In the House of Five Dragons
14. The Golden Throne
“King Castum Tychon ascended his father’s throne at the age of twenty-eight and ruled Carce for only four years before word of another war between Nian and Lyncea spurred him to action. He vowed to build an empire of the fifty nations and to put an end to the ceaseless bickering and bloodshed.”
— From Accounts of Njorn Pass, by Alexander Ferro
“All rise!” boomed the herald. He was a small man with very little hair left — on his head, at least, though his arms would have made a bear jealous — but his voice was rich and filled the Lyceum chamber. “All rise for his highest and exalted Imperial Majesty, Emperor Castum Orastus Tychon.”
Preceded and followed by an armed procession of VEIL knights in star-branded black armor, the master of the known world strode across the domed Lyceum chamber. He was wrapped in a longer and more extensively draped tabba than the common folk he ruled or even the Lyceum consuls that shared some part of his power. Emperor Tychon wore his silvery white hair short and oiled smooth in the style of older Carcaen gentlemen. A large blue sapphire — mined from deep under the mountains of Fiore — glittered in a circlet of gleaming platinum. The emperor’s face was as folded as his tabba, lined by years and the weight of his golden throne.
But what could a man like Castum Tychon have to worry about? Gaius wondered.
But he rose along with the other consuls and applauded. The emperor did not often emerge from his palace. When he did, it was always cause for attention.
Emperor Tychon climbed the stairs of the alabaster dais and seated himself in his tall golden throne. The dark-armored guards took up positions behind him — two rows of stern faces, sharp swords and shining fingercaps. The imperial herald stumped along behind, clearing his throat, but had no other announcements for the moment. The consuls sat once more, but the air of the Lyceum remained restless. Emperor Tychon waited for silence.
“All Dormaen is afire with curiosity,” he said when the noise subsided. The emperor’s voice lacked the resonance of his herald, but it was still strong. “They say that Rikard Mazrem has returned, untouched by the years and still bearing the wounds of his battle in Njorn Pass. We must know the truth of this. Has Carce’s most beloved son come home? Who can speak to this strange and startling news?”
Gaius sat with the other VEIL consuls, all of them the highest ranked members of their order, generals of the three courts. On Gaius’ left, General Hern sat still and silent on the hard marble bench, just as Lady Mazrem said he would.
Though his rank was the greater between the two, Hern was general only of the smallest of the three VEIL courts. The Moon Court held the middle rank once, below Sun but above Star, but since Rikard Mazrem’s heroic sacrifice, the Star Court had risen to prominence. Hern was only here because he was a VEIL general. Gaius Mazrem, on the other hand, held his seat at the express appointment of Emperor Tychon.
Thin, long-nosed Cadmus Castor of the Sun Court narrowed his eyes. General Castor was too canny and observant a man not to have heard the rumors of Captain Mazrem’s return. But he was stubborn, too, and proud. Before the pronouncement of victory in Fiore, the Sun Court ruled over the other two and served as the emperor’s own guard. Now, that honor belonged to the Star Court.
Gaius’ own commander, General Darius, turned to look back over his shoulder. Saul Darius was a round man, twelve years older than Gaius. He was not a talented leader or a skilled fighter, but had served under Captain Mazrem as the great hero’s squire. Every one of the VEIL court generals owed their success or decline to Rikard Mazrem.
How many others, Gaius wondered? How many of the civilian consuls had earned their seats by friendship to the Mazrem family, real or pretended?
“Gaius, this is for you to say,” General Darius whispered.
Gaius glanced around the tiered marble expanse of the Lyceum. Darius was right, though probably not for the reason he thought. All eyes, including those of Emperor Tychon, were on him. Gaius suppressed an immodest smirk, but it felt good. It felt right.
A son should succeed his father, shouldn’t he?
Rikard Mazrem had done his duty in the war with Fiore thirty years ago. He was a legend, and now it was time for Gaius, his only son, to rise and to shine like a new star. All of the most important men in the Carcaen Empire were staring at him in rapt, attentive silence.
Rising son… rising sun. A star in the Star Court. It can’t be a coincidence, can it?
But they were all waiting for information about his father. They didn’t care about Gaius anymore, not when they had the great Lord-Captain Rikard Mazrem to worship. It was a depressing reminder.
Gaius stood and raised his hands, motioning for a silence that had already fallen. Still, he liked to imagine that the gesture looked quite grand.
“I tell you now that the rumors are true. My father, the revered Lord-Captain Rikard Caelis Mazrem, has returned! My mother, his wife, has confirmed his identity,” he announced.
“Lady Mazrem recognizes him?” asked another consul, a pale Cellestrian with a necklace of thick silver links around his neck. “What about you, Captain Mazrem?”
“I was only a baby when he left, less than a year old. But like every one of you, I’ve seen my father’s face on the monuments we’ve raised to him all over the city, all over the empire,” Gaius answered. “It’s him.”
The Cellestrian consul nodded and sat. Another man stood, thin and wearing a gray cloak over his tabba despite the heat. Gaius recognized him as Liam Io, the senior Nianese consul.
“We all believed that Captain Mazrem was dead, Gaius,” he said. “For thirty years, we’ve honored his sacrifice. How can he be alive? Has he told you what happened?”
Murmurs of agreement echoed through the Lyceum and the emperor waited for Gaius’ answer.
“My father told us that Alterrans removed him from Terra. He joined them in their own world. That’s where he’s been, why only his sword remained in the Fiore ice. They took him away to spend a lifetime in the service of the Alterra.”
The muttering took on a darker note, angry and afraid.
“The Alterrans took Captain Mazrem?” asked Liam. “I thought VEIL maintained amicable relations with the Alterra. Why would they steal a VEIL captain?”
“Do they tell a different story in Nian?”
It was not Gaius who answered, but Saul Darius who was on his feet with a bright flush in his cheek. General Castor gave the other knight a pinched frown, but Darius ignored him.
“You know as well as any man here that Rikard made an open pact with the Alterra!” Darius said. “He didn’t dictate the terms. He offered them anything they wanted.”
Liam was taken aback by the vehemence of Darius’ response. “It’s our right to ask questions here, general. And our duty. I meant no offense.”
“I took none,” Darius huffed.
It was not offense, Gaius knew. After Njorn Pass, no one trusted the Alterra. VEIL least of all.
Gaius raised his hands once more to regain the attention of the Lyceum.
“My father’s said nothing about theft or even being a prisoner,” he said. “He was taken to fight a war in Alterra that he says rages even now.”
Emperor Tychon did not have to stand to speak. “An Alterran war? Generals, I’ve not heard of this. Are we to be worried?”
Darius and Hern looked as surprised as anyone else. General Castor only scowled again.
“This is the first we’ve heard,” Darius said.
“A civil war,” Gaius said, feeling a hot thrill at the words. These were things that only he knew, of all the powerful men in the chamber. “My father said that it’s a civil war being waged. Alterran pitted against Alterran.”
Emperor Tychon sat forward in his throne. “And it’s still being fought?”
“I think so, hae,” Gaius answered.
A hundred consuls murmured again.
“Then why is Captain Mazrem back?” the emperor asked. “Like all men, I celebrate his return, but he is a great warrior and a great man. I mourned his loss at Njorn Pass. Why did the Alterra send such a warrior back to us with their war yet unwon?”
“Perhaps as a kindness to us,” Gaius suggested.
Maybe he was too crazy to be useful anymore, he thought. But he could never say such a thing. His mother would tear his eyes out.
“Have you asked the Alterrans?”
“I have been with my family all day,” Gaius answered. “Until summoned here, of course. No, Your Majesty, I have not.”
He looked to the VEIL generals. One by one, they each shook their heads. They hadn’t asked, either. No one wanted to talk to the Alterrans. An embarrassed silence lingered in the vast marble chamber until Liam, still standing, spoke again.
“There are the other rumors, as our emperor has stated. That Captain Mazrem still bears the wounds of Njorn Pass, but is untouched by the passage of these thirty years. Can you confirm or deny this?”
“I can,” Gaius told him. “Hae, my father appears to be unaged since he was taken from us. He is still injured, but whether or not they’re the injuries he sustained against the Fiori, I can’t say. That question is better put to General Darius.”
“General?” asked Liam.
The commander of the Star Court stood. “I’ve spoken a bit to General Hern about it. I haven’t had the chance to see Rikard myself, but by all accounts, these are the same wounds. A spear to his ribs on the left side, a cut on that side to his throat and a few other grazing wounds.”
“Is Captain Mazrem healing?”
“Hae,” General Hern answered. “He doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. He walked into Dormaen without bleeding to death. Captain Mazrem is not well, but he will live. I’ve sent for a foster to ensure that, after all of this, we don’t lose Captain Mazrem again.”
Hern was trying to look loyal. Darius seemed annoyed and rolled his eyes. Castor watched the other two generals in contemplative silence. They were so busy politicking amongst themselves, Gaius thought, that they didn’t even see the real problem: Rikard. With the legendary Captain Mazrem back, how long until even the generals were working for him? All of the power plays between the courts would amount to nothing now that Rikard Mazrem was back in Dormaen.
“Will Captain Mazrem recover soon?” asked the emperor from his throne.
“Hard to tell, Majesty,” said Gaius. “My father is a strong man, but he needs rest.”
General Hern kept his eyes on the emperor and did not look at Gaius. Emperor Tychon stood and nodded to the Lyceum consuls.
“Then we will adjourn for the evening,” Tychon announced. “The hour has grown late and the day’s events have been exciting. Please give our respects to Lady Mazrem, Consul Gaius, and to your honored father. We look forward to speaking with him.”
The imperial guard escorted Tychon from the Lyceum to the drumbeat rapport of heavy boots. A palpable tension followed him from the building. When the emperor was gone, the Lyceum immediately erupted into shouts and whispers, cheers and hisses. While Darius and Hern argued loudly over which one of them should have dispatched the foster, sharp-faced General Castor touched Gaius’ shoulder to get his attention.
“Thank you for keeping us all informed, Captain Mazrem,” he said dryly.
“I’m certain that this wasn’t your first report on the matter,” Gaius shot back. “I don’t serve the Sun Court. If you don’t like when and how I give my reports, I suggest you take it up with General Darius.”
Castor’s mouth twisted in a small, thin smile that did not reach his olive-colored eyes. “The responsibilities of the Star Court are numerous these days and General Darius is a very busy man.”
“Hern knows as much as I do and the Moon Court hasn’t been quite so challenged for time,” Gaius answered. “Maybe you and he can talk.”
“We have,” Castor said without pause. “General Hern seems to have other things on his mind. He’s proved reluctant to discuss the matter of Rikard Mazrem in much depth.”
Gaius figured as much. General Castor was a bad man to have as an enemy, but no one could really claim friendship with the proud, surly old stick. Even after thirty years out of favor, the Sun Court general never adjusted to being the low man, the last to receive information.
Gaius offered Castor a careful smile, the one Lady Mazrem made him practice so many times in the mirror. “When my father’s recovered, I invite you to visit him yourself. Maybe he’ll be able to tell you more about all of this strangeness. I’m certain he’ll be overjoyed to see an old friend.”
General Castor’s face went blank like a waxboard passed over a flame and melting back into smooth, unmarked flatness. Charged in the early days of the Carcaen Empire with the protection of the new emperor, much of the Sun Court had remained behind under Castor’s command while the rest of VEIL marched into Fiore. What might have been an enviable stay of execution at the points of Fiori spears had become an embarrassing absence from the most important battle in history.
Hern and Darius had apparently finished their argument and now returned their attention to the other knights. Darius nodded to Gaius.
“I’m sure we can handle things here. It’s just going to be a bunch of excited old men with excited questions,” Darius said. “Why don’t you go home to your mother and father? Please give them our respects.”
“Thank you, sir,” Gaius answered demurely.
He snapped a salute and picked his way down the aisles, toward the Lyceum floor and the door. Before the rising voices drowned out their conversation, Gaius overheard Hern talking again.
“Rikard’s return is going to muddy the waters.”
“Which waters are those?” Castor asked.
“The succession. Tychon’s always had his eye on Lady Mazrem, but they both knew better. The emperor’s never going to marry,” Hern said. “He was going to choose Gaius to succeed him, but do you really think Tychon is going to go through with it now that Rikard’s back?”
Neither of the other generals answered that.
“I need a word with Consul Liam,” Castor said after a moment. “He asked many questions and I’m curious why. I didn’t even expect him to be here tonight, not with his investors screaming for blood over the wheat blight.”
Gaius wondered what Darius and Hern might say once Castor was gone, but the red-clothed Sun general was coming his way. Unless he wanted to get caught eavesdropping, Gaius would have to move on. He turned away just in time to avoid catching the attention of an old Korenthian consul with a concerned expression. Gaius nodded to another knot of consuls near the door and then slipped out into the dark Dormaen streets. A row of guards — ordinary soldiers, not VEIL knights — stood vigil before the Lyceum.
“Evening, sir,” said the closest. “It’s getting late. Do you need an escort home?”
“No, I’m fine.” Gaius waved off the soldier. What menace could lurk out in the city that a simple man with a sword could handle that a VEIL captain could not?
The guard nodded and bowed. “Hae, sir. Good night.”
Gaius circled the Lyceum rotunda until he reached the stables. A girl held the blue and copper kajja steady while he climbed into his chariot. When he had wound the reins around his fist, she handed a short whip up to Gaius and lightly swatted the tall bird’s colorful flank. The chariot rattled over the cobbles and then out onto the smooth, well-worn Tychon Road, toward the Everstones.
Lady Laurael Mazrem stood beside her bed. It was wide and lavish, canopied in velvet that hung from ornately carved mahogany posts. The bedroom in which it sat was no less extravagant… Nothing like the one she and Rikard had shared on their wedding night.
She leaned over the coverlets. The stiff leather corset held her tightly — like a giant’s fist and about as comfortable — and perfectly concealed the softening, aging body beneath. Many of the older women of Carce wore them and joked that they wished someone clever would invent one that did the same for their decaying minds.
But Lady Laurael Mazrem never wished for that. Her mind remained sharp as the day she learned of her husband’s death and put an end to her affair with the young Emperor Tychon. He had asked Laurael why, of course. He pleaded with her, but she would not be dissuaded. Men were so simple, so predictable. They would risk everything — a career, a life, even an empire — for love.
Or at least a nice pair of breasts.
Women took a much longer view of things. Lady Mazrem was the honored widow of a war hero. To remarry or even take another lover would be seen as a slight or failure to properly remember her martyred husband. His apparent death made Rikard the most powerful man in the empire. Of what further use was its emperor to her?
In death, Rikard Mazrem had become a legend. What would he be now, alive but so obviously deranged and damaged by his experiences in Alterra? A god? A mad god? There were certainly plenty of those in the Carcaen pantheon. There were people who already revered Rikard, prayed to him for protection and favor. Would it be so different now?
Perhaps. Perhaps now he would answer those prayers.
Laurael looked down on her slumbering husband. He didn’t stir. How long would the man sleep? Rikard had always been a heavy sleeper, which suited his wife just fine. He was an amorous man, to be certain, but theirs was an arranged marriage and Rikard never could keep Laurael’s attention for long. Once he was asleep, she had always done whatever she liked.
Not that Rikard was an unattractive or unskilled lover. Laurael pushed his long hair back from his face. He was thin and needed a shave, but Rikard was still a handsome man. A beautiful hero was better than an ugly one, Laurael supposed. Maybe that was why there were so many statues of the man, to give lonely women and men something nice to look at while they shopped.
Laurael had grown used to an empty bed. There were braziers of scented wood and quilts of fine sendal to keep her warm, and the knowledge that her son would one day rule all of Carce.
What would warm her late nights now?
