Independence

  Coaction, then, marks the building of that trust along the way. It is the allowance which the heir is given on a set basis. Use up too much of it frivolously, and he may find that it comes with additional requirements or restrictions the next time. Or perhaps the father is exceedingly wealthy, and that young man never has to work for it. . . . Such money is not worth as much when it comes down to it. Perhaps the son is no rich heir, but works diligently for what he has. He reaches adulthood and still must work all the more. He manages his money well, he learns from his experience and from others, and makes a good life, though he may never have women jumping to do his bidding. This is the man who does not have the talent but puts in enough effort to become an accomplished practitioner of Coaction—and eventually, Authority.

  — From Secrets of Mani, by Sor the Lark

  (Dri’Shal 26, 997—Sunrise)

  The next day, we sat in the conference hall of the Royal Palace, in discussion with the leading figures in Nytaea, along with the rebel leaders. The hall was long and rectangular in shape, dominated by a long table.

  There was Rhidea, presiding over the table; Princess Mydia, fidgeting in her chair with tearstains on her eyes; Marshal Lanthar, a burly man with a well-trimmed beard, sharply-uniformed, with arms crossed and face resolute; Keuda the royal secretary, wide-eyed and nervous as a new bride; and Bart and Gaela, the sole survivors of the Underground’s leaders. Tall Tom and Skinny Sam, whose names I had discovered were Tomas and Dossam respectively, had died in the skirmishes that had broken out at the hanging.

  And then there were Kaen and me, sitting in awkwardly, not knowing what part we played. Master Gendric of the Mage Academy, being one of the most esteemed personages in the city, had been invited, but had declined the offer to be in on the making or remaking of a government, insisting it was neither his place nor calling. Rhidea spoke very highly of the man; perhaps I would get to meet him someday. In the back stood two mage soldiers holding a bedraggled Lady Lieda between them. She wore a lovely-looking gag that I had heard was some sort of magic-disabling device.

  “All right, let’s get started,” called Marshal Lanthar in a booming voice, breaking up any lingering small talk amongst the group.

  Rhidea cleared her throat and spoke up. “We have assembled here today with one purpose, and that is to decide the fate of the government of our beloved city-state of Nytaea.”

  A few murmurs sounded from around the room. Ignoring them, she continued:

  “Lord Edrius Kalceron, the notorious tyrant, has perished this last night. His rule has been one of cruelty, his hand a grim, oppressive darkness upon the land. And we have an opportunity to change it. But dare we, and what will be the consequences if we choose to?”

  And so began the discussion. It was a heated one, but Rhidea did an admirable job of maintaining order and keeping the focus on the serious matters at hand. She was a bastion of stability here, all traces of the dusty scholar thrown off. Marshal Lanthar suggested surrendering to the Archlord and letting him appoint new leadership, not because of a sense of allegiance so much as because it was the most obviously bloodless choice. I was surprised that our medaled military leader would suggest such a seemingly cowardly course of action. To this, multiple people pointed out how it would essentially be a death sentence for anyone involved in the coup in any way. I certainly didn’t like the idea.

  The secretary, Keuda, wanted to serve someone more honorable than Lord Kalceron, as long as that could be arranged with minimal bloodshed—though, being a woman of great care, she worded this sentiment with the utmost tact. Along with others, Keuda seemed to fear offending Mydia with comments aimed against the late tyrant.

  Kaen spoke up at one point, saying that he never wanted anyone else to grow up in an orphanage knowing that their very lives were threatened by royal law, to which I and many others heartily agreed. Mydia said very little, probably having already used up most of her public speaking skills the previous day—not to mention the trauma she was still coping with.

  I stood up from my seat at this point, asking, “What will the Archlord do if we let him arrange our new government? Would he appoint a moral man? We were our own city-state before—can’t we be that again? What if we convince the neighboring lands, along with the Archlord, that we are strong by ourselves? If not, then we will be enslaved to another evil man!”

  Rhidea nodded my way approvingly. “The child is right. We have the strongest magic in all of Kystrea, the best academy, one of the strongest standing militaries—” the Marshal nodded his agreement “—and a long history of independence before Lord Edrius Kalceron made his bargain one hundred years ago with the Archlord. We are strong.”

  Marshal Lanthar rubbed his forehead with his hands. “Strong, yes . . . but you’re talking about a potential war with the most powerful man on the continent.”

  “We will never know unless we try,” said Gaela. “Nothing is ever accomplished without some degree of faith. Our cause is right, so why back down?”

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  The council eventually came to an agreement that we, the ancient city-state of Nytaea, should move forward with seceding from the Archlord’s rule. Lanthar would stay on as commander of all military forces, Keuda would stay on as royal secretary, but Lord Kalceron’s position as governor would be given over to three separate people: Mydia, Bart and Gaela. Mydia would be the acting queen regent, that is to say until a male heir could be chosen, a relative of her choice as approved by the council or, if all else failed, to another suitable for the job. The idea was to please those in the Palace who were uneasy about the rule suddenly being taken from the line of House Kalceron.

  The two Underground leaders would be called vice-regents. Bart, despite having a temper, was chosen due to his skill of leadership within the Underground. Gaela was chosen because she was also a leader in the same group, and also because she had noble blood (again, they sought to please those noblemen in the Palace and outside who would balk at a commoner running the country).

  As for Rhidea, she offered to take a contingent to the neigh-boring kingdom of Nemental, which lay just east of the bordering province of Storklance, to ask for an alliance to aid in Nytaea’s struggle for independence. Being a dual citizen of Nytaea and Nemental, that was easier for her to arrange than for others.

  More discussion followed on what the new government would look like, among other, more minor details, but the meeting soon trailed off. I was honestly quite tired of it after sitting through nearly two hours of political ramblings—and I knew Kaen was as well. We soon made our way out, grabbing Mydia on the way. Rhidea was too busy handling larger matters to join us.

  Phoebe and Mandrie met us just outside the door to the conference hall. “So, what did they decide?” Mandrie chirped. I smiled just to see her beautiful, childish smile. Mydia had patched her up with her own Coactive healing, along with Phoebe, and the two looked as good as ever now, although I knew the emotional scars of their imprisonment and mistreatment would linger as long as they lived. Phoebe, I feared, might never smile again.

  “Nytaea will secede and declare independence,” Kaen told them, stooping to hug his sister and tousle her hair. He looked at Phoebe with an odd expression. “We were wrong about them, Pheebs. Rhidea pulled it off and got them on our side.”

  “But we still need to survive the Empire,” the dark-haired girl muttered, crossing her arms and turning her head. But I could tell that she was pleased to hear the news. I knew her too well to see only the pessimistic front.

  “And we will be heading out with Rhidea to Randhorn,” I informed them. “That is . . . if you want to come.” I cocked a half-smile.

  “Really?” Mandrie exclaimed, still beaming. “We get to travel with Lady Rhidea?”

  “That’s what I said. She is offering to take us and whoever else wants to come. But not too many in the party. We are going to ask King Fenwel for help in recreating an independent state.”

  Phoebe arched an eyebrow. “He would actually help our city? Uh . . . country?”

  I shrugged.

  “Lady Rhidea seems to think so,” said Kaen. “She can be pretty persuasive; I’ll give her that.”

  I laughed. “I thought you still didn’t like Rhidea?”

  “Well . . . I don’t have a whole lot of trust in her, but I don’t doubt her. Does that make sense?”

  Mandrie blinked up at her big brother. “Nope. But she helped you two get us out of that dreadful tower, so . . . I think she’s my best friend forever after that!” She flashed another dimpled grin. What an irrepressible aura of happiness, even after all that’s happened. Mandrie is truly a special child. Ugh, now I was starting to think like Rhidea.

  Mydia was to go with us to Randhorn, as she would be the official spokesperson among the new rulers, being the heir of House Kalceron. The final group was as follows: Rhidea, me, Kaen, Mydia, Julia and Teli (accompanying the queen as her handmaidens), Phoebe and Mandrie. The last two simply would not leave us, and Kaen and I did not want to leave them either.

  Rhidea added two promising students of the Mage Academy to our mix: Cort Flanning, a young lightning mage of noble blood, and Syneria Tolruin, a water mage. Rhidea had wanted to bring along a couple advanced mage students to introduce to some of her colleagues at the Randhorn school, and Master Gendric had apparently recommended them highly. Cort was a snobbish blond boy who got under my skin before I knew it, while Syneria was a snooty blonde girl who . . . well, was quite similar. I could see why they seemed to be friends.

  The next day, we headed eastward out of the Swan Gate. The breeze smelled of fresh grass and freedom, rustling the grey fields and silvery-leaved trees, but the bloody sun rising behind us, usually so pale, reminded me of the last Cycle’s dawn, when everything I knew and loved burned and crumbled away. Since then, we’d broken into the Palace, made new allies, freed our friends, and displaced our longtime oppressor, Lord Kalceron . . . such a crazy month.

  I would never forget Lentha and the children, my old life at the orphanage. But today marked a chance to help create a new life for us, and hopefully for many other orphans. Therefore, it was a day for joy and hope.

  It felt strange to have the gate guards nod in our direction, to watch as the portcullis was raised for my very own group to pass through. I still felt like an orphan, a shadowy figure who raised suspicion everywhere I went, whom the government did not recognize as a legal citizen, able to be enslaved without anyone batting an eye. Hopefully, all that would change in the coming months. And hopefully, we could hold the new nation of Nytaea from the Archlord’s grasp.

  Most of our group was not used to riding, and so Rhidea let us stop in the late afternoon at a nearby village called Haversfleet. Ironically, the pampered once-princess Mydia was one of the better riders, as she had been taught by equestrian instructors at the Palace from a young age. The locals welcomed us nervously, word having already reached them about the coup in Nytaea. We kept our identity a secret from them with the help of a little illusion work from Mydia. None could tell Rhidea and Mydia from two other noblewomen. They had coin, so that was enough for the innkeeper.

  The next day, we came into Storklance, the eastmost province of Kystrea.

  Storklance did not welcome us. They did quite the opposite, in fact, sending soldiers and magi after us. Word had spread quickly, and they seemed downright unfriendly toward traitors of the Empire for some reason. Thus, we kept on, straight out of the realm of Kystrea and into Nemental, headed for Randhorn.