Aethersmith (Book 2) (53 page)

He searched the crowd for signs of Juliana. The arrangement
of the seating made it difficult, with the Solarans and Archons seated on the
same side of the bowl, but not so closely that there was an unobstructed view.
His aether-vision was mostly useless as well, since the sorcerers of the various
blooded houses had Sources that ran the full gamut: stronger, weaker, and
similar in strength to Juliana’s. Picking her out among the commoners would
have been easy enough, but finding her among her own family was difficult.
Everything that made her stand out in crowds happened to be traits that ran
among the Archons, from her height to her Source; she even had cousins and
older sisters who had their hair colored not so differently from hers.

“Uncle Brannis, I can’t see what’s going on,” a small voice
complained from beside him. Through some perversity of humor, it seemed that
Axterion had arranged for Danilaesis to be seated next to him.

“There is nothing to see yet. Just wait,” Kyrus told him.

“Can I sit up on your shoulders?” Danil asked, making it
sound as easy at nearly eight summers as it would have been when he was four.

“You are too big for that now. Just settle in. There is not
going to be much to see anyway.”

“Then why are so many people here to watch it? They must be
expecting to see something good,” Danil said.

“When someone is made emperor, they want lots of people to
see it. It helps give the emperor legitimacy. Everyone here can personally
vouch for having seen him take the crown, and all the people accepting that
fact. Most of the people here are just here to be able to tell people they were
here. The rest of us are here because it is expected of us. You are old enough
now that you are expected to be here as well.”

“Who expects us to be here?”

“Everyone else who is expected here. It is sort of a mutual
affair. By coming, we show that we support the new emperor. Anyone who did not
come would, in a way, be saying that they did not.”

“Why is grandpa not here, then? Will people think he doesn’t
support the emperor?”

“No. He is too old for anyone to expect him to travel, even
if it is just halfway across Kadris by carriage,” Kyrus said. “Try looking
around to find all the people you know. Make a list in your head of the ones
you do not see. Find them afterward, and ask why they were not here.”
That
ought to keep him occupied a while
.

Kyrus’s plan worked well enough for him to watch what little
of a show accompanied the ceremony. A mix of palace guards and an honor guard
of soldiers marched into the stadium carrying torches. There was something primal
and ancient about bared flames, accentuated by the lack of magical lights as
dusk began to fade. After marching out in formation, they spread themselves,
and lined both sides of a path out to the center of the tournament grounds,
which yet more of them encircled in fire. There was a circular stone slab at
the very center, which Kyrus could see glowing with runes around the outer
edge.

A hush fell over the crowd. Emerging from the end of the
torch-lit line was Sommick Highwater, who would shortly become Emperor of the
Kadrin Empire. He was clad in red-and-gold velvet, accented in white. His head
was bare, ready to receive a crown. Hard though it was to tell from so far
away, Kyrus thought he looked nervous.

Behind him followed two of the most influential figures in
the Empire, walking side by side. To his right was Dolvaen Lurien, dressed in
his Inner Circle finery, black with red-and-gold trim. To his left was General
Sir Hurald Chadreisson, his runed armor polished to a shine that glowed orange
in the torchlight. Both men were choices of politics rather than true
influence. Though Kyrus knew for certain that Dolvaen opposed the emperor’s
selection, Rashan had ceded the honor of issuing the Circle’s blessing to his
second in command to force Dolvaen to publicly endorse him. Kyrus had given his
own honor over to his former commander as a peace offering. He knew that Rashan
intended him to take over his regency in all but name, so the oversight of the
army would fall to Sir Hurald anyway unless he chose to replace the man.

Lastly came the imperial regent, Warlock Rashan Solaran,
bearing in his hands the crown that had been worn by the last twelve emperors.
It was a golden circlet ringed in golden horns. Four gems were set equally
spaced around it: emerald, ruby, sapphire, diamond. Kyrus knew the last fact
from Brannis’s history lessons; it was too far to make out what gems might have
been set in it. It glowed in the aether as well, prompting him to wonder what
powers the crown might possess—if the aether indicated anything more than just
preservative magics, that is.

The four men came to a stop on the stone slab, the emperor
at the center, the other three arrayed around him. The purpose of the runes
became clear when Rashan began to speak. His voice carried throughout the
tournament grounds, reverberating like the roar of a dragon. Kyrus could attest
to that from Brannis’s experience.

“People of Kadrin, we gather today to crown a new emperor,
Sommick the First. I ask of you, Sommick, of House Highwater, are you prepared
to accept the mantle of emperor, as is your birthright?” Rashan said for all to
hear and bear witness.

“I am.”

“Does this man have the support of the army?” Rashan asked.

“I give my support, and that of the Imperial Army, to the
claim of Sommick, of House Highwater,” Sir Hurald attested, swearing his fealty,
and committing the military to back the new emperor.

“Does this man have the support of the sorcerers?” Rashan
asked.

“I give my support, and that of the Imperial Circle, to the
claim of Sommick, of House Highwater,” Dolvaen Lurien attested.

Kyrus was impressed at the man’s acting ability. He gave
every indication of sincerity. Kyrus supposed it was how Dolvaen had kept his
ruse from being accidentally exposed.

“From this day forth, let any who speak or act against
Emperor Sommick be struck down by the might of the Imperial Army, acting as the
left hand of the emperor, or by the might of the Imperial Circle, acting as the
right hand of the emperor.” Rashan paused. “As Imperial Regent, I have ruled
over the Kadrin Empire this past season as we sought the rightful heir to the
throne. As of this moment, I resign the position of regent, renounce all claim
to rulership, and swear my fealty to Emperor Sommick, the First. I bestow upon
you, my Emperor, the crown of the Kadrin Empire, and with it all rights and
powers granted to her emperor.”

Sommick Highwater knelt at Rashan’s feet, and accepted the
crown as it was placed upon his head. It was awkward and unwieldy upon
Sommick’s head, an ornament destined to the storage vaults until the next grand
occasion, unless Sommick turned out to be exceedingly vain and insecure. As
Sommick arose, Sir Hurald and Dolvaen knelt. All the torchbearers knelt as
well. Of all the men standing below in the field, only Rashan did not kneel;
the demon warlock merely bowed his head in acknowledgement.

The emperor turned his back on his entourage, and faced the
crowded stands, specifically toward the commoners. He held out his arms to
them, spread wide.

“My people! It fills me with pride to see what an empire I
have inherited, what a fine people to have turned out in such numbers to see me
take up the crown. We are an empire at war, beset by many enemies. I will see
that this threat is ended. My first order as emperor is this: Warlock Rashan, I
hereby command you that, on the morrow, you take personal action to bring war
to Megrenn and her allies, that you use that terrible sword of yours to make
them suffer for their transgressions against us.”

“As you command,” Rashan replied for all to hear. Kyrus
wondered how much of that little speech was written for him by the warlock.

“But that is tomorrow. Tonight we celebrate!” Emperor
Sommick proclaimed, signaling the official end of the ceremony. The crowd
cheered. There was to be a grand procession of carriages across the city to the
palace, where the revelry would stretch into the deep hours of the night. That
procession was a time Kyrus had plans to make use of.

Pushing his way through the crowd, Kyrus muttered about
having matters to attend to. For most who were able to make room, that vague
excuse was cause enough to let Brannis Solaran pass. Warlock Rashan’s
lieutenants were not known for making their motives plain, and Brannis was
known to be well above that rank in Rashan’s personal hierarchy. By the time
the crowd began filtering out into the streets to either join or watch the
procession, Kyrus was already at the front of the pack. He disappeared from the
crowd as quietly as he was able.

* * * * * * * *

Juliana had sat uneasily through the coronation. She saw
Brannis searching the crowd for her, but could hardly find an inconspicuous
method of drawing attention to herself without … well, without drawing
attention to herself. Brannis, of course, had been easy to spot. Just shifting
into the aether, and looking for the blinding light was all it took. In fact,
Juliana would not be surprised if many sorcerers had to forgo enjoying the view
in the aether during the ceremony because of the distractingly painful glare
from Brannis’s Source.

A tiny voice in her head had reminded her that Brannis was
now really Kyrus, and that Brannis was off in Tellurak with Soria, but she had
hushed it, and told the voice that it did not matter.

Juliana had tried to keep her focus on the ceremony itself,
which had been thankfully brief. There were too many thoughts bubbling in her
head. Aloisha’s accusation, or at least near-accusation, had been the first
item to put her on edge. She had initially heard of the murders with a detached
curiosity, the sort that comes easily when you can see no connection between an
event and how it affects you. After the “chat” with Brannis’s sister, she had
been trying to find a motive for the killings that would fit with the intrigues
Aloisha hinted at or the machinations of the Megrenn, who had already tried two
assassinations previously. Down by the waterfront, her seafaring acquaintances
were no help to her state of mind, having all manner of theories on the deaths
of the three sorcerers. The cryptic note and the emptiness of her bedchamber
had only served to add a layer to the mystery; she just did not know quite what
it was.

The crowd carried Juliana along toward the exits. She made
no effort to speed the process, allowing herself to blend in among the
sorcerers, dressed nearly identically in black, save a few rank insignia and
the differences between men’s and women’s attire. Once the crowd oozed her out
into the streets, she flowed to the edges of the group and disappeared down a
side street.

Feast nights drew thieves and cutthroats like flies to a
corpse. They lurked at the edges of crowds, waiting for errant merrymakers to
wander away from the safety of guards and numbers. Juliana activated a shield
once she was well away from the bulk of the realm’s sorcerers. After that, any
cutthroat would merely pose a delay, a straightforward problem on a day where
she had her fill of mysteries; an attack would have been a welcome diversion, a
problem she knew exactly how to handle.

Despite her misgivings, the thieves and worse among the
Kadris underworld were either lucky or smart that night. She arrived at the
waterfront without incident, but was unfamiliar with the drydocks. Of all the
parts of the waterfront, it was the place least in need of someone to oversee
cargo arriving. There were only two places ships went where they never needed
such an inspection: the drydocks where they originated, and the seafloor where
they eventually all wound up.

There was more activity than she would have expected at so
late an hour on a day of celebration. She would have expected the workers to be
among the revelers drinking themselves stupid over the crowning of a new
emperor. She did not know the names of any of the new ships that were being
built, so she had to ask someone which the
Daggerstrike
was.

“The metal ship with no masts. You can’t miss it, girl,” one
of them informed her.

When she found it, it looked even stranger than any airship
she had seen so far. The modifications to most just involved a lot of runes,
some extra rigging to keep crewmen from falling off as they pitched and rolled
in the air, and a steering sail. The
Daggerstrike
looked like a ship
dipped in molten metal, hot enough to burn away masts, rigging, and rudder. It
looked incomplete, heavy, and unlikely to float either on water or in the air.

“There you are. Good. Quickly, get up here,” she heard
Brannis call down from above.

She looked up and saw him on the deck, leaning over the
railing. Juliana looked around, and found the gangplank. She took Brannis’s
advice, and rushed up to meet him on the deck.

Brannis put his arm around her, and hurried her down
belowdecks, lighting a soft blue light as they went. Juliana could not help but
marvel at how nearly every metallic surface was covered in runes. Brannis
pulled her into a room at the end of the corridor that turned out to be a
bedchamber.

“Brannis, if this is what you wanted, you could—”

“No, it is not like that,” Brannis replied. “These are your
new quarters.”

“My what?” Juliana shouted.

Brannis pantomimed quiet by patting his hands downward in
the air. “Things here are going to get messy in Kadris very soon. You have seen
a piece of the puzzle, unless you have been oblivious to the rumors about the
murdered sorcerers. I am fairly certain that there is a civil war beginning. You
are a perfect target for such intrigues,” Brannis said, holding up a hand that
forestalled an objection before she could voice it. “I know, you take care of
yourself far better than anyone here credits you with. That said, I have a
good, legitimate use for those same skills. I have it worked out perfectly.”