As if to make up for this change in fortune, out of the corner of one eye, Zofiya caught sight of activity around the machines. They looked as if they were attempting to maneuver them aft so as to get a good line of sight on the invaders.
“Petav!” Zofiya screamed, while ducking a wild swing by a young guard. Her brother wouldn’t care if he cut down his own troops—that was absolutely certain.
The Deacons, who until now had been keeping back from the fray, stepped forward, and threw back their cloaks. Zofiya wiped blood out of her eyes and watched them. She had to admit, they made an impressive sight. The carvings of the runes on their bodies crackled with silver light, giving them a rather terrifying appearance. More guardsmen, seeing this, dropped to their knees and surrendered then and there.
The soldiers of Arkaym were used to trusting the Deacons of the Order. These ones had not seen one for many months, so their coming must have been extra impressive. Zofiya pushed the surrendered out of her way and strode boldly down the deck toward the huddle of remaining troops. The Deacons followed at her back, silent witnesses to what was coming. Except, they too had their part to play.
The square, squat shape of the machine was indeed being turned in the invaders’ direction, and the muzzles of it were already alight with blue lightning. A man was bent over the controls, his fingers flying over its surface. Zofiya could feel all the hair on her body begin to rise the closer she got to it, and every instinct in her was screaming to run away as fast as possible. Yet, past the machine she could see her brother’s face. No emotion tarnished it, so she copied him.
Just as the machine began to shake and get ready to spit forth its death, the Deacons spoke. Zofiya could not see what they did, but she felt it at her back. It began as a warmth—and then it became a blinding heat. It took all of her strength of will not to turn and look at it.
The flames flowed over her head, not touching a single hair on her Imperial head. They struck the machine instead, and it seemed to absorb the power for a while. By the Bones, she thought in one terrible moment, were the Deacons feeding the terrible thing? Had they turned against her?
She was committed now. The regent kept walking, though to her death or not, she could not have said. The flames went on, pouring against the machine and seeming to disappear within. Then, some sort of maximum containment was reached. The first sign was a slight creak from the machine. The mad Vashill—it felt good to have his name—was howling something at his creation, as if he could somehow urge it on.
It did not want to work however, since the brass casing bulged slightly. That was the only warning the thing gave. Then it burst. Blue flames poured out of it for an instant, and the younger Vashill was set alight like some horrific offering to terrible gods. He screamed and flailed about . . . then running in blind panic, leapt from the airship.
His machine, meanwhile, raged blue for a split second, and then a deeper part of it burst apart further. It made a very curious rumbling noise, as if something was passing from the world—or rather being sucked from it. The huddle of the Court screamed in unison and scattered from the Emperor. They were as loyal as field mice and just as useful.
Only Kaleva and his bride remained. Ezefia did not have much choice in the matter. Now that the crowds had cleared, the regent saw what had been done to her sister-in-law.
Her belly had been slit as well as her throat, and rivers of scarlet stained her white dress and dripped from her fingertips. Now she stared at Zofiya through the blankness of death, slumped on the chair that she had been strapped to. Apparently being pregnant was no protection.
It was this final action that made Zofiya finally see it; there was no coming back from this for her brother. The Kal she had grown up with and protected loyally for so many years would never have done such a thing. Never.
The regent’s jaw tightened. She had wanted to believe she could save him. Zofiya had wanted to have some hope that she could get him back. Now she understood that she had been fooling herself, and people had died because she couldn’t see it.
Her brother was standing behind his dead wife, and his fine white clothes were stained with her blood. A grin rested on his lips, which had once smiled far more beautifully and always seemed ready to laugh.
The Emperor Kaleva was as much a victim of Derodak as the Order of the Eye and the Fist. The Kal she knew had died in the breaking of the Mother Abbey, along with all those Deacons, and the person standing before her wore his skin, but was not him.
If she did nothing, then this would go on, until the whole world was torn apart around them, or until there were no more people in the Empire for him to kill. Everyone was an enemy to him now.
Her hand tightened on her saber and fierce tears threatened to break loose in her eyes, but she understood. She had pledged herself to Arkaym, and that pledge ran deeper and further than even brotherly love. She had a duty.
Behind her the Deacons and the marines waited. She could almost hear them holding their breath, as they waited for her to say or do something. It felt like she was poised on her own blade. Finally, she found the will to do what she had to.
“Kaleva, Brother,” she began in a sad, but strong voice that carried easily across the deck of the
It was a lie. Even if somehow he could be recovered, the Kal she had loved and supported would never be able to bear the guilt of what he had done.
So it was out there now; she was now and forever to be the sister who had taken the crown from her brother. Zofiya imagined the rage and fury her father would go through when he heard of it.
At first she would be regent, then after a short amount of time to satisfy convention, she would be Empress of Arkaym.
Her brother did not look outraged. Instead, he moved from behind the chair, waving his bloody knife idly at her as if lecturing a child. “I know what your plan is, Sister,” he said, his voice cracking now and then. “You’ll tuck me away nice and quietly in a dungeon somewhere, tell all the citizens of the Empire you are so solicitous of my health, and then later in the night you’ll have someone steal in to murder me.” His eyes darted across the troops behind her. “Maybe one of these fine soldiers will do you a favor so that your pretty hands don’t have to get dirty.”
“Kal,” she replied, her gaze following his footsteps, in case he got close enough for her to grapple, “you are my brother, and you are not well. I would never do such a—”
“Then”—the Emperor broke in—“you will put it about that I caught ill or some such and bury me in a hidden grave.” He jabbed his knife in the air for effect. “I know you’ve always wanted my throne.”
At her back, Zofiya heard the crowd shift a little; their Emperor displaying his insanity so openly was unnerving many of them.
Her brother, though, was now completely ignoring them, lost in his own imagined plots and schemes. “All the women in my life have always wanted to take from me.” He darted back behind his wife and laid his head on her shoulder. It was a macabre and disturbing sight. “Ezefia here, she was conspiring with Derodak, that treacherous Deacon, to steal my throne. He even put a child in her belly!” He placed a hand on the bleeding gash just under her breasts, covering his fingers in her still wet blood. “But obviously he did not care for her that much, since he never came back for her as I had hoped he would.”
For just a second, Zofiya’s determination wavered. Kaleva had never been betrayed by anyone in Arkaym, but he could not appreciate that. Ezefia, if she had been unfaithful to him, had not done it willingly. From what Zofiya knew of the Empress’ past, her father had been a true Prince to his people, and though she had always seemed sad, the regent had never detected any falseness in her. Zofiya also knew firsthand that Derodak had ways of manipulating people and bending them to his will. She could only be grateful he had not demanded anything more intimate from her while he had her under his control.
“Now you, Sister,” he said, straightening and fixing her with a slow grin that made her skin crawl, “you want to take what is mine directly. You have always been jealous of my rule. Tell me, how long have you been plotting to take it from me?”
This could not go on. The more he talked, the more poison he was infecting the people around her with— people who she was going to have to rely on in the months to come. That was if there were more months to come.
