The Undying Emperor [Grand Conquest Fantasy]

Lucius returned to the capital aboard a somber ship. Of the sailors that had joined him upon the isle, only one survived but he had seen little and his accounting proved incoherent. Lucius calmly asserted that only the monks had been on the island, driven mad, and now they were no more. They held burial rites at sea, without recovering the bodies for fear of being touched by the isle's madness themselves.

In due course, Lucius returned and delivered the relic blade to Acheliah. He swaddled the weapon in canvas, bulking it up to appear as a cannon. This drew some interest from the dock workers, but hardly as much as the true weapon would have. Even the wagon driver he hired didn't know what it was. The man likely went to his grave never knowing he had handled one of the deadliest weapons to ever be crafted in this world.

The palace guards had been told to expect Lucius' return and they escorted him to one of the private training grounds where the princess was taking a dueling lesson. She had no talent for the blade. The act was for amusement, and the old swordmaster treated the process like a form of retirement. Acheliah sat upon the railing of a balcony overlooking the grounds. She spread her wings and floated down when Lucius trudged in with the weapon heaped upon his shoulder. She smiled at Lucius, eyes fixed upon the relic, and suggested that Kassie check in with her soon-to-be-sister.

The trainer slowly bowed himself out of the room, but noticed the metal clang when the reaping blade was set upon the floor. Acheliah had to restrain herself from ripping it open, waiting until after the princess had demonstrated her etiquette. When they were alone, then she pulled the weapon free and twirled it in her grasp. For Lucius, it was a frightening reminder that the angel's strength was of magic and not of flesh. Despite being slimmer than Lupa, the angel could have grappled a troll to submission.

Then the hooked edge was around Lucius' throat, shaving the hairs from his neck. "Aren't you afraid of this?"

"Wary," he said, allowing his neck to bend with the pressure.

She pouted. "Not afraid?"

"I fear that people will be stupid, that the lives of my family will be endangered. Me being dead would nearly guarantee the same for them, so I am wary of getting killed, difficult as that is to accomplish."

The angel didn't remove the weapon. "I'm surprised you handed this over. In truth, I thought you'd try to kill me with it."

He laughed. "What kind of fool makes a weapon that can kill them?"

"The kind that work in the academy, playing the role of creator gods."

He grimaced. "Not all of them are fools."

"Oh? Do you fancy one of them as well?"

"You want to know why I didn't try to kill you?" he asked, voice firm. "It's because Amurabi is insane with rage(1). When my friend died, fighting, he didn't even bat an eye. He didn't even give me time to grieve. He just threw me into another fight. He's less human than you are and frankly, I wish you luck killing him."

Then she did remove the weapon from him. "And I suppose that if I fail to cut his throat, then my precious weapon will return to you regardless, won't it?"

His smile was wry. "Most likely."

"Come," she ordered, and led him from the training ground. They traversed the palace, taking halls devoid of servants where dust collected upon every surface. She took him to an old part of the palace, a temple built long before the rest of the structure where the stones were roughly hewn and held together more by history than mortar. It was a private shrine, where one's words would echo back to them alone and no others. The angel sat upon the shrine's altar and faced him. "What happened to the real Lucius von Solhart?"

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"He was killed at the start of the Canta rebellion."

"Your wife's brother, yes? Why do you have the same face? If not the snivelling mannerisms."

"Vita came back. I helped restore her vitality and in payment she adjusted my face. It was all part of the plan."

Acheliah's eyes widened. "So that's why that northman… is she with the wizard?"

"Perhaps, but he is biding his time, whereas she ventures to the gods."

"Impossible."

"Unlikely, but she is trying nonetheless."

She sighed and silence held between them as the angel's posture relaxed. When she spoke again, her voice had lost any emotional tone. "I put the crown on the king's head in order to root out the violence in my kingdom. He has been hard at work seeking any trace of foreign influence but has found only the weakest of traces. Traders have been smuggling people out of the kingdom, or attempting to fabricate identities. Bankers have attempted to exchange their stocks of currency, and those that do have the king's coin refuse to hand it over. One woman took her own life the day her vault was raided and found to be entirely empty. These should be but trifling things and yet the violence grows."

"Are you asking for my opinion on the matter?"

"As much as I hate to admit it, I would have asked the wizard for his opinion before his betrayal. I assume he educated you in his way of thinking. That is what I would like to know."

"Of course," Lucius said. "There likely isn't any foreign interference, my lady. I made much the same points when I dueled Jules Feugard. The issue is that the legitimacy of the nobility has degraded. Or, should I say, the apparent legitimacy. Just a few generations ago, there was three times as many nobles in the land. The male heirs competed with one another to prove their worth in matters of military prowess, or economic. The great companies were headed by direct descendents who could trace their lineage back to the first king. Now, they are still owned in name by the noble houses, but they don't bother to lead. They can't. No one could deftly lead half a dozen such organizations at once. People of the lower classes have taken de facto control so slowly that hardly anyone noticed. The aristocracy has become a small parasite class, too soft to lead and not deserving of the wealth handed over to them. As I see it, the Late King Charles needed to be ten years younger, perhaps twenty. He was a genius of a sort, but without the time. The inventions he instigated will change the world but I think he will only be remembered for the cannon. So, the crown will become a symbol of violence. It has become despised."

"Oh? And how would you rectify this?"

He grinned in that way unique to young men. "Tell the king, and every other nobleman, to take many wives and love them greatly."

She scowled, but her frustration was not for him. "Fredrich won't even set a date to wed his fiancee. He's allowed himself to be seduced, by the daughter of one of his guards no less."

"Can she be trusted?" Lucius asked, his hand going to his blade.

She waved her hand. "They've known each other since she could barely walk. The only reason I haven't pried them apart is because he trusts her. She's one of the few people he doesn't have to second guess."

Lucius wanted dearly to ask of the Ashe girl. It is the way of women to foster jealousy in such a situation, but his imagination fancied that she was using the girl to keep distance between herself and the king. But I had taught him well that such a question would be to invite an attack upon his weakness, so he calmed himself and asked, "What of the prince? I have not heard of him since the coup. He didn't strike me as a man to lose his spirit."

Acheliah's eyes narrowed. "He left. We don't know where he is now. I know only that he is alive, somewhere in the south. If we find a trail for you to sniff, dog, that might be your next task. I have no further questions for you. When you hear from your master, I expect you to send word," she said, tracing her fingers across her reaping blade.

For all the millennium of my existence, I can count on one hand the amount of times I could fairly be described as insane. Wrathful, however, is undeniable.