Sky of Wind by Emily Deady
Chapter 8
Sol met the gaze of the Iseldan ruler without bowing. This man was not his king.
The sharp edge of the wooden crate poked into his thighs and he shifted his weight so he was partially sitting back and partially standing.
The king himself sat on a wooden chest across from Sol. The princess had arranged for this meeting to take place in an old tower room for the sake of privacy, but Sol instantly appreciated its lack of decorum as well. He was far more comfortable discussing plans in an unused storeroom than a throne room.
He’d been introduced to the other faces in the room—all members of the king’s family—but he kept his attention focused on the man who held the power in the room.
“You have information on King Gareth of Chendas?” the king asked him.
Sol nodded.
“In exchange for what?”
“Swift passage to the Falqri Fort.” Sol did not hesitate to share what he needed. He was already in enemy territory with little time to spare.
“And?” the king pressed further.
“And,” Sol responded, still not breaking the man’s shrewd gaze. “Access to someone who could get me inside the Fort would be appreciated.” No harm in asking if the man was offering.
The king exhaled slowly. “My standing in Falqri has somewhat lessened recently. I take no pride in admitting this pain. I know not whether I can offer this to you as I know not whether me and mine are welcome in a place that Chendas favors greatly.”
The door squeaked open and another prince stepped in. “Sorry, I’m late.” He was breathing heavily.
Aizel, who had been standing supportively at Sol’s side, approached the man and took his hand. “Erich, this is Sol.”
Sol stood fully as she led the newcomer toward him.
Erich extended his hand in welcome.
Sol took in the man’s loud purple doublet, welcoming smile, and guileless eyes. He did not immediately accept the prince’s hand.
“The master diver who taught you how to swim before your skill grew greater than his?” Erich’s words were spoken to Aizel, but he still held his hand out in welcome.
Sol felt the ghost of a smile play across his lips. The prince managed to convey admiration for Aizel, humor for a welcome, and a knowledge of who Sol was in such a simple greeting.
Sol kept his face solemn, but extended his own hand to the prince. “That’s the way we are telling the story now?” Sol said, glancing quickly to Aizel, who shrugged.
“Welcome to Iseldis,” Erich responded. “I look forward to learning much from you.”
Sol nodded, unsure how to respond to such a greeting.
Erich had already turned back toward his father. “Where’s Mum?” he asked.
“Steward Daniel requested her presence quite urgently. She assured me she would join us as soon as she could.”
Spinning fully around, Erich took in the room and leaned back against the chest next to Sol, where Aizel had been a few moments before. She settled in next to him.
“Meena,” King Frederich turned to the daughter at his side. “Would you mind going to look for her?”
The princess crossed her arms. “Yes, in fact. I would mind.”
Shocked at her response, Sol glanced at the king.
“It was worth an attempt,” King Frederich muttered under his breath, seemingly unsurprised.
“You’ll have to try harder than that.” Meena pushed herself from her makeshift chair and came to stand on the other side of Sol.
Sol followed her movement, confused at the moment of family interaction he had just been witness to.
Glancing up at him as she settled herself beside him, Meena must have seen something in his face. “He was trying to get me out of the room before the discussion got too serious,” she whispered, but her voice was loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room.
Sol quickly forced his face back into a neutral expression. He did not have the luxury of showing his thoughts and he flexed his ankle, lightly nudging the chest behind him with the bottom of his foot. He should not have let his guard down. It would not happen again.
His eyes quickly scanned the rest of the room, ensuring no one else saw his earlier expression. It crossed his mind that the two other women in the room—Aizel and a dark-haired seamstress whose name he could not recall—had not been asked to leave the room. It was none of his concern, though. He could not blame the king for wanting to shield his daughter from the horrors of the world. Sol only wished he could shield every child on Istroya from the darkness they had faced at the hands of the Quotidian.
“I do not believe you are my enemy,” King Frederich said, bringing Sol’s attention back to him. “Nor do I clearly understand whom or what I am fighting against. Should you share the information you have knowledge of, I will do my best to aid you in service of the safety of . . .” The king paused for a barely perceptible moment. “Our people.”
Sol glanced to his side, looking past Erich to Aizel. She was the only person in the room he trusted, but so many things about their circumstances had changed even that was shaky ground.
“We stand no chance, and neither do they,” she said quietly. “There is no secret you can share which would worsen our situation.”
Sol inhaled, she’d verbalized his thoughts. Before he looked back at the king, however, he found himself glancing to the other side, to the princess.
She looked back at him. Despite the tense turn of her lips, she looked so young, so untouched by the worries and pains which plagued every other person of his small community. He did not want to be the one who shattered her understanding of the world, but another small part of him reveled in the words he was about to say. Something angry tightened inside him. Anger that his sisters and his mother were never offered the same opportunity for a carefree childhood. That his father was sentenced to seasons of torment for trying to give them a better chance.
Sol finally turned his gaze back to the king. The thoughts swirled through his mind in barely a moment, though he felt them deeply. He inhaled, preparing to speak. If he’d had the ability to shield someone he loved from unnecessary pain, he would do anything to make that possible. Though he might shatter this girl’s world, he would not take pleasure in doing so.
“My people are skilled craftsmen. Under the cruel eye of the Quotidian taskers on Istroya, we have constructed several warships complete with magical additions and properties.”
King Frederich’s face remained passive, but Sol could see the way his eyelids rose slightly and his nostrils flared. “To what end?” he asked.
“Gareth intends to sail the fleet to destroy the shores of Iseldis, and I doubt he means to stop there.”
“My cyphers have heard no tale of this fleet?”
“It is on the eastern shore of the island, hidden from the main port which Gareth tightly controls.”
“Who will be manning this fleet?”
“His own soldiers. He has been amassing an army there for several decades.”
“What of your own people?” King Frederich asked, leaning forward. Sol could see that his forehead was pale, but his cheeks burned red beneath his beard. “They have been forced to build this fleet, and they will be offered the chance to remain on their island home while Gareth sails out to conquer the world?”
Sol bit back the tip of his tongue. He’d hoped to avoid this fact, but King Frederich was too shrewd. “My brothers and sisters will be sent to the front of the attack, to fuel the magic and take the worst of the initial damage.” Sol’s voice was hoarse. He had not spoken so many words all at once in a very long time.
The king leaned back, stabilizing himself with his hands pressing on the chest below him. “And you cannot sway them by turning on these taskers? Would it not be easier to end this fight before it began? Surely there are enough of them to turn the tide.”
Sol scoffed through his nose, pressing a finger into his forehead, which had begun to ache. “Do not humiliate me, king. I am not here begging to be rescued by the distant descendant of the Quotidian who stole this kingdom from my ancestors.”
“It is not my intention to humiliate,” the king responded, his voice deflated. “But I must know what I am facing if I were to lend you my aid.”
The king’s words still stung with condescension, but Sol pushed the man’s ignorance aside.
The princess at Sol’s made a sniffing sound which sounded suspiciously like the scoff Sol had recently made.
He glanced at her quickly. Her brow furrowed in confusion, but she did not seem to notice his gaze as she frowned at her father.
“They hold our families hostage,” Sol responded. “They take our fathers and uncles and even mothers and sisters as well. They send them to work in the eastern port and demand certain requirements from either side of the family under threat of death.”
Sol found himself glancing toward the princess from the corner of his eye.
Her eyes blinked rapidly, and she shook her head, as if disbelieving what she’d heard.
She was not his problem. He returned his attention to her father.
“All that withstanding. My people would sacrifice everything to turn on those who have harmed us. But even if those forced into fighting miraculously turned the tide on the trained Quotidian soldiers, sailors, and mages, which will accompany the fleet, Gareth has devised a tool which keeps the magical power in his own hands.” Sol inhaled.
Before he could continue speaking to the deathly silent room, the door once again squeaked open.
An older woman entered the room. Her dark hair and eyes were so similar to the princess at his side, Sol immediately assumed she must be the queen. She wore a small smile on her face and it contrasted greatly with the shocked expressions of everyone else in the room.
“Aden’s returned,” she said immediately.
Behind her, a tall man with similar features pushed his way into the room, a boyish grin on his face.
“A day early!” The princess jumped up, running forward and throwing herself into her brother’s arms. She was not the first to do so, however, as the eldest prince was already embracing him. Within moments, the other brothers joined in the jovial welcome.
Sol stood. He had no desire to witness or participate in the family’s apparent reunion. He could skirt around the family and let them have this moment in privacy.
The king opposite him stood at the same time. “Stay,” he commanded, lifting a hand. “Please.” He dropped the hand to his side. “This discussion cannot wait.”
Sol nodded and leaned back against the chest, arms crossed.
While the occupants of the room focused on their returning family member, Sol was the only one who noticed a small woman enter the doorway behind him. She stood back from the crowd of hugs, glancing through the rest of the room. She took in Aizel, still standing by Sol, and the seamstress woman, who had remained behind the large table covered in woven fabric and threads. Finally, her eyes also moved to Sol.
Sol looked away first. He was in no position to welcome the stranger to this family.
Extricating herself from the center of her enthusiastic brothers, Meena approached the stranger. Apparently, Sol was not the only person in the room to notice her presence.
“Thank you,” the princess said, her eyes blinking rapidly as she threw her arms over the woman’s shoulders. “Thank you for a way to reverse the curse. It must have taken courage to dare to mess with the magic, but there is no way we can ever repay you!”
“Curse?” Sol whispered to Aizel.
“Aden was cursed by a Quotidian mage and was turned into the form of a beast.”
“Robin could have mentioned that,” Sol muttered. This family had more grief from Gareth than he’d realized.
“Robin?” Aizel asked. “You know Robin?”
“She’s been my correspondent here for several seasons,” Sol replied, his eyes continued to watch the activity in the room. He was uncomfortable with the uninhibited exuberance of so many people at once. “She met me briefly last night to aid in escaping the soldiers.”
“She played a part in rescuing Erich and Celesta as well.”
“She also could have mentioned that,” Erich muttered. He thought it odd that she had rescued one of the princes but remained unwelcome in Iseldis. Something was not right.
“She’s far too modest about her work,” Aizel said, responding to Erich’s spoken thought. “Rather similar to someone else I know.” Aizel poked his arm.
“More skilled than the master who taught her how to swim?” Sol risked a wry smile at Aizel. “Perhaps you could learn something from the leaders of the River’s Talon and River’s Thorn.”
“Not so humble anymore, are we?” Aizel responded.
Sol turned away. He needed to focus on getting out of here and getting to Falqri instead of letting this family’s infectious joy get to him.
“I’m Meena, by the way. If Aden told you my name was Philomena, don’t listen to him. Let me introduce you to others.” The princess led the stranger into the room, stopping first at the seamstress’s table. “Ashlin, this is Isa. Isa, this is Ashlin.”
Ashlin. That was her name.
“Now that I finally have sisters instead of just brothers,” the princess continued, pulling Isa toward Sol and Aizel. “I’ve decided that sisters are my favorite. Technically, Aizel is the only one who is really my sister, since she and Erich got married before the family had even met her, but I’ve decided Ashlin will always be my sister now, too. And Celesta, even though she’s Aizel’s younger sister. This is Aizel.” The princess finally stopped talking to catch her breath.
Isa smiled at Aizel, and her eyes moved to Sol, waiting for the introduction.
“Oh, no. You and Aden didn’t get married before you arrived, did you? Not that it would be a problem, because I can tell we are going to be great friends and hopefully sisters, too, but I was just poking fun at Erich and Aizel, I didn’t mean to offend you if you’d already done the same thing.”
Isa turned back to the princess. “No, Aden and I have not yet chosen to wed one another.”
“I certainly hope you do decide to do so,” Meena responded, raising her eyebrows.
Isa laughed at that. Her laugh was clear, but not derisive. “I certainly hope we do, too.” She turned back to Sol.
“This is Sol,” the princess said. She paused, and Sol noticed her face was slightly flushed. Meena looked at him with an awkward smile, then dropped her eyes to the floor.
Sol appreciated that she did not reveal his identity as a magic-wielder, though her awkward expression surely gave something away.
“You broke a curse?” he asked Isa.
“I did,” she responded slowly.
“You are Majis?” he asked.
“I am not,” she responded. She turned to look toward the door, her eyes scanning the group that still surrounded the man she entered with.
“But you understand how to wield magic?” he asked.
“I do not.” She turned to Meena. “Who is this?”
“He is . . .” Meena looked to Sol.
“I am a friend of Aizel’s,” he started vaguely. “A Majis from Istroya.” This entire family knew his identity now, it was better to claim it with pride while he had the rare chance.
Isa’s face transformed from aloof to excited. “Can you explain how I cured the curse, then? Am I Majis?” she asked.
“Yes,” Sol responded. “And no. Anyone can harness the magic of harmony—or chaos—but that does not make them a Majis.”
Only when the room fell completely silent did Sol realize everyone had heard his final statement.
“Anyone can harness the magic of harmony and chaos?” Meena repeated.
“Yes,” Sol confirmed. These people truly were ignorant.
“Is everything I ever knew an untruth?” the princess sank down onto a small box, her eyes wide with shock.
“What did you think the Quotidian soldiers were?” Sol asked, looking around the room.
“Majis who hated other Majis?” Onric proffered.
“Erich?” Aizel spoke to her husband across the room. “Did you not understand what the Quotidian meant?”
Erich shook his head, biting his lower lip and tensing his neck in a way that made the veins of it visible. “I thought they were magic abusers who used chaos.” He walked toward her. “At least that is what I inferred from the explanations you’ve given.”
Aizel’s face relaxed. “No, that is true,” she said. “But you didn’t know that magic is accessible to everyone?”
Erich shook his head again, this time less embarrassed. “I did not realize that.”
“What does the word ‘Majis’ mean, then?” Aden asked. “We’ve always associated it with magic-wielder.”
“The Majis are descendants of the Kerev, the tenders of Iseldis who were driven out one thousand seasons ago by wielders of chaos magic.”
“Can you teach us to wield magic?” Ian asked. “So we can defend ourselves?”
Sol leaned back. “Can Aizel share a skill which has been perfected over centuries to hundreds of your people in a few weeks’ time?” He crossed his arms. “No. She cannot. This harmony with magic is not a shield one can throw up at the last second.”
“What are you going to be doing?” Aizel asked.
“I’m going to destroy it,” Sol responded.
Aizel’s eyes opened wide. “No, Sol. No. It’s impossible.”
“It’s our only chance,” Sol replied.
“It’s not even a chance.” Aizel raised her voice. “It’s a fool’s errand.”
Sol felt the king’s gaze resting heavily on him. The older man was quietly, yet firmly, waiting for an explanation. “Even if the Majis find a way to outwit Gareth’s soldiers and fight them with magic, the scale has already been tipped. Since the beginning of the exile, Quotidian taskers have chosen certain Majis to fuel a battery of reserve magic. We cannot begin to fathom the store of power it has reserved.”
“Fuel a battery?” The seamstress spoke for the first time. “With chaos magic? Through tormenting innocent Majis?” Her face twisted in horror.
Sol nodded. “This battery could likely fuel any attack Gareth wished to make several times over.”
“And you will destroy it?” King Frederich asked. “How?”
“With whatever it takes.”