you how I know this, but it is a certainty. I am, in part, responsible for it. Both you and the queen are quite dead. It’s only a matter of weeks until your bodies realize it.
As for the people of empire, they have been addicted once again to a distillation of the mist that will kill them when they are denied it. It’s in the wine, you see. The very vintage they have been toasting you with. This was the queen’s doing, though she did not know the deadliness of it. If ever you hated and despised the league and thought us treacherous villains, well, then let that ire rise in you again now. Accept that what I say is the truth.
Why do I tell you this? I thought it important that you know, and I’ve come to believe that your death is unfortunately timed. I believe that you are a decent man, and that you and the queen want, in your peculiar way, what is best for the empire. I acknowledge that it may only be the queen who can save the Known World from destruction. That is why I’ve made this admission.
Aliver, please encourage Corinn to be quick in finding a way to defeat the Santoth. Neither of you have much time. If you love your nation, be quick. If you are, it’s possible the league will continue to supply the vintage, thereby keeping the empire alive.
Yours fondly,
Sire Dagon of the League of Vessels
A liver still sat there on the balcony some time later. The coming day was clearly visible in the east now. The oil in the torch beside him had burned low. The flame wavered now, sending up more black smoke than before. He had been watching the changing appearance of the ships in the harbor. As the light increased, the patchwork of vessels looked more and more like a ragged scab on the skin of the ocean. It was smaller than it had been the day before, fraying around the edges.
People are leaving, he thought. I cannot blame them for that.
He opened the note again. Thinking he had it backward, he flipped the page over. There was nothing there. He held it to the uncertain light of the torch. He could just make out the tracing of the words that had once been there. Even as he watched, they faded further. Right before his eyes, they vanished completely.
For a long moment Aliver entertained the possibility that the paper had always been blank. He had imagined the words he read. Wouldn’t that make more sense than that they were true? As soon as he raised his eyes and saw the sun had just broken from the horizon, he let that idea go. Fading ink. That’s all it was. The words may have disappeared, but they had been chiseled in his consciousness and remained with him.
“Uncle?”
Turning, he saw Aaden. The boy had stopped some distance away, near a torch that lit him in rippling orange waves. Shadows-his maids, guards-hung behind him. “Is it all destroyed?” His voice edged away from its usual calm. He captured the pitch of it, but it was tremulous, ready to turn.
“No, Aaden,” Aliver began, but he could not find the words to continue.
The boy moved forward, slowly. “I had a dream once. I told Mother. I said, ‘I had a dream that the world ended.’ She said that was silly. That it could never happen. But I knew it could. Do you know why? Because in the dream she died. She died, and the moment she did, the world did as well. I was left, but the world had ended. That’s what I meant, but she didn’t ask me. She never asked me about it. Maybe she never will now. Is that the truth?”
Aliver closed the space between them. He gripped Aaden to his chest, thankful that the boy had not witnessed most of what happened in the Carmelia, and relieved that he would never be able to read the words of Dagon’s note. Those were things to be grateful for. Corinn had whispered a spell that spirited him away at the first sign of trouble. One moment he was there; the next he was gone. “She loves you,” he said. “She loves you. She took care of you first. That’s the truth.”
Aaden shifted against him, trying to break the embrace. Aliver kept his arms knotted, wanting to hold him like that forever, to keep him a child forever, to protect him from a world that constantly made a mockery of those who struggled to live in it. If somebody had just held him forever when he was a child. Just held him and never let life twist on…
“Where’s Mother?” the boy asked, his words muffled. “What happened to her? Nobody will tell me. It’s something bad. I know that already. I know what happened with the Santoth. I know they killed people and want The Song of Elenet. I heard that already, but nobody will tell me anything about my mother.”
“You’ll see her soon.”
“I want to see her now!” Aaden writhed. He shoved his uncle back, slapping his arms and chest in sudden fury. Aliver took the blows without flinching, trying to soothe him by being there to be scratched and hit. He spoke nonsense, just sounds, just meaningless words. He tried to bring Aaden back into his embrace.
Tearing away, Aaden glared at his uncle. He had never looked more savage. His features twisted with anger, wrung through with the fatigue of fear. “She’s dead!” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “She’s dead and you won’t tell me!”
“No. No, she’s not. I swear it.”
“Why won’t you let me see her, then?”
“You will, Aaden. Give her time. I’m not stopping you. She just needs a little time to herself.” Ah, but that sounded daft! Insulting. Simple. It sounded just as stupid as the things adults had said to him after his father had been stabbed by Thasren Mein. Just as vapid and untrue. “Something happened,” he said quickly. “I don’t know what, Aaden. She fought with the Santoth and something happened. She is here, though, in the palace. She walked here on her own two feet. She went to her quarters. That’s all I know, Aaden. Please, let’s wait together. Let’s find out more together.”
The boy kept the glare on his features, turning it down just slightly. “Stop squeezing me like I’m a baby. Treat me like an adult. Like a prince.”
Aliver let his arms drop. Like a prince…
“Will you stop?”
“Yes.”
Aaden studied him a moment, skeptical, and then said, his tone growing surer, “If she’s not dead, stop acting like she is. Whatever has happened, she’ll fix it.”
He did not say it, but Aliver thought certainty such as that marked the boy as yet a child. He had never found certainty to be a hallmark of wisdom. Let him have certainty, though. For as long as he can carry it. “If anyone can,” he said, “your mother can.”
Rhrenna emerged out of the shadows. Though she wore the same garment as at the coronation, the sparkle that had danced around her was gone. She looked tense, frail, as if her sharp features might shatter if there was too loud a noise. Aliver remembered the infatuation he felt for her before the ceremony. Where had that gone?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“Does Corinn want us?”
“No, she still hasn’t spoken to anyone. She won’t answer my knocking. I don’t know what she’s doing in there.” She glanced at Aaden. Hesitated. “I’m sure, though, that she’s fine. She was strong enough to push out her guards.”
“Don’t comfort me like a child,” Aaden said. “I am a prince!”
Rhrenna wilted a little but kept her chin high and spoke. “I know that, Your Highness.”
“I know that bad things happen,” Aaden said. He looked sulky for a moment, and then added, “I know that much is expected of me. Mother told me so. I know it already. Stop, both of you, acting like I’m weak. Make me strong, instead.”
“I will,” Aliver said, “if you help me. Rhrenna, what have you come for, then?”
“The priestess of Vada sent a messenger. They consider the ceremony to be complete. You are the king.”
“I don’t feel like one,” was Aliver’s flat response. “Anything else?”
“The council wants you back. More senators have joined them. They say there is still more to discuss.”
“I’ve talked with them enough. They’re just going in circles. Let them talk to themselves if they want to keep at it. I’ll wait for Corinn. We go no further without her. Tell them that.”
Rhrenna nodded. “They’re asking after her. What would you have me tell them?”
“To wait. Tell them I’m working with her. Tell them to look toward tomorrow and plan what they can. We still have the Auldek to consider. Remind them not to forget that.”
Aaden cleared his throat. “You can’t put everything off until tomorrow. Whatever is wrong with Mother, we
