Chapter Twenty-Seven

Carann, Royal Palace

Arta groaned and slowly opened her eyes to find herself lying on her back in a plain white bed, staring up at a blank ceiling. She blinked twice and shook her head, trying to clear it and remember exactly how it was that she came to be here, and then slowly sat up.

“Welcome back to the living,” a familiar voice said, and Arta turned to see Karani sitting up in the bed next to her own, an open book in her lap and one leg stretched out in front of her, wrapped in a cast. Her foster-sister shot her a jaunty grin. “So, tell me – how does it feel to be the heroine of the hour, anyway?”

Suddenly, memories rushed back to Arta in a chaotic jumble – Darius, the attack by the pirates, the Commander, their duel… “What happened?” she finally asked. “How did I get here, anyway? And what’s this about me being ‘the heroine of the hour’?”

Karani rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, nothing much,” she said. “You only defeated and killed the man who led the attack on the palace, who also happened to be the head of a notorious pirate gang and, by his own admission, the assassin who killed Queen Aestera, and you did it on live holo so the entire Kingdom got to watch.” She gestured at a holoscreen on one of the room’s walls, which was now blank. “Oh, yes. You see, the recording mechs were too dumb to realize that the attack wasn’t part of the tournament, so they never stopped filming you, and apparently everyone was too panicked to shut them off before everything was over with. Your face got plastered across every news show in the entire Dozen Stars, little sister. And you did it all without me! I had to watch the whole thing from my hospital bed! Which is where we are, by the way, our own private room in the Palace infirmary. In any case, I got left out, and if I hadn’t been worried so sick about you, I’d never speak to you again.”

Arta managed a chuckle in spite of the seriousness of the situation and glanced around at their surroundings, a small, plain room with two beds and an unoccupied chair in the corner. The faint remnants of a headache were still throbbing in her skull, and she reached up a hand to rub her temple as she tried to piece together what happened. “Last thing I remember was blacking out after the Commander died,” she said. “How did I get up here, anyway?”

“Darius ast Sakran, if you’ll believe it,” Karani said in a tone that indicated she herself still had some doubts. “Carried you up here in person, said you saved his life, and that you should get treatment fitting a Knight of the Realm or the doctors would have him to answer to. Of course, I don’t think the regent was going to do anything less to start with, but I guess the ast Sakran family isn’t entirely rotten after all.” She shook her head. “Anyway, it turns out what you mostly needed was sleep, which you’ve been getting for the better part of a day. Guess whatever you did to that assassin really took it out of you. All I can figure was that it was some Adept thing, unless he just decided to self-destruct for no reason at all.”

“It was an ‘Adept thing’,” Arta said, smiling. “Don’t ask me what I did, because I’m still not sure, but I think I somehow managed to fry the connections in his cybernetics. Without them, there wasn’t enough left of him to keep him alive for long.” The word ‘alive’ stirred a sudden, horrible thought. “What about Father? Did he make it out okay? What about the rest of the crowd?”

“Father’s fine,” Karani said, nodding to the chair. “He’s been here most of the time; stepped out a little before you woke up to get some kaf, but he should be back before too long. There were some casualties – I heard that Duke Hiram didn’t make it, and he wasn’t the only one – but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Apparently once the Imperial Ambassador was clear of danger, he sent his giant metal whatever-they-ares out to protect civilians and they handled a good chunk of the pirates by themselves.”

“They’re called ‘praetorians’, Karani,” Arta said, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Are you ever going to pay attention to Shiran?”

“Only when he has something interesting to say,” Karani shot back with a grin.

A moment later the door opened and Baron Varas stepped inside, a cup of steaming kaf in one hand. When he saw that Arta was awake, he hurriedly put it down and rushed to her bedside, wrapping her in an embrace. “Thank the Lord,” he breathed. “You’re safe. The doctors and their mechs said you’d be fine, but… well, it’s a father’s right to worry.”

“I’m all right,” Arta said, pressing her head against his shoulder. “I’m going to be okay.” She pulled back and met her foster-father’s eyes. “Karani said that I saved the day, apparently,” she said. “But I don’t feel like a hero. I still just feel tired.”

“That’s how these things usually feel,” the Baron said. “But the worst will pass, and we’ll be there for you.”

“I know,” Arta said, “but thank you. And I love you both, and I never want to lose either of you.”

“Hey,” Karani said, “we’re not going anywhere. You’re family, Arta, and you always will be.”

But at her words, for a moment, there was a look of sorrow and loss in the Baron’s eyes.

///

Mardoban looked down at the twisted remains of the Commander where they lay on an examination table in the guard barracks and sighed. “What a mess,” he muttered. “He fooled us all, and nearly succeeded in killing us all, and now this is all that’s left of him. Any word from the analysts?”

“There’s not enough left to be of much use,” Gilgam said. “The cybernetics are so damaged that they’re impossible to trace, and the human parts aren’t in much better condition.” He shook his head. “That girl really did a number on him, didn’t she?”

“It wasn’t just her,” Mardoban said. “He had some sort of self-destruct built into his systems. Whoever augmented him was determined he wouldn’t be taken alive or leave behind a corpse that could give clues about his origins.”

“They were thorough, sir,” Gilgam said. “The corpses of the other assassins are still being examined, and they aren’t in much better shape. The pirates we’ve questioned admit to knowing nothing about where they came from, either – only that they were willing to pay well for skilled fighters who didn’t ask questions and weren’t overly burdened by ethics.”

“Have your guards keep searching; try to find where they landed and if their main ship is still in the system,” Mardoban said. “We probably won’t find much, but anything is better than what we have. We will get to the bottom of this, even if it takes another fifteen years.”

“Yes, sir!” Gilgam said, saluting before turning and leaving the room. Mardoban regarded the Commander’s husk for a short while longer, then did the same. In the hallway outside, he found Naudar waiting for him, tapping his cane, all three of his children hovering protectively by his side.

“Learn anything?” the duke of Sakran asked.

“Nothing worthwhile,” Mardoban said. “The Commander’s origins, and the nature of his backers, remains a mystery, I’m afraid, but it’s one I intend to solve.”

“We’ll solve it,” Naudar glowered. “We were both at the battle where that bastard was supposed to have died; it reflects badly on us both that he lived, and then managed to invade this palace. When I find whoever put him up to it, they’d best hope the Lord has mercy on them, for I’ll have none.”

“Father,” one of Naudar’s sons, Galen, said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “wasn’t there something you wanted to discuss with the regent?”

“What my son is referring to,” Naudar said, “regards the matter of who, exactly, won the tournament. That is an issue that needs to be settled.”

“You can’t be serious,” Mardoban said. “We only just barely survived assassination, neither of our reputations may ever recover from the fact that the attack was led by a man we supposedly killed, and you’re still worried about making sure your chance for the crown is still in play?”

Naudar shrugged. “It was, after all, the point of this event,” he said. “And besides, I think that the situation has only grown more unstable after the attack, and other nations will have watched and seen our weakness. Your weakness too, Mardoban, you have to admit. The council may well choose to vote you out as regent over this. We need a ruler, and one seen as strong.”

Mardoban sighed heavily, but he knew Naudar was right. His authority had been badly damaged by the fiasco or would be as the news spread; Naudar was in a little better position. With Hiram’s death, the guilds were angry as well, demanding the council’s assurances that their interests be protected. It seemed the only public figure in the Dozen Stars whose reputation had actually improved wasn’t actually a citizen of it – Ambassador Quarinis had been hailed as a hero following his use of his praetorians to defeat the pirates and save the lives of numerous civilians.

Of course, there was still the question of Midaia, but then, she’d made it quite clear long ago that she had no desire to ascend her mother’s throne. And besides, she’d vanished from the palace once again after saving the council, though there were reports that she’d been seen briefly in a dozen places, none of them were substantiated. In terms of heirs of Aestera’s blood, that left only Artakane… which brought the issue back to the tournament.

“The final round was inconclusive, Naudar,” Mardoban finally said. “No one won the right to try the crown, on account of it being… rudely interrupted.”

“Darius was winning,” Tariti said, nodding to her older brother, who was currently standing behind his father and looking as if he was wrestling with some deep internal struggle. “He’d have had the Katanes girl beaten if the round had lasted another minute. He’s the obvious choice.”

“True enough,” Naudar said. “My son was winning – you can’t dispute that, and I doubt the girl would either, if you want to ask her. Just give me the chance to try the crown, Mardoban, and put an end to all of this!”

“No,” a voice said; Mardoban was stunned to realize it was Darius, and the boy himself looked only slightly less shocked.

“No?” Naudar asked, incredulously. “What are you talking about, my boy? What, were you about to lose despite all appearances to the contrary?” He chuckled darkly at his own joke.

“Arta ast Katanes saved my life,” Darius said. “She then dueled and killed the assassin of the former Queen while I lay out cold on the floor. Yes, I could have beaten her in a fair duel – I know it, and she knows it, but that’s not what happened. Her house should have a chance to try the crown’s test first.”

“Darius,” Naudar said, scowling, “I’ve taught you that the appearance of honor is important to a duke, but now is not the time or the place.”

“If honor is only useful when it’s convenient, then it’s not worth keeping,” Darius said. “I’m sorry, Father, but I’m not going to change my mind.”

Naudar regarded his son coldly, then hung his head. “No, you’re not,” he muttered. “Very well. Under the circumstances, it’d probably just be seen as a naked grab for power, anyway. Let the ast Kataneses try. I doubt the Baron will succeed, anyway; that way, when the crown chooses the most qualified candidate, it will seem more legitimate anyway.”

“So be it,” Mardoban said, and a shiver ran up his spine that had nothing to do with Naudar’s cynical words.

///

The Baron had returned to his chair and was sipping his kaf, occasionally pausing to talk about the tournament or ask his daughters if either of them needed anything, when the door opened and Shiran stepped inside, looking somewhat haggard but basically well.

“You’re all right!” Arta said, feeling relief wash over you. “Where have you been? I’ve barely seen you since we got here; were you caught in the attack?”

The Professor looked somewhat self-conscious. “I sensed something wrong and sought out the regent, thinking he might need my help. I ended up needing his; one of the assassins shot me with a drugged dart. Thankfully, it only knocked me out and I think I’ve mostly got it out my system – still not an experience I would recommend. They must have wanted me alive; Lord only knows why.”

He smiled. “In any case, I wanted to tell you both that I’m very proud of you, both for making it as far as you did in the tournament and you, Arta, for your heroics during the attack. I’ve known adult knights who would have frozen when you acted. You made me proud, and your father too.”

“Still think he’s a spy?” Arta muttered to Karani out of the corner of her mouth.

“Shut up,” Karani hissed back; if Shiran noticed, he gave no sign, but the Baron covered his mouth with one hand to hide a chuckle.

“But that’s not the only reason I’m here,” the Professor said, turning to face the Baron. “I was just speaking with the regent, and it seems that Duke Naudar – apparently at Darius’s urging – has agreed to recognize Arta as the winner of the tournament thanks to her actions during the pirate raid, as the actual final round was cut short. That means that you, as the head of Arta’s house, will have the chance to try for the crown and, potentially, the throne. Congratulations.” He smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go lie down. I’ve only been up for a little more than an hour, but whatever drug was in that dart was potent stuff.” He looked back over his shoulder at Arta and Karani. “Well done again, both of you.”

When he was gone, Karani looked to her father with a wide-eyed expression. “That’s amazing!” she said. “I mean, we joked about you maybe being king, but we never thought it would actually happen! And because of Arta? Good for you, little sister! I guess saving ast Sakran’s sorry life was good for something, right?”

Arta’s eyes were on the Baron’s face; his expression was solemn, as though he was wrestling with some internal doubt, and then he sighed. “No,” he said. “I think we all know that I am not Arta’s biological father; though it has been my honor and my joy to bring her up in my house, she was not born ast Katanes.” He stood, fishing something out of his pocket, and walked over to Arta’s bedside; kneeling beside it he pressed a small object into her hand. “This is for you. It belonged to your mother and was left in my care. I was going to give it to you when you turned eighteen and came of age, but I think under the circumstances, you’ve earned it now. I will always love you, Arta, and we will always be your family, but as baron I hereby declare you emancipated and cut free of legal responsibilities to House ast Katanes. Try the test of the crown for yourself. Arta, I’m so proud of you, and proud to have been your father.” He caught her in another tight embrace, and Arta thought she could see tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. Then he pulled away and turned and hurried from the room.

“What was that?” Karani demanded when he was gone. “What’d he give you, anyway?”

Arta opened her hand and held it up; resting on her palm was a small golden ring, set with the image of a Lion of Carann, the symbol of the royal house of the Dozen Stars. “A message,” Arta whispered. “And a promise.”

///

Several days later, Arta stood alone outside the doors to the council chamber, dressed in a new set of tournament armor that had been polished so it gleamed, with a dueling sword at her waist and a fine cloak over her shoulders. Her black hair had been neatly brushed, washed, and fussed over by Karani and was now pulled back in a tail; her whole appearance was meant to be that of an elegant, cultured, and victorious young knight, or so her foster-sister and the Baron had assured her. Arta herself still felt awkward and out of place.

The doors swung open, and Arta sighed, straightened herself, and strode inside. The battle anthem of the Dozen Stars was playing from invisible speakers, and the chamber was crowded with nobles and civilians arranged in neat rows, with an open aisle in the middle for her to walk down. Near the front she passed Karani, who was grinning broadly despite the fact that she was still leaning on a crutch, and the Baron, who nodded encouragingly. The front row was taken up by the dukes and duchesses of the council and their immediate families; Pakorus smiled at her as she passed, as surprisingly, did Darius ast Sakran, though his brother Galen was scowling and their father, Naudar, was weighing her with a calculating look.

The throne seemed to loom above Arta on its dais at the head of the room as she approached; the dais was ringed by guards, but on it stood Duke Mardoban on the throne’s right side with the elderly High Prelate a step behind him and, to Arta’s surprise, Shiran on its left. She passed the guards and mounted the dais, stopping on the second-highest step to offer a curtsy to the throne, as she’d been instructed. On it rested a light circlet of gold, set with sapphires. This, then, was the crown that all of this had been about – the one that had, rumor said, almost killed Duke Respen months ago.

“Hail to the victorious,” Mardoban said as Arta rose. “Whoever wears the crown shall rule, was the message that was left when it was delivered to us. Some took it as a hoax, others as a challenge; others of us felt that it was a sign from the Lord that this Kingdom was a desperate need of leadership once again. The purpose of our tournament here was to find a house that seemed worthy of attempting the test of the crown. The attack on it by the assassins who slew Queen Aestera was another sign, both of our weakness and of the fact that this Kingdom has enemies who would see it destroyed – another sign that we had to act. Those enemies were thwarted, thanks in part to the actions of this young woman who now stands before us. Arta ast Katanes, by the judgment of the council, has earned the right to wear this crown and see if it judges her worthy, and her father, the Baron Varas ast Katanes, has renounced his own claim in favor of hers. Should she fail, then the test shall pass to other houses whose contestants placed highly in the tournament. Should she succeed…” His voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken idea hanging in the air.

“Arta ast Katanes,” Mardoban said once the pause had passed, “are you willing to attempt the test of the crown, knowing that failure will cause you great pain?”

“I am,” Arta said, finding her voice.

“Then you may approach.”

Arta stepped onto the top level of the dais and approached the throne. The crown seemed such a small, insignificant thing, resting on the throne’s seat, but when she bent down to pick it up, she felt the energy coursing through it. It was some creation that merged technology with an Adept’s powers, she thought, though she had no idea how such a thing was possible. And there was something familiar about it as well, something that recalled the Professor. Was this his handiwork? What was it meant to judge? Bloodline alone? Surely not; Respen was of royal blood, and he’d failed. Something more, then? Something that its wearer had, or perhaps something they might have, a potential for what they could become.

Slowly she turned to face the crowd, the crown held between her hands. Looking out at the gathered faces before her, Arta took a deep breath, tried to steady her hammering heart, and then lifted the crown and placed it onto her head.

For a long moment, nothing happened. There was no pain, merely a tingling warmth, and Arta had the feeling that whatever power lived inside the crown was exploring her every thought and feeling, judging and weighing her. Then there was a pulse of energy that echoed through her body, and every sapphire on the crown burst into brilliant light.

Arta could hear the crowd’s gasp, feel the weakness at her knees as the import of just what had happened hit her, and then Shiran was at her side, steadying her. “People of the Dozen Stars,” he called, “some of you know me, and some of you do not. Years ago, I was a counselor at the court of Queen Aestera, and when she came to fear for her life, she charged me with protecting her legacy. That legacy stands before you. I give you Artakane ast Carann, born and raised in secret, but the true daughter of a queen, who has been raised and trained to lead with responsibility, fairness, and compassion, who has proven her valor and her commitment to the Kingdom in the face of its enemies before you all. She has been judged and found worthy. I say to you – long live Queen Artakane!”

For a moment, the chamber was silent; then Karani raised her crutch towards the ceiling. “Long live Queen Artakane!” she called, and then the Baron took up the chant beside her. Then Pakorus took up the call, and then Darius ast Sakran, and then the crowd joined in, the call echoing through the council chamber. And yet Naudar’s expression of calm calculation didn’t change, and Respen’s face was twisted in hatred; several rows behind the dukes, Ambassador Quarinis nodded, his cool eyes appraising.

Suddenly a great wave seemed to crash down on Arta, and she saw at a glance a vast jumble of images, things that would be, or that might be. She saw the war that was coming, the terrible crisis that the Commander had spoken of with his last breath that would test the Dozen Stars to its brink, and yet she also saw, beneath the chaos, a glimmer of hope, that there was a chance – a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless – that from the darkness might rise something great, something that would shine across the stars for millennia. Then it all passed in an instant, and Arta was back on the dais, just a girl in fine clothes and armor, a gleaming crown on her brow.

Looking out over the crowd, her gaze was drawn to a shadowy figure near the back, hood pulled low over her head. Of course, Midaia was there – Midaia, her half-sister, who was the missing princess after all, Midaia whose voice had spoken in her mind and given her the strength to fight on when all seemed lost. Midaia’s expression was calm and unreadable, but she inclined her head to Arta in a slight bow – and then she curtsied, and it seemed both an acknowledgment and a promise. Arta didn’t trust Midaia, wasn’t even sure if she liked her, but she knew that her half-sister would be watching out for her in the days to come, as would others, family and friends both. It seemed inescapable now that Arta would shoulder this burden, but she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Suddenly a great weariness, and a mix of both hope and dread for the future, hit her; stumbling back from Shiran’s reassuring hand, she fell backwards and found herself seated on the throne – the Queen’s throne, her mother’s throne. Beside her, she saw Duke Mardoban nodding at her encouragingly, and the High Prelate stepping forward to address the crowd, but she didn’t hear his words. Merely the cry that seemed to encompass everything that had happened here today, and that was intended as praise, but seemed more to be a promise of the trials, and the uncertain future, that lay ahead.

“Long live Queen Artakane! Long Live Queen Artakane! Long Live Queen Artakane!”