THE REFORGED TRILOGY: BOOK 3 — HAMMER OF TIME
Chapter 18: Due
“Taxes are an investment in the future.”
– CWA public campaign slogan (210 PA)
“Anthem Calloren?” Xia asked. “Are you sure that’s his name? Long hair, dark eyes? Awkward Aver?”
“That’s him,” Duaal said.
“I know the man. At least, I’ve spoken with him,” Xia said.
She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the dining room table as her eyes turned a pale blue-green. Her lunch still sat on the top, untouched.
“What?” Kessa asked. She repositioned Baliend on her knee and the baby giggled. “When?”
“Remember when we first brought you to Stray? We were trying to find out if the Sisterhood had any groups here,” Xia said. “I spoke with an Arcadian prostitute. That was Anthem.”
“Are you sure it’s the same man? He says he’s a knight,” Gripper said. The big Arboran perched precariously on a chair far too small for him and the plastic creaked in protest at his every movement. “Is he lying?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Xia answered. “Anthem mentioned having once been a knight. In service to the Night, I think he said.”
“You remember that, Silver?” Gripper asked, impressed.
Xia smiled modestly. “It was only a year ago. As I understand it, a’shae — what Ferris always calls Maeve — means the night. Anthem must have worked for the royal family.”
“He used to be Xartasia’s man back when she went by Titania,” Duaal said. “She and Anthem apparently traded several oathsongs. The two were effectively engaged.”
“Wait, Anthem was engaged to Xartasia?” Kessa asked. In her lap, Baliend whined. “Does Maeve know that?”
“Glass knows,” Gripper said. “So does Hunter. He’s the one who convinced her to take Anthem. Hunter told her that it’s a good political move. Anthem chose Glass over Xartasia and everyone in Kaellisem will know it.”
“Logan wants Maeve to do this?” Kessa asked. “But… why?”
“I don’t know, Blue. He told me what he said to Glass last night, but he didn’t tell me why he said it.” Gripper clasped his long arms around his knees. “Sometimes I don’t think Hunter feels like he’s good enough for Glass. Especially since this queen thing.”
“That’s silly,” Kessa said. “They’re perfect for each other.”
Xia picked up her fork and rolled it between her smooth silver fingers.
“Perhaps. But there are issues,” she said. “Their different lifespans, for example. Arcadians live for nine centuries or more. Maeve is only two hundred. If he can learn to take care of himself, Coldhand might survive another hundred years. And they can’t breed. Humans and Arcadians don’t have similar enough redprints.”
“Slow down there,” Duaal protested. “You know there is more to it than just how perfect your children will be.”
Xia looked across the table and her antennae curled. “Look, I’m not saying I agree with their decision, but the Arcadian government has been a hereditary monarchy for ten thousand years. That black hair means a lot to them. If Maeve doesn’t take an Arcadian mate, that part of their history will be lost forever.”
“That doesn’t mean that she should have to drop Logan,” Duaal argued.
Gripper nodded emphatically. “Politics don’t mean anything up against love.”
But to his shock, Kessa actually frowned. She ran blunt fingers through Baliend’s fine black hair and the baby boy sucked seriously on his chubby blue toes.
“If love really won all battles,” Kessa said, “then I wouldn’t have had to run away from Axis.”
“But you’re here, Blue,” Gripper protested. “With your husband and baby and a nice little house. Your love did win!”
“Only after I gave up everything,” Kessa said. “Even then, it took a lot of luck to get here. And Maeve is trying to save a lot more than one family.”
Vyron pulled the thick scarf back up around his mouth. As the sun set and the temperature dropped, the wind was whipping up and filling the deepening twilight with red dust. He bent nearly double to hear Xyn.
“What?” he asked his employer. “What did you say?”
“That I’m starving,” Xyn grumped. “Where’s the food?”
“We paid for all this,” Vyron reminded the Ixthian. “Duke Ferris wanted a feast, but we couldn’t afford it.”
Xyn groaned. “Damn it. How can these people basically live in diamond towers and still be so poor?”
The two men were walking — slowly to match Xyn’s short stride — down the central road of Kaellisem. Towers rose up around them, slender and pointed as a line of spears. Arcadians flew overhead like huge birds, singing as they soared through the darkening sky. Coreworlders walked and drove along the road below them. Not as numerous as the fairies, but more than Vyron had expected. They moved in close, curious groups through the flame-colored shadows of Kaellisem.
“Who the hells are all these people?” Xyn asked. He frowned at a nearby family of Lyrans. “This is an Arcadian coronation.”
Vyron laughed. “Did you forget your wings at home? You’re not Arcadian, either. You don’t even like them.”
“Well, I am footing the bill for this whole thing,” Xyn said. “And I’m curious.”
“So are they.” Vyron nodded to the Lyrans, who had stopped to admire an arch of ruby-colored glass.
A horn blared behind them and Vyron pulled Xyn off to the side of the road. A black police car floated by on its cloudy orange null-field and bright lights flashed on top.
“What do they want out here?” Xyn asked. “We never see cops in Gharib.”
Vyron wasn’t sure. He broke into a jog and then a run, following the police car through Kaellisem’s narrow streets and leaving Xyn to curse in the road behind him.
Kaellisem was a small town and Vyron was barely winded when he caught up with the police. They had stopped at Kaellisem’s edge, where the Arcadian towers gave way to desert once more. The patchwork stage where Maeve had given her first speech had been replaced by a polished plateau of multi-colored glass. The sun was a tiny sliver of red on the horizon and Stray’s single moon shone the color of pewter between the sparse lavender clouds. For now, the glass stage was empty.
Two thousand Arcadians and coreworlders drew back from the police car. Vyron could just make out several more parked around the edge of the crowd. People muttered unhappily.
Two humans stepped out of the car Vyron had followed — a man and a woman, both with white-filmed Hadrian eyes. Their hands remained close to the lasers on their belts. Vyron smoothed his hair and put on his best salesman’s smile.
“Good evening, officers,” he said, waving to the cops. “What can we do for you?”
“We heard you folks are planning to crown up a fairy queen,” said the female police officer. A black plastic badge on her shoulder read Janse.
“That’s right,” Vyron answered slowly. “Is there a problem? It’s going to be a peaceful affair.”
“Stray already has a government,” Janse said. “You can’t create a sovereign nation on our planet. You establish a formalized government and that’s exactly what you’ll have.”
A shadow fell across Vyron and an Arcadian man landed beside him. Vyron had heard of Duke Ferris and seen him a few times, but never met the old fairy noble. Ferris’ hair was only half braided and the sash that held his silver robes closed was hastily tied.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded of the two Gharib cops. “This is an Arcadian matter! You have no right to be here.”
Vyron groaned inwardly. Duke Ferris was not helping the situation. The Dailon brightened his smile.
“It’s alright,” Vyron said. “These officers are just here to discuss some legal issues.”
“You have no right or ability to found a sovereign nation on this planet,” Janse told Ferris. “That is rebellion under CWA law.”
“We’re not trying to,” Vyron answered quickly. “Arcadians aren’t Alliance citizens, right?”
“Right,” Janse agreed.
“Well, then they can’t really rebel, can they? They’re just setting up a sort of enclave,” Vyron said.
The two cops looked at each other, unconvinced. Vyron ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking fast. A year ago, Kessa had to all but bribe the Gharib police into helping Maeve and the rest of the Blue Phoenix crew. They were not out here on the fringes of their city to enforce Alliance law. That was CWAAF’s job, as they had told Kessa a year ago. These cops wanted something else.
“The Arcadians are just building up a small population center,” Vyron told them. “Like any of the apartment blocks all over Gharib. Maeve Cavainna is simply a community leader.”
Still nothing from the humans. Vyron sighed.
“They’ll need to pay all municipal taxes, naturally.”
There. Slow smiles spread across both of the cops’ faces. Vyron licked suddenly dry lips and looked back along the road. Xyn came puffing and panting up the street, scowling at Vyron. The nervous Dailon turned back to the cops.
“Taxes…?” Duke Ferris bristled and shook his finger at the cops. “Taxes paid to a government that ignores the plight of our people?”
“We want them to keep ignoring you,” Vyron hissed under his breath. “Be quiet!”
“We need to collect the first quarter’s worth of taxes,” Janse said. “As a gesture of good will.”
“Of course,” Vyron agreed. “Duke Ferris, can you go collect the color from Queen Maeve?”
“How much money will they require?” Ferris asked quietly. “We do not have very much.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Vyron answered. He just wanted Ferris gone before the fairy duke’s pride made things worse. “Uh, a hundred cenmarks should cover it.”
Ferris looked worried, but flew away toward the colorful glass dais. The male police officer went to his sleek black squad car and called to the other cops. Janse folded impressively muscled arms over her chest and regarded Vyron, who cleared his throat uncomfortably and waved urgently to Xyn. The scientist waddled over and squinted at Vyron. The Dailon wondered why he did that. Xyn was Ixthian. Surely his parents had bred him with better eyes than that.
“So what is this?” Xyn puffed. “You’re not in cuffs yet.”
“I need your blackchip,” Vyron told him.
“What?” Xyn scowled and pressed his six-fingered hands protectively to his pockets.
“They–” Vyron gestured toward the two police officers, then out to the other squad cars. “–came to warn us that Kaellisem is behind on their taxes. If we can give them the money now, Janse and her fellows will deliver it and make sure we don’t accrue any penalties.”
“Oh?” Xyn asked. He curled his stubby silver antennae at Vyron. “That’s awful fine of them. How much does the crown owe?”
“One thousand cenmarks,” Janse supplied.
“A thousand?” Xyn said.
His round face pinched and the Ixthian’s compound eyes went a dark red, but Xyn took a black plastic credit chip from his wallet and handed it to Janse. The Gharib cop took a slender reader from her pocket and swiped the black square of plastic through it. Xyn thumbprinted the transaction and snatched it back. Janse eyed the reader until the blinking green light turned blue. Then she smiled at Vyron and Xyn.
“You’re paid up for the next month,” she told them.
“One month…?” Xyn asked. The Ixthian’s cheeks were turning a subtle scarlet under his thick skin. “But you said–”
“Thanks,” Vyron interrupted. “We’ll see you next month.”
The two cops got back into their car. The null-field hummed as the sleek black vehicle rose a foot into the air, pivoted smoothly and drove away. Xyn was turning purple.
“One thousand cenmarks?” he said again, flapping his arms in agitation. “You didn’t even try to negotiate with them, Vyron! What the hells kind of salesman are you? You’re fired!”
“You pay half that every month just to keep Unbreakers’ doors open,” Vyron pointed out. “And you used to pay even more before you hired me.”
“Exactly! So why didn’t you try to talk those sharks down?”
“We don’t need to give them any excuses to drive Maeve and her Arcadians out. Let’s keep the cops happy and far away, alright?”
Xyn struggled for an answer. The sun was gone now and the sky grew swiftly dark but for the sparse light of scattered stars. Ferris landed softly and looked around for the cops.
“Where have they gone?” he asked.
“Already paid off and on their way back into Gharib,” Vyron told the duke. “But bad news. It’s going to cost you a thousand cen each month to keep Kaellisem in operation.”
“One thousand?” The fairy sounded just like Xyn. But his sharp-angled face didn’t fold up in anger like the Ixthian’s had. Ferris only nodded. “Very well. We will need to speed production.”
“Production?” Vyron asked. “Of what?”
“Glass,” Ferris answered. “We have nothing else to export from Kaellisem and the coreworlds have nothing quite like it.”
“That’s pretty much manufacturing diamond. Not many people on Stray can afford that,” Xyn pointed out. “Other than those cops.”
“Most of your clients are the owners of starships, are they not?” Ferris asked. “Surely they can pay for our work.”
“You might be surprised,” Xyn said. He had to speak up over the rising murmur of the waiting crowd. “Myles never seemed to have enough color to make half a rainbow.”
“Not just diamonds,” Vyron told Xyn. “Think of all the glassteel and fused ceramics in a ship. The Arcadians can make stuff much stronger just by singing to the sand.”
“What about your supply chain?” Xyn asked with a flip of his hands. “I suppose you want me to set that up. Make introductions, pay for permits.”
The look that Ferris gave Xyn was shrewd.
“Right now, the Arcadian crown will never be able to repay the money owed on behalf of our people,” Ferris said. “You would be enabling us to repay your kindness.”
“But Xyn’s right that building out a new enterprise is a lengthy process,” Vyron interjected. He fought to keep the smirk off his face. “It’s going to take a major investment of time and personnel hours.”
“We would be pleased to take on most of that burden,” Ferris offered with a politician’s smile. “It is our own industry we seek to build, after all.”
“But you’re going to be working hard just to produce the glass,” Vyron pointed out. “You can barely keep up with the needs of your own city. Besides, we’re the ones that the local ship captains know and sort of trust. You’d lose more in buying their business than any percentage we ask for.”
“And what portion are you asking for, Master Fethru?”
“Twenty,” Vyron said.
Duke Ferris covered his surprise quite well, the Dailon thought, except that he was blinking too much.
“A fifth of our income?” Ferris said. “We have a city’s population to feed and house on these proceeds. The crown could only give up five percent and still be able to care for her people.”
Vyron cocked his head. “We can expand your distribution much further than you ever could alone. Better a loss of fifteen percent of more money than keeping all of none.”
Ferris’ pointed ears turned red, but his tone remained civil, even urbane. The man was born and bred nobility, Vyron thought.
“In the greater interest of providing for all Kaellisem, the crown could probably give up a tenth of the money earned,” Ferris said reluctantly. “I will have to speak with the queen about the matter.”
“Ten percent,” Vyron agreed. “That doesn’t include the cost of shipment, but we can negotiate a good rate for you. I’m sure Maeve will approve. We’ll talk to her about it tomorrow. She has enough to worry about tonight.”
“Yes, she does,” Ferris agreed. A little sullenly. “I should return to her side. She will be pleased to know that the Gharib police are dealt with, if not the cost at which it was done.”
“Please extend our apologies to Queen Maeve,” Vyron said with a smooth smile. “And tell her that we’ll work together to more than make up for the loss.”
Ferris nodded once and leapt into the air. Vyron let himself grin and turned back to Xyn. The Ixthian scientist stared at Vyron with wide, bright blue eyes. His antennae twitched so hard and fast that they were nearly vibrating.
“Ten percent of an entire town’s profits from a brand new and exclusive product,” Vyron said. “You’ll be wanting to hire me back on, I assume. And I’m going to need a raise.”
Maeve stood in the door of the little room under the glass mesa. There were no windows, just the translucent patches and colorful streaks that ran through the cloudy material.
The only fresh air came in through the door. So that was where Maeve stood, panting and wondering why her lungs couldn’t seem to do their ridiculously singular job. She felt faint.
“Just breathe, my queen,” Anthem said again.
Maeve whirled toward the knight. “I am breathing! What else do you think I am doing? Gods, if only I could…”
“You are shouting,” Anthem pointed out, unfazed.
Maeve stalked across the sandy floor.
“Where is Logan?” she asked, still shouting.
“Outside,” her new consort reminded her. “He took Malla and Hannu. Since Duke Ferris told us of the Gharib police, Coldhand is watching the perimeter against further intrusion.”
“He should be here,” Maeve fumed. She couldn’t pace far in the small room, even less when crowded with people.
“Coldhand is doing his duty,” Anthem said. “And we are already late to begin yours.”
“I cannot do this!” Maeve cried. “I… I was wrong. I am no queen! I cannot wear the crown.”
“But you have to, Maeve,” Panna told her. “Remember Xartasia. Remember the Devourers. Remember your people. We need you.”
Duaal lounged in a corner of the tiny glass chamber. His velvet coattails brushed the sand, leaving a red blush of dust on the deep blue fabric.
“It’s just a little glass hat, Maeve,” he said. “You’ve already done the hardest parts. And Panna is right — this isn’t for you. This is for them.”
Duaal gestured to the wall behind him. Maeve could just make out the indistinct blur of the crowd outside, gathered on the dune’s slope. Maeve gulped.
“I need Logan,” she said. “I cannot do this alone.”
Duaal nodded and reached into his beaded sapphire coat for a com, but Duke Ferris stood in the door and gestured to Maeve.
“It is time to go,” he said.
“Call Logan,” Maeve told Duaal.
“No, a’shae,” Ferris said. “You must be up on that stage with Sir Anthem and he alone.”
“You will be there!” Maeve hissed at the old nobleman.
“Someone must crown you, my lady,” Anthem said. “It is time to go.”
He held his hand out to Maeve. His long blond hair had been washed and intricately braided down his back. The knight was dressed in a plain white robe of the sort that squires wore on the night of their vigil. His feet and hands were bare. Maeve lifted her hand to his. Her glass gauntlet shook so hard that the fine crystal plates rang off one another.
Maeve felt like an imposter, a liar. She had no right to wear the armor of a knight, much less the crown of the White Kingdom.
It wasn’t the true crown of her home, she reasoned. King Illain’s birchwood crown had perished with him when the Devourers took the White City. There were no trees at all on Stray, so Duaal’s circlet wasn’t even a good approximation. It was not at all the same thing…
It didn’t work. Maeve couldn’t make herself believe her own lie, even for a moment.
But the others were right. No one needed her to believe. They needed her to do.
She took Anthem’s hand, gripping hard. If she hurt the knight, he gave no sign. With her new consort in tow, Maeve stormed out and onto the glass stage to the choral cheers of her people. Duke Ferris followed, the glass crown of Kaellisem cradled delicately in his hands.
There was more than a bit of awkwardness after the coronation. Maeve and Anthem were left alone at the top of her tower, and Duke Ferris made it quite clear that Maeve’s rooms were Anthem’s. He was her consort and was to share her tower, her responsibilities, her life and her bed.
Maeve stared at her reflection in the mirror, at the glass crown nestled in her black hair. It really was beautiful, she had to admit. She would tell Duaal so in the morning. The circlet was simple, elegant and regal. Delicate red and gold scrollwork wound through the glass like Stray’s blazing wind given form.
The queen removed her crown and set it down on its cushion. There were no clouds in the sky and the starlight sparkled off the glass. She turned away to find Anthem waiting for her in front of the window. His white wings were luminous in the darkness.
“Are you planning to stay?” Maeve asked.
“I am your consort, a’shae,” Sir Anthem answered. “I will protect you until the dawn… when that duty belongs to Logan Coldhand again.”
Maeve sat and began unpinning her dark hair. Dain and Verra had offered to help, but with Anthem there, Ferris had let Maeve send the girls away. It had been a long night and despite his general fascination with preserving every tradition of the White Kingdom, Ferris seemed more interested in giving his queen some quality time with her new consort.
Maeve’s black hair fell around the glass shoulders of her armor and she dug her fingers under one shining pauldron, then pried at the knotted cords that held it in place. Maybe she shouldn’t have refused Dain and Verra’s assistance.
“Do you need help?” Anthem asked.
“No,” Maeve said. “I will manage.”
She pinched and picked until the cord finally released and the curved glass plate clattered to the floor. Maeve winced at the noise and looked at Anthem. The knight stood still against the backdrop of Stray’s dark sky and bright white stars, watching her. A shiver ran up Maeve’s spine and she turned away, yanking on another strap of her armor.
“Let me help you, my queen,” Anthem said. “You will never get to sleep if you spend all night undressing.”
“Sleep?” Maeve asked, not looking at him. “Do you intend to let me sleep, Sir Anthem? Or do you intend to keep me awake into the morning?”
“I will do whatever you wish me to, a’shae.”
Maeve yanked off one of her gauntlets and let it clatter to the tower floor. “Whatever I wish? And if I told you to leave?”
“I am to protect you,” Anthem answered. “I will leave the room, if you wish, but I cannot go far.”
“Then what is the point?” Maeve hissed. She glared venom at the other knight. “You loved my cousin. How can you give yourself to me?”
Anthem’s eyes shone and he bowed his head. “There are more important things than love. Titania has turned to destruction. Allu ma’saena… It wounds me that in one day, I learned that my beloved lives and that she has become my enemy. But my pain and my love do not stop the worlds’ turning.”
Maeve shook her head and gave her armor another yank.
“Help me with this,” she told Anthem. He nodded and began carefully untying the chords. Maeve was still furious. “Do you love her still, even after what she has done?”
Anthem hesitated as he worked at Maeve’s intricately wrought breastplate.
“I do not know. I love my Titania. But this White Queen, Xartasia… She is someone else, I fear. I do not know my enarri anymore,” Anthem said. He moved to stand in front of Maeve, brows furrowed as he detangled Maeve’s long black hair from a joint between two plates of glass. “But in time, I think we may be able to love each other, a’shae. You remind me much of Titania in her youth. There are differences, but…”
Maeve’s stomach churned and she wondered if she would be sick. Her skin was hot all over and the horrid sensation seemed to be pushing through like needles.
“You think that you could love me?” Maeve asked. “There are so many things you do not know about me. I fight Xartasia, but you should know that my sins are no less than hers.”
Anthem frowned and finished unfastening Maeve’s breastplate. He carefully put it aside on the stand that Verra had brought but she had entirely ignored.
“I do not understand, my queen,” he said.
“It was me. I opened the Tamlin Waygate,” Maeve told him. The painful swirl in her stomach became a boiling storm. “My brother wanted to see his lover and so I opened the gate in his stead. When I failed, it triggered some internal mechanism that called back to its creators, the Devourers. By unhappy chance, they actually heard that call and came.”
“Asi allu?” Anthem asked. That was you?
“Yes,” Maeve said. “And I have spent every day since trying to atone for what I did. Out of shame, I tried to die… That is how I met Logan. I placed a bounty on my own head. Xartasia called Tamlin a mere accident, the fall of our kingdom, but…”
She trailed off, unsure how to put the complex emotions into words. Xartasia’s forgiveness was true but tainted by her own crimes and bloody ambitions. The fault was not Maeve’s, but belonged to the black-storm Devourers who tore Caith from the air and eaten him while he screamed in the bloodstained grass.
Still, the pain had never left Maeve. It was a deep scar, at least as terrible as the one through Logan’s heart.
Anthem removed Maeve’s remaining gauntlet and slid it onto the stand.
“I was a prostitute,” he said. “Has your Ixthian friend, Xia, told you that yet?”
“No,” Maeve admitted.
She hadn’t seen the doctor much in the last few days. There was so much to do.
“I am a knight,” Anthem said. “I could have found other work. I could have at least died honorably after the White Kingdom’s fall. But I was lost, Maeve. Titania was gone. My home was gone. I had nothing.”
Maeve suddenly remembered seeing him dressed in blue and silver rags, the colors of House Calloren. She recalled the woman who took Anthem away after Xia spoke to him. She remembered the rage, the disgust… and then that she had done nothing. Maeve and Xia had just walked away.
“We have all done terrible things,” Anthem said. “Panna Sul cut off her own wings so she could have a life among the humans. Duke Ferris told me that he left his only living child back on Sunjarrah so that he could serve Kaellisem. She is in a prison hospital and he doubts that she will survive to see him again. We have all done what we must.”
Maeve’s teeth ground and her jaw ached. What Anthem told her was true. Every Arcadian had their own tale of pain and shame. It hurt, but it was a terrible sort of relief, as well. Maeve wasn’t alone. She wasn’t the only one who had failed. And Logan — her scarred and tormented hunter — wasn’t the only one who could understand.
“I wanted to tell them,” Maeve said, stabbing one wing toward the window and the spires of Kaellisem. “I have no desire to keep these secrets!”
“But to fight Xartasia, we must be unified,” Anthem said. “If you drive them away now, no one will stand between your cousin and trillions of Alliance lives. I think you are right not to tell them this secret.”
“Then tell me,” Maeve said. “Do you still think that you could love me?”
“Yes,” Anthem said. “Will you ever love me, a’shae?”
Maeve turned away from the knight. “I can manage the rest of my armor, Sir Anthem. There is another room across the hall. Make yourself comfortable there.”
Anthem stepped back and lowered his wings.
“Yes, my queen,” he said. “Sleep well.”
