“You have served Ceuna well, Vorlan,” Forynda declared in her sanctum. “I feared that any other might fail.”

Cyrona, looking on at Forynda’s side, found herself grudgingly agreeing. She had thought Vorlan would be a weak advocate in order to sabotage a position he had not supported in the first place. She had braced for a crippling defeat that would preclude their chance to extricate their kind from the mortal world. She could scarcely believe that victory had been theirs. Vorlan, however, did not carry a triumphal air.

“It would be premature to declare a total victory. There is the matter of them complying,” Vorlan warned. “Omonrel and the others, especially Parlon, are unlikely to do any of this easily.”

That assessment troubled the High Angel, but not as much as Cyrona. Nothing Vorlan could have done would have completely vanquished her suspicions of the Earth Angel’s motivations. Continuing to voice sympathy for Omonrel and his compatriots only worsened this for her.

“Easily or not, they have no choice,” Cyrona retorted. This drew an approving glance from Forynda. “We made our decision and they must obey!”

Vorlan stared back at her and then refocused his attention on the High Angel.

“One lesson you learn from being among the mortals is that issuing an edict and having it enforced are different matters,” Vorlan said. “We need to consider what follows if they refuse.”

Forynda’s gaze fell heavily on the Earth Angel. Cyrona smiled anticipating the High Angel’s scorn.

“If so, that only affirms my judgment. This should have been our course centuries ago or since the beginning,” she declared. “Should you speak with Omonrel and his allies, warn them that I shall not be lenient if they refuse. Punishment will be swift and severe.”

Predictably, Vorlan glowered at the High Angel’s declaration, which amused Cyrona.

“I would advise not committing to that if you are not certain you would proceed in that way,” Vorlan said cautiously.

Forynda glared back with icy hostility.

“Some of us choose our words far more carefully than others, Vorlan,” she riposted.

“I strongly suggest that we not lunge into anything rash. Emotions run high now in the mortal world. If this does not proceed precisely as we intended, we may need to allow some time for tempers to recede,” Vorlan pleaded.

The High Angel turned toward Cyrona before Vorlan had even finished.

“Has Nethron produced anything of note to explain Simel’s visions?” Forynda inquired.

“Of course not,” Cyrona scoffed. “He has had some loose theories for some time, but nothing more than that. He is a dithering dilettante as always!”

Surprisingly to Cyrona, the High Angel demonstrated no visible frustrations. Perhaps it had been as predictable to her as it was to Cyrona.

“Nethron is an irrelevancy,” Forynda said plainly. “As of this moment, we stand on the cusp of resolution, regardless of what Nethron discovers. Once all of our brethren are removed from the mortal realm, what these visions may have been will no longer matter.”

Cyrona bowed in agreement while Vorlan grimaced. Seeing his displeasure, Forynda waved him away. The High Angel returned to her serene stance at the core of her sanctum, almost blending with the white glistening mist. Taking their cues, Cyrona and Vorlan departed, both retiring to Cyrona’s sanctum for further clashes on the matter at hand.

Her dominion was scarcely conducive to arguments. Rushing water poured down from vaults above and proved a nuisance for any but her to maintain their focus. She took to swimming through the currents while Vorlan positioned himself on a solitary dry platform.

“Say what you want, Vorlan,” she declared as she swept from one waterfall to another. With the cool waters flowing over here, she momentarily was able to put aside the prior rancor.

Vorlan remained silent for several moments, simply running his hands through the waters several times.

“You need to consider what you are telling Forynda. If I were a more suspicious sort, I would assume you were trying to guide her toward a war with Omonrel and the others,” the Earth Angel at last said.

That accusation instantly annoyed Cyrona, but she determined to keep her calm.

“If that is what you think, then you are a fool!” Cyrona retorted while vibrating the waters in her chamber, causing them to lunge toward Vorlan. She commanded them to stop just short of his face. “You are mistaking order and the firm hand necessary to achieve it with want of violence. Forynda is doing all of this precisely to avoid war. You are an oaf if you refuse to acknowledge that!”

She sensed Vorlan sighing below her. She elected to leave her waters and float directly before him. His mossy beard had tightened and he looked down rather than forward at her.

“What is it? Please tell me that now is not the moment where you decide to close your mouth and be mysterious to me,” she chided him.

“What troubles me is that we are moving with the perspective and urgency of mortals when we all know better than this,” the Earth Angel mumbled ruefully. “I have seen how their conflicts become tragedy. They are always in such a hurry. Their speed, fear of missing opportunities, dying before their hopes can come true, that causes them to blunder so much. Now we fall into the same faults.”

“All of which we never would have been subjected to had we not been among them in the first place,” Cyrona scolded.

“You are accusing me of being of the same mind as Omonrel,” Vorlan protested. “I simply would prefer a viable compromise. That is my one and only view on the matter.”

Cyrona shook her head, her waters boiling with irritation, but she soothed them as she knew that she had Vorlan precisely where she intended.

“You must realize by now that the hour for compromise left us long ago. At this moment, one stance must prevail over the other and we have to hope that such a triumph will happen peacefully.”

Vorlan shook his head. Cyrona was left to wonder what, if anything, would ever convince the Earth Angel of his errors. When she scanned the full history, every single second they had ever exchanged words, she never had once heard him acknowledge a substantial error. She pondered how it was that Forynda had been deemed the inflexible one by mortals while Vorlan had the reputation for laxity. By itself, that demonstrated the perils of interacting with the mortals.

“I cannot accept that,” he said bitterly. “There must be an avenue open to us and I will pursue it relentlessly once the opportunity presents itself.”

“Fantasize about that as you will,” Cyrona scolded. “You will wait and wait and wait for that moment that will never come. The instant you realize you have been wrong will be far too enjoyable for me.”

~~~

Duronaht continued rubbing his wife's feet to loosen her muscles. He could feel them wiggle like worms while also tightening and hardening. It felt like they were trying to crush her bones. She had swallowed a tonic to lessen the pain, but her symptoms were no less severe. No concoction could arrest the spread of her ailment. Relieving the pain simply allowed for the illusion.

"You think you can make it to my announcement?" Duronaht asked, continuing to massage Torhess's feet.

"I... I really don't know. Will it be long?" She managed. Her eyes had a distant glint to them, like something he was looking at through a foggy window.

"Far less than an hour, I'm sure," he replied.

She repositioned herself in bed, wincing with each clumsy movement.

"I can try," she said, her voice crackling. "And there won't be a reception afterwards?"

"Oh, no, not for this occasion," he forced a laugh.

"And you're really sure you want to go through with this?" she prodded. "Things can never go back if you do this."

He looked out the window into the courtyard where two regiments trained in their new armor, which was tinted red to better distinguish them on a battlefield. It was also far heavier than prior iterations, accompanied by the promise of being immune to the great majority of arrows. That was what his military advisers told him, at any rate. Whether that would be tested would flow from his actions.

“Everyone’s rushing around and making these decisions without any thought as to why,” Duronaht grumbled. He tightened his massage on Torhess’s feet as he spoke. “What we’ll piss away if we give in to father…Yes, I’m sure of this. This is for the kingdom, but more important to me, this is for you.”

She smiled, closing her eyes. He leaned over her to kiss her lips. They ran cold, as they normally did with her ailment. He could scarcely remember the last time they had been warm, but he missed it all the same.

To his surprise, she decided to ready herself for the ceremony. He waited for her to be brought down the stairs from their bedchamber to the antechamber, eagerly pacing back and forth as he considered his words to the Zarmandian court. For his declaration to have its greatest effect, Duronaht needed words both brief and impactful that could be recited over the whole of the realm. Ordinarily, he had faith that he could conjure such a speech. With the strains now upon him, however, he found the words lacking.

“Your Majesty, Her Highness will be with you shortly,” an attendant, dressed in shining red and green garments, announced.

Indeed, she wasn’t far behind. Torhess wore her family’s colors, dark green and silver in a magnificent dress truly the envy of the entire court. Atop her head, she wore her crown, an elegant golden band triumphantly inlaid with gems of every conceivable color. More importantly, to Duronaht, was her. Torhress’s gentle grace and resolve, even as she relied on the support of one of his Solnahtern to assist her down the stairs, caused him to quiver. He had never shown strength at even a fraction of hers. He told himself that regularly, partly to praise her and partly to tell himself to rally his own energies.

“Absolutely lovely,” he said almost breathlessly as she descended the last step.

“And you look kingly,” she replied through a stiff smile, clearly fighting back her pains.

He embraced her, holding her tightly enough he could feel her buzzing and twitching muscles. He squeezed lightly, as if pressing the illness from her body. It was a ritual he had repeated many times, deluding himself that one day it might work.

“Shall we?” he offered his hand to her on her left side as the Solnahtern guardsman held her from her right.

Torhess smiled and clasped his hand. Together they strode across the antechamber and into the throne room. With the better part of two hundred lords and ladies and their associated retinues, the hall was filled to the brim and scarcely recognizable. Trumpets blasted staccato fanfare to announce his presence, causing the full hall to turn and bow.

“His Majesty, King Duronaht, and Her Royal Highness, Queen Torhess,” the portly herald, just to the right of the door, blared.

Lords and ladies scurried to leave the aisle leading to the thrones at the hall’s rear. As the royal couple proceeded up the approach, he nearly choked on the heavy perfumes permeating the air. I could have told them in advance that I didn’t care if they smelled nice, Duronaht thought.

Behind the thrones, Omonrel, Jagreth, and Parlon stood as towering figures, surveying the hall. Jagreth reached almost halfway to the ceiling with Omonrel and Parlon only just shorter than him. Even the angels bowed toward Duronaht as he sat Torhess in her throne beside his.

He turned to the hall and breathed deeply. He could feel the tense air wrap around him. Apprehension was rife. His own, however, vanished as he looked back at his beloved queen.

“My lords, my ladies,” he began, “all of you attended my father’s summons in Methrangia. We all know what was decided. Before long, our Angelic Lords are to be unwelcome by my father, the Emperor, in any corner of the Empire. Worse yet, the High Angel has taken this as a chance to order all angels from the whole of Vorlanys. Should this all come to pass, the era of the angels in this world will be at an end.”

Stopping for a moment to allow that to have its proper effect, he gauged the room. As it should have been, it was favorable. It looks like Bolgrelt can do one thing well enough.

“I won’t let this happen,” he declared, breaking his brief silence. Excitement rippled through the hall. “One man and some western lords get to decide this for us? No! We are the greatest part of the empire, the oldest, the core of everything the Methrangian Empire should be. My own family’s original home rests not fifty miles from here along with some of our most loyal and distinguished houses. Are our voices to be drowned out?”

A resounding chorus of “No!” greeted his question.

“Ours is a great world, great because the angels made it so. They could make it still greater for all of us. Should all of what they have done and could still do be tossed out because of jealousy?”

“No!” the hall repeated, even louder.

“And that’s what it is. Jealousy. We welcomed the angels eagerly into our midst here in Zarmand and we’ve benefitted from them, whether it’s music or prosperity or protection. Now some fools want to deny us all of that because they envy what we have achieved. Will we simply roll over and let that happen?”

“No!”

“Today, I, Duronaht, King of Zarmand, declare that this kingdom will reject the decision taken in Methrangia. We offer those angels wishing to remain on Vorlanys a home in our lands. We will embrace the angels to embrace a better world. Join with us! Defy this shoddy edict! Stand for yourselves! Stand for your houses! Stand for your futures!”

In an instant, deafening cheers rumbled through the hall with his most faithful lords, Golious and Feradnor, shouting his praises as loud as they could from the front of the hall. Bolgrelt smiled, lifting his aged jowls at the King. Duronaht couldn’t help but wonder what the Court Minister would tell the Emperor about this. His father would doubtlessly explode. However, as he looked back at Torhess, he didn’t care. Her gentle smile of support felt as though it could help him weather any storm.

And what a storm it will be.