The Radiant City

The Declaration

The sun had only just risen over the horizon when Alkanion sent a servant to gather the people in the palace courtyard. While he waited, he scrawled out a few notes at his desk, pulling a coherent speech out of the garbled revelations of the day. He glanced over the paper. It wasn't perfect, but then, the people rarely required perfect.

It was an hour before enough people had arrived to merit a royal appearance. They milled about under the shadow of the stage--the very same stage where Alkanion had proved his merit and become heir-apprentice twelve and a half years ago.

Hushed voices muttered to each other: What was the king going to say? It had only been a few days since his coronation, and even that had been such a quiet, humble affair; no crowds, no fanfare. Was he going to make an official declaration so soon? Was it appropriate for him to do so, given the... extenuating circumstances, and the mourning family still grieving inside their shroud of black curtains?

There was no precedent for this situation; everyone had their own opinions and shared them freely.

The castle watched them as they spoke; all its brilliant jewels scattering all the golden sunlight were not enough to cover up the looming shadow of death that had crept upon it. A few of the more sensitive folks shuddered under its gaze.

Alkanion's boots clopped onto the balcony; their sound cut through conversations like a knife cuts through water. All noise died instantly. All eyes fixed on the king.

Maraleine stood behind Alkanion, leaning in the doorway. Her fingers brushed the wall, unwilling to use it for support, but unready to let her stand and bear the crushing weight of her grief. She, too, stood transfixed watching him, but Alkanion did his best to ignore her. He hadn't had enough time to consider how she might react to this news.

"My people," he proclaimed into the cooling autumn air. "You are gathered today to hear glad tidings..." His speech halted, and a few of the people relaxed their shoulders. "... and foreboding tidings."

A wave of frenzied whispering swept the crowd, but when he raised his hand, it calmed. "First, the good news: my guards and I have caught and killed the direct conspirators and perpetrators of King Pedilas' assassination."

Another wave; this time, it was tidal. The crowd flew into an uproar, some of them chanting "Death to traitors!", some brandishing weapons, some regretting that they had not got to see it happen. But the most overwhelming question was: who was it? Who had killed the king?

It took a full minute for Alkanion to regain their attention. Even then, the guards came close to stepping in. "The villains purported themselves to be calthionar," he explained, "and they used their status as servants in the castle to gain entrance to the king's personal quarters." This was not untrue, he reasoned. In fact, it was entirely factual.

The plebeians retorted with a vicious cry to drag all the calthionar from the castle, on pain of death if they would not comply. Their faces contorted, eyebrows drawn to a point in the center and foam dripping from their mouths., They waved their weapons around so enthusiastically that even the guards took a step back. Alkanion thought of Cleir, happy in the stables, oblivious to the rage he had just set upon her and her brother. It was an image so at odds with the one in front of his eyes, but it brought him a small moment of peace. He vowed to himself that he would see to it that they, at least, were protected.

"The villains purported to be calthionar," he repeated over the rumbling shouts, "but I have reason to be unsure of that claim."

The wave of noise trickled down to silence.

Alkanion took in a deep, shaky breath. "King Pedilas asked that I not divulge this information; however, given the circumstances, I believe he would want it to be known, for his successor's safety and the safety of Ithwon itself. This attempt--the one perpetrated by the calthionar--was not the first attempt he experienced in the past months."

There were a few scattered gasps, the most notable coming from behind him, where Maraleine staggered and gripped the wall tighter. He resisted the urge to end all this and tend to her health; that could be managed soon enough.

"While we were in Ashtabar," he continued, "one of their poor attempted to murder the king. The man was thwarted, arrested, and subsequently executed. I had my suspicions, but no definitive line could be drawn linking the murder to Queen Galvir or any of her nobles. Consequently, Pedilas, in the interest of diplomacy, allowed the issue to go unpunished. And now..." His vision blurred, but he forced the tears back. "And now he is dead."

No one said anything. Most of them were still processing the information, and the implications it could have for the future of Ithwon and of Amral itself. A few of them already cast their eyes upward, lips forming silent prayers of peace to Erfeirin. They're terrified; as they should be, Alkanion thought, War is no petty thing. "I will allow you to come to your own conclusions, as I have come to mine. I pray you will be wise, not brash, in your decision-making, and that you will discuss amongst yourselves all the possible ramifications of all the possible courses of action. Tomorrow evening, I will tell you what I plan to do about this egregious offense against us and our nation--and against the Peace Treaty itself. But out of respect for you, the people, in such a grave matter, I would like to hear your thoughts on the issue."

For a few minutes, they held an impromptu moment of silence. Alkanion took the time to study his people more closely; he noted with concern that many of them had circles under their eyes, or else their expression was glassy and fearful. Maraleine's eyes, he imagined, were as puffy and red as they'd been every day for the past month or so, and Co--wherever he was--was probably much the same. Not for the first time even that day, he lost himself in remembrance for all that had been lost. What had been gained hardly seemed to make up for it.

Then, as if induced by some spell, the tension broke, and the citizens of Ithwon-Nâdi filed out in groups. Some were caught up in their own private musings, but others began animated debates and discussions. Towards the end of the procession, a few men even started throwing punches, yelling arguments for war and peace and life and death. Alkanion rubbed his temples; there was a reason the people were rarely consulted on official matters.

Just as he was turning away, something caught his gaze out of the corner of his eye. It was a man in black dress glaring up at him. The man's body was tense, and his eyes flamed like an erupting volcano.

Alkanion grinned. Without breaking eye contact with the fire, he gestured for one of the guards.

"Yes, my king?"

"See that the Ashtabaran ambassador arrives home safely."

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-Rose