Michael Sullivan - Percepliquis

“She knew everything,” Hadrian replied. “I remember she told me what to do to save him but at the time I didn’t understand. Damn, I wish I had Myron’s brain!”

Hadrian took a breath and tried to calm down. “I was with her in The Rose and Thorn, at the table. Royce was there-no-no, he wasn’t-he was in the kitchen doing something. He was happy-happy about… about… the wedding! Yes, we were talking about the wedding and about how Royce had changed over the years. I felt bad taking him away from her and she said that he had to go or I would die.” He looked back toward the arena, where Irawondona’s body still lay. “She meant this. She saw this! But then she said something else. She said… Oh, what did she say?”

He struggled to remember her voice, her words: He’s seen too much cruelty and betrayal. He’s never known mercy. That was what she had said but then there was something else, something she wanted him to do. You have to do this, Hadrian. You have to be the one to show him mercy. If you can do that, I know it will save him.

“No,” he said, stunned. “Not show him mercy-oh god! She wanted me to show him Mercy!”

He leapt to his feet and grabbed the little girl standing beside Modina. She pulled back, frightened.

“Relax, honey. Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “Just tell me your name.”

The girl looked at Modina, who nodded.

“Mercy.”

“No-no, what’s your full name?”

“Mercedes, but no one calls me that except my mother-at least, she used to.”

“What’s your mother’s name, honey?” Hadrian asked, his hands trembling as he held her.

“My mother is dead.”

“Yes, dear, but what was her name?”

The little girl smiled. “Gwendolyn DeLancy.”

“Did you hear that, Royce!” Hadrian shouted. “Her name is Mercedes.”

He kept shouting at him. “Elias or Sterling if a boy, right? But there was only one name for the girl, Mercedes. There was only one name because Gwen had already named her! This is your daughter, Royce! This is your and Gwen’s daughter! How old are you, sweetie? Five? Six?”

“Six,” she said proudly.

“She’s six, Royce. That would have been the year we spent locked up in Alburn, remember? Gwen took her baby to Arcadius. She probably didn’t want you to feel trapped, or maybe she didn’t want her growing up in a whorehouse. In any case, she knew she would die before introducing you to your daughter. That’s why she told me to. Royce, you have a daughter, you old bastard!” He reached out and took hold of Royce’s face. “Part of Gwen is still here! Do you hear me?”

“Is he my father?” Mercy asked, drawing closer. “My mother told me that one day I would meet my father and that he would take me to live in a beautiful place and I would become a fairy princess and a queen of the forest.”

Royce’s eyelids twitched.

“Now!” Hadrian told Arista, but it was not necessary. She was already chanting. The chanting quieted to a hum and then Arista went silent. She jerked abruptly and violently. Hadrian took hold of her. He had one hand on each of them as he prayed to Maribor. Every muscle in Arista’s body was taut and her head hitched as if she were being slapped. Then suddenly she shook and her breath shortened to gasps. The time between gasps grew until she stopped breathing entirely.

All around them the crowd stopped breathing as well.

“Royce!” Hadrian screamed at him. “She’s your daughter, and if you die, she’ll be an orphan, just like you! Are you going to abandon her and leave her alone like your parents did? Royce! ”

Both bodies lurched in unison and they gasped for air. Arista, damp with sweat, laid her head against Hadrian. Royce breathed deeply, and slowly his eyes fluttered open. He did not speak, but his eyes focused on the little girl.

The rear wheel of the wagon fell into another hole and bounced so hard that Arista woke. She pulled back the blanket and squinted at the sky. The sun was low on the horizon and the movement of the wagon made the forest on a hill to their right look as if it were marching in the opposite direction. Her neck and back were sore, her muscles stiff, and she was still groggy. She realized that despite the bouncing buckboard, she had slept the day away. Now her stomach ached from hunger. Her teeth felt fuzzy, almost sandy, and her left hand was numb from her lying on it. She rode in the back of the wagon that Magnus and Degan drove. Hadrian had made her the best bed he could, laying down all their blankets as padding in the space left by the consumed supplies.

Modina and the girls rode with her. Allie and Mercy were asleep between her and the empress. The two curled up in tight balls, their knees pulled to their chests. Modina sat with a blanket around her shoulders, staring off at the landscape. The sled runners had been replaced by wheels and they traveled on a rutted, muddy road that formed a dark line between two fields of snow that occasionally showed a patch of matted, tangled weeds. Seeing them got her thinking. She wiped her face with the blanket and, digging her brush out of a nearby pack, began the arduous process of clearing the snarls from her hair.

She pulled, grunted, and then sighed. Modina looked over with a questioning expression, and Arista explained by letting go of the brush and leaving it to hang.

Modina smiled and crawled over to her. “Turn around,” she said, and taking the brush, the empress began working the back of Arista’s head. “You have quite the rat’s nest here.”

“Be careful one doesn’t bite you,” Arista replied. “Do you know where we are?”

“I have no idea. I’m not really much of a world traveler, you know.”

“This doesn’t look like the road to Aquesta.”

“No,” Modina said as she worked on a particularly tough snarl. “It’s too late to travel that far today, and neither you, Royce, nor Hadrian were up for a long trip. After all, you three had a pretty big day.”

“But the people in-”

Modina patted her shoulder. “It’s all right. I sent Merton back with instructions for Nimbus and Amilia, and Royce sent the elves with him-well, most of them. A few insisted on staying with their new king. There’s nothing left in Aquesta to go back to. The city was destroyed. I ordered the remaining stores to be divided between those who survived. The people will be sent to Colnora, Ratibor, Kilnar, and Vernes, but organized into equal groups so no one city is too overwhelmed.”

Arista laughed and shook her head, making it hard for Modina to work. “Are you sure you’re the same Thrace Wood I once knew?”

“No, I don’t suppose I am,” Modina replied. “Thrace was a wonderful girl, naive, starry-eyed, bursting with life. For a long time I thought she was dead and gone, but I think-no, I know-some part of her still exists, but I’m Modina now.”

“Well, whoever you are, you’re amazing. You truly are the empress worthy of ruling all of mankind.”

Modina lowered her voice and said, “I’ll tell you a secret-it’s not me at all, really. Sure, on occasion, I come up with something intelligent-and I am usually surprised by it myself-but the real genius behind my throne is Nimbus. Amilia deserves everything this empire can give her for hiring him. The man is a wonder: quiet, unassuming, but utterly brilliant. If he had a mind to, he could replace me in a heartbeat. I am convinced he could organize a perfectly lovely coup, but he has no aspirations for power at all. I haven’t been in politics long, but even I can see that a man as capable as he and yet so absent of greed is a rare thing. Do you know he still sleeps in his cubicle? Or at least he did until the castle was destroyed. Even though he was chancellor of the empire, he lived in a tiny stone cell. He, Amilia, and Breckton are my jewels, my treasures. I don’t know how I could have survived without them.”