... Has it gone by quickly or slowly? I can't tell."

Godwin tapped his finger idly against the rich surface of his desk. "Maybe both at once. Years can go by slowly, and decades quickly. Jozef's decade has rushed past. And those first three years, with all we had to accomplish, all we had to rebuild, time passed so furiously."

"Mm," she hummed idly through the line. She was tired. She often grew philosophical when she was just barely awake or nearly asleep. "I'm sorry I'm not there."

"As am I," Godwin said.

"I miss them," Sarai said.

"Who?"

"All of them. My city. The people. I don't know when it became home, but it did. Here's still home as well. The smells are home. And the feel of the air. But I've given myself to those people, to our people, and they've given themselves back. It's as though we've exchanged something, a deep secret thing, passed back and forth, and I feel it's absence when I'm far from it."

He smiled. He'd chosen his wife exactly as he should have. Well, not chosen, none of them chose, not any more, not since he signed that document. But he had signed it, and if he hadn't seen her potential, her possibility lined up so neatly alongside his own, he may never have laid his crisp slanted signature along-side the others.

"You can come home, whenever you like. Tomorrow if you care to," he said.

Her answer came exactly as he'd known it would. "Eammon needs me, I can't leave now. And Jozef is learning so much here, things he could never have in Catheda. I'll stay. For now at least."

"Do what you feel you must," Godwin said honestly, warmly.

"Enjoy it," Sarai smiled. "Kiss the country for me."

"I will," he answered.

"Talk soon," she said, voice as light as the sun he knew was filling her homeland. "I love you. I miss you."

"And you," he said simply. "Good-bye."

They parted thus, and as soon as the conversation ended he stood, straightening his suit neatly and turning out the door, his sharp shoes carrying him down the marble steps, one crisp echo at a time.

It didn't take long to reach the event. The crowd was packed tight and vast in the park. There must have been five hundred thousand spread across the fresh grass and the closed surrounding streets. At the very least. There had been fewer last year, and double today's number when they had celebrated the tenth anniversary three years ago.

His state-car and security detail made it's way through the passage that had been carved through the downtown traffic especially for them, easing into the back of the factory. Once outside of the cool silencing walls of the vehicle the noise of the crowd bubbled up all around them like an eager living sea.

Godwin's tight darkly-clad security ushered him easily in the arranged entrance. As soon as he entered the factory applause and cheers rang out from all sides. The workers had all gathered to welcome him, thousands lining the first, second, third stories that all looked down into the foyer.

Godwin smiled, small and humble, waving back. The CEO was waiting for him, red face beaming, fat hand already waiting to clutch his own. He bowed as soon as Godwin let him take it.

"Your Majesty, it's an honor, as always. We're so grateful to host you, host this, on such an occasion."

Godwin smiled, "The honor is mine." Though the occasion was not remarkable. It was for them perhaps, the creatures within the beast.

He'd chosen this factory particularly. There were many that had been revitalized in the years following his father's death, and indeed this one was not unique to any of the three he had chosen on the past celebrations of the anniversary of his coronation. But there was more of an eye to the future in this selection. The tenth anniversary he'd held at a steel factory, the backbone of their industry that had crumbled under his father's wavering grasp, then two car factories, and today again, automobiles, or rather automobile parts. However, this factory held a specialization in battery production, an area it was vital to control if their automobile market was to continue to be relevant in the shifting dynamics of the times.

"We're all eager to begin," the CEO, Prevott, Godwin remembered easily, "I'm sure you are as well."

"I wouldn't want to keep anyone waiting," Godwin nodded.

"Then, your Majesty," the man swung an expansive arm, "we can head right this way."

They moved at a healthy speed, through cheers and applause echoing off and around the factory's walls, to up and out, where the cheers had no confines, and their numbers, their volume soared like a million cawing birds up into the sky above.

The day was bright, bright enough to cause his blue eyes to blink harshly as he passed into it. He'd never completely gotten used to the sun. It was usually so clouded over in Catheda.

Smiling faces and hands eager to be shaken lined the path to the podium. He moved through it slowly, and indeed he did feel Sarai's absence. When she was here he had another to share this attention, to take half the hands in her own, and return half the smiles. It was a greater burden alone.

The podium rose before him and he crested, stepping to the top to a sudden wave of sound from the crowd spread out beyond. The citizens rippled, shifting and shining like a field of wheat under a summer breeze. Most wore red, the color of his house, of his family. Chants rose and fell, individual voices carried for a moment only to be lost against in the hum of the masses. He raised his have to wave and their voices cried out, the wave crested and shattered again over him. Love poured out of them, drenching him in adoration, worship.

He stepped back to where he should be as CEO Prevott approached the podium, ready to welcome him. The man clutched the podium, thanking the crowd, and a relative silence fell, anticipating the words to come.

"Thank you all, for joining us on such a special occasion," Prevott began. "We are truly honored to be the hosts of this year's coronation anniversary. May there be many more."

The crowd cheered, echoing his statement back at him-- "Many more! Many more! Many more!"

"You all know why we are here. We are here today because this city, this country, lived many years in a darkness few of us imagined possible. When I was twenty-seven, the same age as our king behind me, it seemed Catheda would shine forever. The factories rose by the sea, and the trade flowed as easily as the tides. And then a darkness fell upon us, and as with all shadows, the unexpected timing made it fall heavier and thicker than we ever imagined it could.

"The Divine Blood we had trusted so, failed us. Our king, failed us. When the world began to age, and catch up with our success, all that we had built began to rust. There was no one to polish what we had built, no one to ensure that we grew as quickly as the world did. Time passed over Catheda and it passed heavily, as a king simply stood by and watched, distracted so with his own demons that he could not notice the smell of his country as it rotted around him.

"I remember the day I had to release ten percent of my staff. Then thirty. Then fifty. I remember the day my neighbors across the street moved away, fleeing to Fleuvia with what savings they. I remember when the house next to them emptied, and the house after that. I remember walking streets and hearing more stray dogs barking after scraps than human voices, houses staring out at the street empty and forgotten."

“I remember when the anger of the people finally cracked. There were so few of us left, and we carried the rage of all those who had left on our backs. I remember when we walked to the palace, when we threw the rocks that had been out streets, the bricks that had been our homes, the steel that had been our work, anything, everything; we hurled what we could find at the place that had harmed us so. And all we received in return were bullets into the gathered crowds.

"I remember the day my wife asked me why we hadn't left. I remember when she looked at me, so tired, so lost, as all of us were. She asked why we hadn't gone with the rest of them, why we couldn't go. I couldn't answer her. I didn't know myself. I knew I loved my country, still, deep within. There was a part of me that still beat for Catheda. But I didn't know why. I didn't know how. Godwin Nikolaas Arnoldus reminded me. Godwin Nikolaas Arnoldus saved me. Godwin Nikolaas Arnoldus saved us all."

The cheers exploded out of the crowd, shattering off the steel buildings around them, soaring up into the clear sky.

"It seemed impossible," Prevott continued, "I know I was hesitant to believe, we all were. But it was true. Our miracle had come. The king was dead and in his place was a monarch who returned to us everything we had lost. Thirteen years ago today Godwin Nikolaas Arnoldus was coronated and took the place of his father on the throne of Catheda with his beautiful consort Sarai Eustance Celestine by his side, our queen, who we miss greatly on this day of celebration."

The crowd release a sympathetic hum of support.

"In thirteen years, Godwin Nikolaas Arnoldus has taken our capital from the most desolate of metropolises to a thriving, vibrate, expanding, industrial city that puts even what it was fifty years ago in the shadows!"

The cheers soared again, impossibly louder, impossibly stronger.

"And so, without any further delay, I give you, your king!"

The noise exploded over him, waves upon waves. The faces in the crowd were all turned towards him, towards the massive screen that projected his face ten stories high, towards the banners of he and Sarai and towered monumental. Godwin took the two steps up the podium to stand before them. He rested his hands on the smooth metal, and with a calm smile, he looked out over his beast.

It did not know it, but there was a mountain in the distant. A mountain that grew closer each day. It did not know. It could not see. It saw only their master, standing at a podium, smiling back at their love. But that was just as it should be. Godwin saw the mountain, just as he had for years, each day approaching, closer, closer. Godwin saw the mountain, and the beast did not know, but it was already climbing it's foothills.

[divine--right]

The Alliance

by Lyra

____________________________________________________

There was a noise inside the wall.

Godwin looked up from his papers, across his wide office, and towards the direction of the sound. He heard it again. A scratching, quiet but distinct. He narrowed his eyes. A mouse, likely. They always came into the palace this time of year, hiding from the cold and the damp. There wasn’t snow, they never got too much here, but a heavy wet chill hung over the city. The sky had been grey for at least a fortnight but the storms hadn’t been severe. Even if they had been he doubted it would change much. It seemed nothing could stop the constant ebb and flow of ships into the docks.

Every action had it’s reaction. Each negative it’s positive: eternally balancing, infinitely complimenting. It just happened that Gloriaterra’s fall was Catheda’s rise. Each bit of rubble that crumbled from that land rolled into the reconstruction of his own. It wasn’t something to feel joy or sorrow for. It was simply a fact. It was simply the equilibrium of the universe.

Whatever it was scratched against the plaster once more. He leaned back to stand when suddenly his office door pushed open. Jozef lingered in the archway, small hands clasped behind his back, one toe scuffing nervously again the marble of the floor.

“Hello,” Godwin said.

“Hello,” Jozef answered, eyes still on the floor.

He was getting tall already, just as he had at that age. It was strange, most boys didn’t truly grow until they were at least thirteen or older, but Godwin had always been tall, and it seemed every year with more certainty that his son would be the same. Like many things that were a little larger than they felt they should be there was a timidity to Jozef. A self-consciousness clung to his movements, and there was a careful hesitancy taken with the world around him.

“Something wrong?” Godwin asked.

“No,” Jozef answered, shaking his head. His hair fell against his face and he brushed it back again. The waves were darker than Godwin’s, still blond, but the slight curl and the look of wet hay to them spoke much more of his mother’s.

“I finished my lessons,” Jozef says, finally looking up to him. “I thought I might be able to help you.”

Godwin gazed back at him. His eyes were blue, just like his own, but he didn’t see himself in the boy. More often than not he saw his brother, and sometimes, when the boy woke at night with nightmares heavy on his mind, he saw his father staring back at him.  

“I’m almost done,” Godwin said, “but come here, sit down, I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing.”

The boy smiled, expression fragile but charming as his mother’s. He hurried over to the seat opposite the desk and sat down obediently. His eyes traced over the contents of the desk with reverence and curiosity.

“Do you know what today is?” Godwin asked, leaning forward on his elbows, the finely tailored and simply designed black linen suit stretching slightly against his back.

“Yes,” the boy said instantly. “It’s the SWETA Summit for the first quarter.”

“That’s right,” Godwin answers. “And what does SWETA represent?”

The boy focused, delicate blonde brows furrowing. “South West Established Trade Alliance.”

“Good. And what is the purpose of the summit?”

“To discuss the alliances’ position on existing conflicts and to prepare for the future.”

“That’s right,” Godwin said. “I have been creating an agenda for the discussion.”

The boy frowned. “Shouldn’t there be one already? They’ll be here in just a few hours.”

“There is,” Godwin says. “This one is for myself. Everyone will discuss the issues facing our alliance, but I want to ensure that I have certain answers as well, in order to run the country to the best of my ability.”

“I see,” Jozef smiled. He was proud of his father. Godwin supposed many boys were at his age. He wondered idly what that felt like.

“Did you write the group agenda?” Jozef asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you always?”

“Often,” Godwin said, “but today I am the host for the summit so it’s especially relevant.”

“I don’t understand why we don’t always host,” the boy said quietly. “We’re the largest, the most economically powerful.”

“Because it is an alliance,” Godwin said carefully. “An alliance is only as strong as the respect that holds it together. We represent a continent. Our strength is in our unity, an entire landmass held together by our mutual interests and friendship. It prevents conflict, gives us stronger footing with the other nations outside of our alliance.”

The boy nodded quietly, hands knitted together in his lap.

“But more than that, each member of the alliance brings a unique benefit,” Godwin said. “Can you tell me what those are?”

The boy looked up quickly before focusing again. “Shamalhajar is mineral rich. They provide resources for our manufacturing, and they have a small but very strong army.”

Godwin nods. He’d always been an attentive boy, listening with care and consideration to his lessons. “What about the others?”

They were harder, he knew, but the boy focused. “Yaaxil’s forested, but they don’t have any strong trade. The forests are protected. But there are medical resources that they do export, and they have a very focused scientific and research industry. There’s value in that. Fleuvia has trade routes. The rivers navigate the continent. They’re important for transportation despite the small population.”

“Well done,” Godwin smiles.

The boy smiles back. “Maybe one day I will be able to go to the summit?”

“Soon,” Godwin answered. “I promise.”

He pushed his chair out and stood, stretching his neck slightly from side to side. “We should get ready to receive our guests. Where’s your mother?”

The boy stood up, already almost to his shoulder. “Sick. Again.”

“I see,” Godwin answered. “Up in her room?” The boy nodded.

Godwin began to walk from his office and the boy followed. “Seems like all the baby does is make her sick.”

“That’s what babies do for a little while,” Godwin answered. “It was the same when she was pregnant with you.”

“Really?” The boy looked up, mouth set in a concerned frown. “Why does she have to be? It doesn’t seem fair…”

Godwin turned the corner to the stairs. “It’s just how it is. Now go find Vakir and tell him I said to get you ready. Alright?”

The boy nodded, heading off down the wide halls of the palace.

Godwin continued up the stairs. This part of the palace was always quieter. The lower levels would be bustling and hurried, everyone preparing for the Summit. The press was sequestered off in their sections, the boardrooms and meals would be undergoing a scrupulous evaluation, rooms for the guests aired and cleaned and pampered. But up here, in the residential area, it always felt quieter, emptier, with the tall cold marble walls of white and black surrounding everything. It had always felt rather like a crypt to him, but he supposed that was more to do with memories than the actual construction, and anyways, it was his palace now, the seat of the throne. It was as it was, and as it always would be.

Even now they didn’t keep much in the way of staff. The SWETA alliance had voted to ban the spuma trade in their lands when it arose eight years ago, so it was only hired help for any of them. There was security of course, all the necessary staff to run the state, but the residential halls were never bustling with the voices of servants. He was told it had been different once, long ago. But when his father’s sickness had taken him, he’d feared treachery and deception from everything and everyone. The servants of the palace had been the first to take the punishment for his illusions.

Godwin remembered as a boy walking up these very stairs, stopping to stare as a pool of red slowly slipped down the steps one at a time. The servant girl had still been draped over the marble, her neck the wrong direction, like a twisted toy. The puddle on the step below her had grown, one drip at a time, the sound of the rhythmically falling liquid echoing across the hollow marble belly of the palace.

He stepped easily up the stairs towards the royal chambers. The palace was cool. Even in the winter he liked to keep several windows ajar. The air had been stale enough to choke on when he was a boy, the smell of it spread thick and heavy over his memories, dripping down and filling in the gaps of all of them. He still hated the sense of being sealed in some protective case, and he liked the smell of the city as it drifted through the halls.

At the top of the stairs he stopped, folding his hands behind his back and looking out over the capital. There was a haze clinging to the towering buildings, floating white against the stark black  lines. Beyond the hard shapes of the city lay the sea, vast and dark against the grey of the day. The occasional red and white light flashed from the ships, always flowing in and out, heavy with goods; steel, timber, anything to manufacture, and wealth.

The widow at the top of the stairs was huge and circular. There had been a time when he had to stretch to see through it, reaching up to the tips of his toes with his brother next to him. He’d always seemed so afraid looking out over the city.

He’d seemed afraid the last time Godwin had seen him as well, face sharp through the static scattered image on a television screen, staring at him, at the world, at who knew what else. His face had been still as stone. But not his eyes. His eyes had still been so afraid. Just as they always had been.

Maybe he had finally stopped being afraid that night. Godwin hoped so. Fear seemed to be a terrible thing.

“Godwin? Is that you?” A voice called from one of the chambers.

He turned, heading in the direction it had come from. “Yes.”

He pushed open the door to his wife’s room. It felt warmer than the rest of the palace, as it always did. And there were always flowers, no matter what time of year. He liked it in her room. It felt light and free, he liked it for all the reasons he liked her.

There was a rustling from the bathroom and Sarai stepped out, leaning heavy and exhausted against the doorframe. She looked at him with a weary smile, eyebrows sharp and clever, skin still somehow sun-kissed from her home, freckled and fresh and so different from the smooth marble of his own. She’d always looked like she had grown from the earth, raised in the sunlight with soil under her bare feet. He knew he wasn’t like that. He and his siblings had always looked more like things carved by a pernicious artist who thought sunlight was merely something that spoiled furniture. Godwin looked like he’d been designed to be framed, and she was quite the opposite. Even her portrait hanging in the main hall didn’t seem quite right, like she shouldn’t be contained in something as material as canvas and oil.

She was wearing a simple light cotton slip, feet bare, hair loose. She tossed the dirty blonde waves to one side with a sigh. “Why did we do this again?”

Godwin smiled. “I think we liked the results of the first attempt. Might as well try another.”

“Stupid thought,” Sarai teased. She crossed the room, collapsing into the white softness of her bed. Godwin sat in a chair opposite, slipping one leg over the other.

“They here yet?” Sarai asked, holding a hand over her already rounded stomach. She was all skin and cotton, legs free and long, one breast slipped free from her slip. “I suppose not, or else you’d be down there.”

Godwin hummed affirmatively. “Jozef said you weren’t feeling well.”

She laughed light and open. “He’s so concerned. So serious already; just like you.”

“I’m not all that serious.”

Sarai raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Fine maybe I am,” he conceded. “But there’s not too much wrong with serious.”

“Everything in moderation.” Sarai smiled. She sighed, running a hand over her stomach. “I think it’s a girl you know. I used to always be able to guess when it was horses.”

“Are you still unwell?” He asked.

“No, it’s alright, it’s mostly passed. But I don’t think I’ll come down right away when they arrive. They’ll understand. I’ll join you for lunch.”

Godwin nodded. “Of course.”

“Godwin,” she began suddenly.

“Yes?”

She sat up better, pushing a few pillows behind her back to hold her posture properly. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?”

She seemed worried, a small line forming on her forehead. “We don’t have to decide now, we can discuss it more later.”

“What is it?” He asked.

“I’d like to go home, for a visit, for Eammon.”

He had guessed that was what she might say. It was simple enough, and it honestly did not trouble him. He just had to make sure he responded appropriately.

“I see,” he said.

“He’s getting married, like everyone else this year it seems,” she began. “To the girl from the mountains, you know, and he’s such a mess. He’s never managed at all with girls.”

“Funny, I thought that was genetic,” Godwin smiled.

She smiled back, “Apparently he’s not that lucky.”

“So, you want to go for the wedding? It’s in the fall, isn’t it?”

“That’s the thing,” she sits up better, focusing her bright brown eyes on his. “I’d like to go now. In a few months who knows how ready I’ll be to travel. I don’t want to take any risks.” Her hand rested over her stomach.

“Ah,” Godwin said. “Soon then?”

“In a few weeks ideally,” she said. “I’d like to get there around when this princess does, be there for him.”

“I understand.”

“And,” she hesitated. “I’d like to bring Jozef. He hasn’t seen my family since he was little, and now that he’s growing up, I just don’t want him to be separated from his culture. We’re a part of him as well.”

“Of course,” Godwin smiled. “He should go. You should. Both of you.”

Her face instantly lightened. “Really? I don’t want to leave you here alone, I know it’s been hellish with all this new traffic in the ports, and all these marriages coming down the line, and Gloriaterra and the rest of it…”

“It’s fine,” Godwin says. “Honestly. I’m sure I’ve been a bore with all that nonsense and I’ll only continue to be. Go. See your family.”

She smiled warmly at him. “I love you.”

He smiled back. “I love you.” He stood. “Now I should go down. You’ve slipped out of your dress by the way.”

“Oh,” she glanced down, easily adjusting her strap so her breast slid back under the cotton. “Thanks.” She never noticed those things.

“I’ll see you at lunch, then?” He asked, stopping at the door.

She waved. “See you.”

The press cameras were flashing as the wide doors opened and his guests made their way in. Security lined the doors, glancing around the perimeters and muttering to their earpieces. Apparently it had started raining; umbrellas pushed through the door, shaking and sounding as they were squeezed into thinner shapes.

Ien met him first. “It’s fucking cold. How do you stand it?”

“Ignore him Godwin,” Sabella’s voice called. “He’s been complaining half way across town.”

Godwin met them with a smile. Ien stepped forward, grasping his hand firmly. Under his fingers Godwin could feel the blisters and rough patches left by weapons from decades of fighting. Drifting from him was the smell of sand and heat, rocks ripped bare by howling winds.

Ien was dressed in layers of soft woven hemp, sandy tones slashed with colors of maroon and indigo. His golden eyes glanced all around him as they always did, quick and sharp. He looked rather like a hawk that someone had dunked in water, light brown hair was rumpled and askew, expression petulant and vexed. But he moved easily, fighter’s limbs carrying him with grace across the palace floors. He was shorter than Godwin by a good four inches but somehow he always seemed to be the tallest in the room.

Sabella created a more composed picture. The season was something they shared, even though she was just north, the rains and the winters were always similar. She stood straight and tall, her elegant and simple cut layers of clothing easily falling from her limbs. She wore a deep neck, exposing her sternum fully and proudly, symbolically he knew, bearing her heart to her allies and their people. He always felt unusually rigid when he was with them: Ien moving quick and smooth as the wind and Sabella flowing like water.

“Where’s Schoren?” He asked.

On cue the last of their party walked through the doorway. The cameras flashed eagerly. It was rare to see him outside of the borders of his own country and press coverage inside of Yaaxil was limited. He was dressed simpler than the others, black hair pushed out of his face and held there with a woven headband. His face was sharp, carved and lithe as the rest of him. His narrow eyes edged with green smiled as he stepped up to him. They all returned it friendly, respectful. They did not pass more greeting than that. Schoren had always been mute.

“Well, shall we?” Godwin gestured into the halls.

“Plenty to discuss,” Sabella said, leading the way.

“Understatement,” Ien huffed.

By the time they reached the conference room they were alone. It was laid out with some refreshments and simple flowers set on the table. There were several folders with notes, figures and reference points regarding the operations of the alliance. There was a large monitor on the opposite wall, prepared for display.

Ien collapsed into the nearest chair, instantly grabbing some water. Sabella settled next to Godwin. Schoren sat across the table, knitting his long fingers simply in his lap and glancing at the monitor.   

“How’s Sarai?” Sabella asked.

“Fine. She’s a little unwell this morning, but she said she’d meet us for lunch,” Godwin answered.

“Good,” Sabella smiled. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen her. She must be due soon.”

“Not too soon, six months or so.” He realized then that she would likely give birth at her home if she left as she’d asked. He wondered if he should have taken more issue with that. But the moment was passed now, no point in concerning himself over it.

He slid a paper onto the table, glancing it over. “Now, first on the agenda—”

Ien sighed loudly across the table.

“First on the agenda,” Godwin repeated eyeing him sternly.

“Come on, Godwin,” Ien began. “We see what’s first, economics, and honestly there’s not much more to say besides well done you, and all the best, is there?”

Godwin smiled dryly. “I think there’s a good deal more to say, but thank you.”

“It’s all well and fine for you,” Ien continued. “Both of you,” he gestured to Godwin and Schoren. “You don’t have to worry about any damned marriages.”

“Are you suggesting we move onto item three? Approaching nuptials?”

“Yes.”

“Seconded,” Sabella sighed.

Godwin glanced at Schoren and he nodded quietly.

“Well then, consider us moved on.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Ien said, elbows leaning sharp on the table under him.

“What do you mean ‘do about it?’ There’s nothing to ‘do about it’.” Godwin answered. “The arrangements have already been made.”

“I don’t see why we have to listen to what some hooded figures out on some rock in the middle of the ocean have to say,” Ien continued.

“Well, there’s a few reasons,” Godwin sighed. “One, the Graces are not entirely responsible, after all the Divine Order was signed ten years ago by representatives of all our nations, giving the Graces the right to make arrangements that the Blood remains strong throughout the years. And two, even if it was the Graces, they’ve kept the peace between the nations for over a thousand years so we might as well endue them with some trust.”

“Some peace,” Ien scoffed. “Have you seen Gloriaterra lately?”

“That wasn’t the Graces,” Sabella said. “It was terrorism, and it was an attack against all of us, the Graces included.”

Godwin could feel Schoren’s quiet stare against him. He did not meet it.

“I still say it’s not fair,” Ien continued firmly. “Godwin actually got to sign the damned pact, and he was already engaged. And now it’s ten years later and Sabella and I have to open our gates to strangers who, for all we know, are poised to poison our nations from the inside out.”

Schoren nodded quietly in agreement.

“It’s true Godwin,” Sabella continued. “You know it is. Noxmilitas and Kakos represent a powerful and dangerous alliance. They’ve stood against us in almost everything and now we have to open our doors to them?”

“Did you know, ten years ago, signing that pact, that this is what would come out of it?” Ien asked.

“No,” Godwin shook his head. “Of course I didn’t. None of us knew exactly how things would play out over the years, but we knew we had to do something. Kings and Queens were dying. Galit had been dragged into the sea and nearly all it’s royals along with it. Thrones were being left to children. I was hardly seventeen when I signed that agreement.”

Ien dropped his eyes to the water on his hand, letting his fingers trace the cool of the glass. “I know Godwin, and I’m sorry. I am. But this is dangerous. There’s no denying that.”

“I’m not denying it,” Godwin answered. “I can’t.”

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t have been left to it on our own,” Ien continues. “Schoren married your sister, and we all love Hillane. It’s only strengthened us, and we could have just gone on like that. Talya could have married you instead of that flowery annoyance. I could have married Maribol. And Sabella could have married your brother. And we’d all still be here. Strong and together.”

“I’m more than happy with Sarai,” Godwin continued. “And as much as you hate it you know Talya’s quite content with Armand. Sabella’s sister is more than happy in Luminata with her ocean boy, and you know well enough that my brother isn’t well enough to marry anyone.”

Ien rolled his eyes as if he did know it all well enough but still wished it weren’t so.

“I wish we could see Garette,” Sabella said, eyes honest and bright. “I understand he’s not well, but it’s been so long.”

Godwin focused on the table under his hands. “I wish you could as well, but trust me when I say it wouldn’t do him any good. He’s best where he is.”

He did meet Schoren’s eyes this time and Schoren held his gaze. Quiet, humble, and far from afraid, but sad in a way Godwin could never understand.

“Let’s look at this properly, shall we,” Godwin continued, taking control of the monitor. He pulled the first set onto the screen, complete with a photo to the right.

“Sabella’s set to marry Prince Grier of Kakos in two month’s time.”

Ien frowned at the photo. “He looks like he might eat rocks.”

Schoren smiled, hiding a silent laugh behind his hand.

“Who knows what they get up to over there,” Sabella glowered. “They’re flesh traders, all of them. It’s disgusting. His brother tried to send me a spuma as an engagement gift. The poor girl couldn’t have been more than seven.”

“Flesh and lies,” Ien glared at the screen. “It’s all they do. There’s no grace to them, no anything. Have you seen them in the press? The egos! That Xavian’s on full display, half naked across every cover nearly every single week, laid out like meat for the masses.”

“She won’t be anymore, not in the Frosthills,” Godwin noted.

Sabella smiled. “I would love to see that.”

“The truth is,” Godwin continued, “Grier’s his brother’s dog. He bites when he’s ordered to and doesn’t let go until he’s told. He’s violent. But he’s simple. Simple is easy to handle.”

“And what if his brother sends word to cut Sab’s neck in the middle of the night?” Ien asks.

“Sabella will just have to be careful not to leave too many knives in the bedroom.”

“You can joke,” Sabella said. “But you never know. Although I’d be more worried if I were you.” She said to Ien.

“Don’t remind me,” Ien answered.

Godwin flicked the screen. “Princess Xoana Gurutzeta Molora of Noxmilitas, marriage arranged to Ien eu Saban of Shamalhajar in four months time.”

“Speaking of knives in the bedroom,” Sabella teased.

“We’d all do well to remember that Xoana is not her sister.”

“But she still has a sister, and she’s a walking nightmare,” Ien added.

“Yanna’s a strong ruler. And as long as she stays on her side of the ocean we shouldn’t have any problems,” Godwin answered.

“Who’s to say this isn’t the first step on this side of the ocean?” Ien asked. “She drives her sister into my land, has Max’s dog to the south, and together they open just enough doors to let Noxmilitas in. Yanna’s as land starved as her Grandfather, only twice as vicious. She doesn’t stop if she wants something.”

Sabella shook her head. “She’s a wretched woman. Her and Max both, they deserve each other.”

“Talya says Armand hears hardly anything from his sister, and when he does it’s nothing good. Max doesn’t even let her speak to them outside of letters. And when I met Yanna’s husband…” Ien continued. “He’s a walking shell of what he was, nothing but forced smiles and shards of memory. No one should be allowed to break a human being like that. No one.”

“That’s enough,” Godwin breaks in. They silence respectfully. “We know they’re not what we want. No one denies that. But they are coming, and we need to know how we will handle it, because there is no stopping it, not now.”

Ien quieted, leaning back in his chair. Sabella’s mouth was set in a tight line but she didn’t argue. Across the table Schoren watched them all, still, evaluating. He met Godwin’s eye and nodded.

“Good. So let’s get to work.”

It was past midnight when he finally found his way to the office again, but he wasn’t tired, not yet.

It had been a full day, broken only occasionally by meals and family. Jozef had wanted to meet them all again and they’d been more than happy to comply. He’d left only after Ien had made him promised to come to Shamalhajar to learn how to fight properly and Sabella had gotten him blushing with compliments to his height and good looks. Sarai had gone to bed early after dinner, already half the journey home mapped out and planned to start within the next week or so.

The alliance had mapped out the groundwork for a strategy. Defining the scope of control was the most important, ensuring that the various laws of regulation and governing principles left no room for their new spouses to gain any kind of edge in the political system. Next would be the alignments of the military powers, situational evaluations and action plans for all eventualities.

He sat behind his desk, the quiet of the palace heavy and dark all around him, gathering his papers and work together again.

Across the room, something scuttled.

He looked up. There was a mouse standing quite still against the wall. It was just where the noise had been this morning. The scratching behind the layer of plaster and paint.

A voice drifted up from his memories.

“In the walls, Godwin- they’re in the walls.”

The eyes had stared up at him, blue, sharp, terrified. He’d looked so old, even if he’d been hardly forty.

His father had been on the floor, papers strewn, thick damp air clustering all around and smelling of filth.

“They’re coming, the shadows - can’t you hear them? In the walls?”

He’d cowered, curling in on himself, a soft whimpering in his throat. The servant he’d shot two days ago still lay collapsed in the doorway, the smell of flesh and waste mingling with the rot of the food that had fallen around him. He’d been bringing his father lunch. But his father had thought everything poison by then.

The gun had still been on the desk. He hadn’t turned when Godwin had lifted it. He’d simply muttered, hands twitching dumbly against his own arms.

He’d shot him in the back of the head once, crossed the room, and opened one of the windows. It had finally been quiet.

It was just as quiet now. He’d never heard the scratching. He’d thought it was one of his father’s illusions. Now he wondered if this was all it had been. This little mouse, clambering through the walls. But no, that was foolish. It had been ten years since then.

Suddenly the mouse moved again, scuttling behind a short cabinet beside it.

Silently Godwin stood, and carefully he crossed the room. He stood by the cabinet, making sure there was no other way out than where the mouse had snuck in behind it. He stood very carefully, eyes fixed on the opening, and with a sharp motion he jolted the cabinet.

The mouse ran out. He moved quickly, trapping it under his foot. He looked down at it. There was a familiar panic in it’s eyes.

He stepped down quickly, a small crunch breaking the silence for only a moment. It was easy enough. Some things did not change.