RE: Monarch

Ashby of House Morrow lay crumpled in the dirt, whimpering, his left arm bent at an odd angle. I watched from a distance as his three sons, including my once friend, Feran, gathered around their father in a uncoordinated effort to lift the man from the ground.

On the first attempt, Ashby’s broken face came up for a moment, only to limply plant itself back into the dirt. Then they successfully hoisted him and moved him to the medical tent. I only caught Feran’s eye for a moment, but that was long enough for his cold hostility to be clearly felt.

My father tossed the broadsword in my general direction, underhanded, so the hilt rotated bounced off the earth next to my feet.

“Do your job, squire.” He commanded.

I did as he asked, silently collecting his sword and the helmet he discarded on the ground. The murmurs of disapproval and gossip wafting over from the rows of spectators silenced immediately when the king glared in their direction, slowing returning when he went to the water barrel. Father seemed to consider dipping his skin into it then disregarded the notion. Instead, he lifted the entire barrel and drank from it in large gulps, then overturned it on his head.

A stomach curdling wail sounded from the medical tent. I cringed.

“Tell me why I did what I did.” My father took a seat, his face stony, water dripping in beads from his long hair and chin.

“I understand the transgression.” I said, careful to keep my tone respectful. “House Morrow overstepped. They sought to increase their station out of turn. You corrected their misgivings.”

“If I wanted a flabby politician’s interpretation of the events, I’d have dragged one from the stands.” My father’s gaze focused on me, his mouth firm and tight. “Tell me, why I did what I did.”

“I don’t know.” I admitted. “They’re hardly the first to critique the crown. We have more enemies than friends these days. Perhaps you had a grander purpose in mind, but from where I stood that looked…”

Petty.

I remembered the way my father had drawn out the duel when he could have ended it cleanly nearly a dozen times. This particular broadsword—a simple Uskarrian blade—was thicker than a standard sword and blunted at the edges. He’d hacked at the joints of the other man’s arms and the back of his legs, blade singing against armor and crunching against bone.

“Unnecessary,” I finished.

“Is that compassion I see, boy?” The muscles in his neck bulged.

“No father.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“At the very most, it’s empathy.” I held my hands out as if to ward off the accusation. Experiencing my father’s wrath was not an experience soon forgotten, even if it had never been quite so physical for me as it had been for Ashby. Still, his eyes had that look of a shrewd analysis, as he decided whether I needed to be reminded of the proper outlook for a prince.

In moments like these, it was best to distract him. “What I don’t understand is why you went so far. It was necessary to demonstrate strength in response to House Morrow. If House Morrow was a military house, I would understand. But they’ve been mostly scribes for over a decade. Feran could barely ride a horse. I had to practically bribe the boy to get him out of the library.”

“Yes. Your little friendship. Perhaps that is the source of your lack of will.” A small group of servants gathered around him with platters of pungent food, which he sampled absent-mindedly. “I did what I did because Ashby asked me to.”

“He… asked you to?” I repeated, not understanding.

“That’s the thing all these diplomats and politicians will never understand, son.” Gil looked towards the murmuring throng, resentment clear on his face. “A man speaks more truly and honestly with his hands than his voice ever could.”

“That almost sounds like an excuse to routinely eschew diplomacy with violence.” I said blandly, staring straight ahead despite feeling his eyes on me.

“Perhaps to some flowery pup untouched by war. Diplomacy has its place, boy. No one is contesting that. Otherwise, we’d still be fighting with the dwarves over the eastern subterranean.”

As I remembered, the only reason that particular conflict had ended was that the dwarves had finally banded together and barricaded themselves within a mountain fortress. Their many earth magicians and networks of tunnels made it practically impossible to cut off their supply lines for a significant amount of time. Couple that with their ability to reinforce defenses almost infinitely and the loss of life from trying to press unto the mountain was simply not worth the loss of life, even for King Gil.

“And Ashby was asking to be beaten within an inch of his life?” I asked, unable to hold my tongue.

“No. It was the way he fought. He was holding himself back, but it was clear as day.” My father leaned back on the bench. His cold blue eyes were distant. “They would have seceded at the very least. Or continued stirring unrest until it boiled over into a full-blown rebellion. So, which is better, my son?” His fingers tapped against the bench. “Crippling a man of little worth now? Or the loss of life that occurs later if I do nothing out of compassion?

I ignored the hypothetical. There wasn’t an answer I could give him that he’d be satisfied with.

“You can really tell all that from fighting someone?” I asked.

“Everyone is a liar, son. They open their mouth and they lie. They can’t help it. That’s what the absence of conflict does to a person. Once they no longer have to struggle to survive, they grow bored and deceitful.”

“But, people lie in war.” I pointed out. “All the time. That’s what strategy is. Otherwise, everyone would just line up and take swings.”

“I am talking about lies for vanity.” He said vehemently. “Lies that accomplish nothing. People go about their daily lives playing a part. How they act, and who they actually are, become concepts so distinct you might never be able to connect the two. But in combat, those two halves become whole.”

----

It always rankled when my father was right.

And he was right. I knew the truth even before the scene exploded into violence.

Ephira was a killer.

She should have looked comical, floating in the gravity field, her face covered in some sort of pink salve, gray bathrobe tassels trailing behind her like twin snakes. Anyone else would have called for the guard by now. But the way her mouth crooked upwards and her fist tightened told the truth. People like my father are the exception to the rule.

Despite her evolved manner, and air of appearing above it all, Ephira had been waiting for the opportunity to discharge her strength. And we’d just given it to her.

I floated, keeping a hold on Jorra while I tried to think through what to do next. The hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end and there was a metallic taste in my mouth.

Ephira smiled. Then brought her hand forward incredibly quickly, palm glowing blue. I raised both feet and kicked Jorra away from me, sending us careening through the air in opposite directions. The bolt of lightning struck the curtain I’d been clinging to just a moment ago, the sound of impact mind-flinchingly loud.

I floated through the air helplessly, bouncing against a wall, finally managing to grab the leg of a display case, which was thankfully bolted to the floor. Ephira wasn’t faring much better, her body slowly spinning across the center of the room like a child’s top, slowly drifting.

Her head twisted wildly as she spun, arm outstretched, trying to keep visual track of the two of us. She fired off two more quick bolts towards Jorra. Every time she casted, her graying hair would stiffen with static and fall slack again.

Jorra was the most maneuverable out of all of us. He’d already recovered and was using his whip to pull himself around the room effectively.

I was paralyzed for a moment. This was a bad fight, win or lose. Ephira was a violet, which meant we were unlikely to outlast her. But even if we won, the results were disastrous. Jorra seemed equally unsure, propelling himself headfirst in an octagonal holding pattern around her, his whip flinging him from bannister, to chandelier, to doorknob.

I considered removing my mask.

It would be the fastest way to deescalate. But I had no doubt doing so would ruin my relationship with Persephone. And that would likely be the death of any possibility of ending this with the current reset.

Right now, Persephone was more important than Ephira.

I pulled out the pair of hooked gloves Shear had given me out of my bag, sliding one of them on.

Picking up on the movement, Ephira summoned a crackling ball of electricity the size of a grapefruit. It floated upwards, then darted towards me, homing in. I shoved off to the side. The second glove was obliterated as the ball of electricity passed over it, arcing towards me.

Ephira’s face was a mask of frustration. She clearly wanted to let loose, but every time she cast a major spell it destabilized her and sent her spinning away.

I landed feet first against the wall, the ball of lightning still right on my ass. The glove was grippy with metallic hooks on the end. They were meant to assist the user in navigating a low-gravity environment with a motion not unlike swimming. It was a good idea, but one that only worked if you had both gloves to speak of.

As it was, I had to awkwardly fling myself with my gloved hand straight up, lest I end up with the same problem as Ephira.

The ball of lightning grew larger as it grew closer to me, and a tingling ran up my legs.

My most immediate problem was that I was running out of wall. “Adage!” I yelled, “Little help?”

With nowhere else to go, I coiled my legs beneath me and kicked off the wall, sending myself catapulting across the empty air of the foyer. The ball of lightning followed doggedly behind.

Jorra looked between me and Ephira. Her arm was still outstretched, glowing hand guiding the projectile. He seemed to come to a decision.

In a practiced motion I’d seen a dozen times, Jorra cast a water projectile at the counselor’s face. I was expecting her to block it, hoping for a moment of distraction.

What I wasn’t expecting was for her to cancel the projectile all together, focusing all her efforts on diffusing Jorra’s attack. The aegis she summoned was massive and cone shaped, ensuring she wasn’t touched by a single drop of the water.

Jorra catapulted himself away from a forking branch of lightning, swinging upwards and awkwardly landing on the ceiling, where he fired another water bomb at her face. Again, Ephira responded with the absurdly oversized aegis.

It was almost as if—

Several things occurred to me at once. First was that Ephira was a single element mage. Second, was that most elements had the same self-immunity as demon-fire. That was due to the mage’s unique mana being used to shape the element, sort of like a fingerprint. A fire magician could still be burned by another fire magician. In theory, Ephira should not be able to shock herself.

But what if her element was filtered through another magicians?

It was worth a shot.

“Adage.”

Jorra rotated to look at me, jetting down from the ceiling towards the floor. We locked eyes for just a moment.

“Quantity over quality.” I said.

He looked puzzled. Then smiled. “They did say to make a mess—oh shit!”

Thunder cracked, but the lightning hit the opposite wall, momentum from the spell sending a shape hurtling towards me. It seemed that Ephira had finally adjusted to the absence of gravity. Her fist cracked into the side of my head, and I spun head over heels away from the wall, grasping at it with my clawed hand and missing by less than an inch. Helplessly, I floated out into space.

I saw her glide over towards me. She tossed a few bolts of electricity at Jorra, nailing him in the shoulder and sending him flying. I couldn’t see his face, but his body was limp.

Ephira spoke as if she was talking to a mentally deficient pet. “You know, my staff made me come here. Take a day for yourself, they said. Spend time with Mifral. You like her, right? Have a ladies' day.” Ephira’s hand gripped my throat. “And you, most ignoble guest, are interrupting my ladies’ day.”

Ephira reached forward with her other hand, intent on removing my mask when I caught a flash of movement above me. But she saw it too.

Time to commit.

I swiped out with my gloveless hand, scraping some of the pink salve on her face into her eye. She let out a cry of surprise, instinctively retreating to cover it, when enough water to fill a small lake came crashing down on our heads, submersing us both and sending us tumbling towards the floor.

We bounced off the ground. I blinked water away, and it fled from me in tiny droplets.

Ephira stared venomously, eye swollen shut, face twisted in pathetic rage. Her hair hung over her face and she looked vaguely horrifying. But she didn't try to cast.

I'd gotten it right.

I had no doubt from her expression. She'd tear the enclave apart looking for us. But I'd bought us time.

Jorra descended to my side, pulling me out of the free float. “Guards are coming. We’ve gotta move.”

“Sorry!” Jorra yelled back to Ephira as we fled.

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