The Carnelian Way

II: The Prince

"'ℭ𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱' 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔩𝔞𝔴 𝔬𝔣 𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢. 𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔢 𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔴 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰."

 ~𝔔𝔲𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔄𝔯𝔨𝔦𝔰, 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔐𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪, 𝔄𝔤𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪 (𝔄𝔗) ճճճ

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Mai's boots crunched as he made for the glint of gold at the top of the rise. The bleached bone cracked like dried shells beneath his feet, and grey dust drifted in the air, clinging to his dripping hair and clothing, and leaving a smokey, gritty paste in his mouth.

The wave had come upon his fleet suddenly. An unnatural thing; like a refracted wall of water breaking off one of Nebia's sea walls — only much, much larger. Élan vital was weak in water. So as the wave descended, it had petered out enough for him to spin a refraction of air; enough to save all but four ships on the periphery. But not to drown out the screams of the men in them. His fists clenched.

As he walked, skeletal pieces skittered away in tinkling harmonies, exposing a darker trail of steaming ash. Despite the hot wind, he shivered and brushed a spiral of black hair away from his eyes.

When he reached his destination, he stopped, crouched down, and swept aside debris of ivory splinters and a quarter mandible. The burn of metal against skin made him grimace as he picked up the crown. My crown now. His hands shook as he examined it. The delicate pattern of filigree leaves had twisted into tangles more reminiscent of a briar bush. Apt for the world left him. He breathed deep and willed calm, thumbing the gold as he took in the desolation.

Ozone crackled through the air, and the sun shone hot and white, burning away the dark clouds and revealing a too turquoise sky. A long shadow stretched to his right, thrown by the remains of the citadel. Its walls and terraces of limestone blocks still clung to the cliff face; a mausoleum looming over the graveyard below. The sentinel statues of past kings and theurgy had fallen, though. They lay in beds of rubble as the testaments to the once fragrant hanging gardens of date palms, oleander, and rose.

His father had loved those gardens.

Pivoting on the balls of his feet, Mai turned full circle. Hypat lay devastated. Probably the whole of Denea too — at least that which had been habitable. The painstaking centuries of desert greening undone in a matter of minutes. All to keep the bloodlines 'pure.'

Damned, stubborn mages.

A tick twitched at his jaw. It was more than that. Denea had been too proud. And Arkis had played this. Mai's birth and his father's insistence on teaching him the Carnelian Way had been the perfect excuse to amp up the intensity of the Theurgerium's gradual defection from the monarchy. Xenophobia was a more direct route to power than intrigue.

Well, he might be a half-blood, but he was as strong in the Carnelian Way as any mage. Proof clean blood was unnecessary. Just the right blood.

He shook his head. Such a waste. Yet the results intrigued him. The corner of his mouth tugged up on one side. If this power could be harnessed and re-directed, its potential was limitless — for those deserving of it.

His mother's people had not abandoned him in his time of need: when his father died, and his people hunted him down. A gift he intended to repay a thousand times over