CHAPTER FIFTEEN◄CHAPTER SIXTEEN►CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The clamor inside the Confederate Congress was one of mixed outrage and joy as the emergency session regarding the assassination attempt on the High King dismissed itself. Doctor Daloh and Yanat had been quick to rally to each other in the midst of the arguing on the chamber floor, quickly taking themselves out into the halls of the old fortress for discussion amongst themselves. In the wake of the breaking news, the Congress had voted to accelerate the launch of the offensive into Yerusa Province to before the end of the month—a mere week and a half away.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t delay things any further,” Doctor Daloh apologized to her friend as they trudged through the stone halls together. “But there was no way those war hawks in the Congress weren’t going to jump at the chance to launch the offensive this soon after they’d heard Phaziah Ishigar had been wounded.”

“It’s ironic,” Yanat said, crossing his arms as he walked alongside the doctor. “I was the one who even proposed that action in the first place, but I didn’t mean for it to transpire so quick. I might have gotten more than I bargained for.”

Doctor Daloh turned her head off to the right, looking at the skyline of the city as they passed the large colonnades and pylon gateways. She sighed to herself, hoping that such beauty would still remain in the coming years, for if this offensive failed, there would be no way to salvage things again, and Sarat could fall under the Crown’s control for good. “You know this means that we’ll have to go back to Jophia and hasten our search for Talitha,” she said. “Because once this attack kicks off, we’ll be too bogged down in procedures to give that the attention it deserves. Moreover, if we don’t act on it now and the offensive fails, we may not have the chance to pursue this quest for answers again.”

“You’re quite right, Doctor Daloh,” Yanat replied. “We should go to the temple tomorrow to follow up with the girl. She said she would testify before the Congress if given the chance, but I think she’ll only be taken seriously if Talitha is there in person. That, or if there’s additional witnesses to be acquired from Zeshom Noor’s freed slave. Jophia couldn’t have been the only one who knew her; Zeshom Noor owned hundreds.”

“It may be our only option,” the doctor said back, narrowing her eyes as she caught sight of the remaining members of the quadrumvirate rounding the far corner of the hallway, walking in their direction. She knew she had to bring the conversation between themselves to a close, for the ears of the rest of the Confederate leadership weren’t yet ready to hear the immensity of what they had to say. “I have my doubts that we can find Talitha in a mere week and a half, before the offensive begins. So accruing as many witnesses as we can with Jophia should be our next action.”

“We will see,” Yanat answered, placing his handpaws behind his back and trying to appear unassuming before the approaching members of the quadrumvirate, ready to quickly steer the conversation elsewhere. “We will discuss it with her when we go to the temple. But remember, you promised we would find Talitha. For Jophia. By extension, for us all. We may need to do everything in our power to find her in such a short time, or if we are so fortunate, the Zaket suns will bless us and reveal her to us. I hope for the latter.”

The latter may yet be what played out for them both, but neither of them could know that as the quadrumvirate approached. Old Ghamir, though fiery behind the pulpit where he spoke in the chambers, appeared more hunched over and feeble when he walked, hobbling along with his cane while Duchess Zuleikha Jaasu and Sanak Teos kept a slow pace alongside him. Even so, he raised his cane in triumph, like a general raising his sword in victory.

“Well then, Yanat!” the old Sivathi called from afar, twirling the tip of his cane in the air before plopping it back down on the ground so as not to lose his balance. “It looks like your wish to go headfirst into an offensive is going to come true sooner rather than later. I, for one, couldn’t be happier. These old bones of mine that were broken and maimed by many masters will never be quite quenched of their thirst for vengeance. The quicker we attack, the better. I thank you for proposing this notion in the first place!”

“We’re all equally enthused,” Duchess Zuleikha said as she walked up, shaking her handpaw with Yanat’s in greeting as other delegates in the Congress began filing into the hallway, the tension inside the chambers having died down somewhat now. Inside, many were still seething or overjoyed. “But I hope we can coordinate our efforts well enough to pull this off and get to the provincial capital of Yerusa Province.”

“We can,” Sanak Teos spoke up, cocking his chin up confidently. “Just look at the city of Sarat itself. The people are in good spirits, and the battle only moderately scratched us here. We have what we need to stage our attack by consolidating everything from the capital, and the forces of the outlying provinces will soon arrive to bolster our attacking line further.”

“Might I ask what will happen if we do seize the provincial capital of Vathora for ourselves?” Doctor Daloh inquired, looking specifically at Ghamir when she asked the question. She wanted an explanation from the most headstrong of the group. “Do we think it will be enough to convince our colonial brethren to come to our aid in space, or strengthen the resolve of our other half in the northern pole?”

“It will do more than just convince them to strike back with us,” Ghamir said, tapping the tip of his cane on the floor in a reverberating fashion that echoed throughout the hallways. “It will open the floodgates for the total annihilation of the Crown of Siva. This will be the move that breaks their back, and at the very minimum, starts the first cracks. And think of all the souls that we will free in the process. The very heart of the Crown of Siva’s slave trade; broken apart by our own paws and sending as equally strong of a message as this assassination attempt on Phaziah Ishigar was.”

Yanat pinched the bridge of his nose in listening to it all, the stresses quickly building. He had been the one to put forth the concept of a quick attack into Yerusa Province; that much was true. What he hadn’t anticipated was how fast the developments on Talitha would transpire so shortly after he’d made such a proposition. The enthusiasm he would have otherwise shown for the moves being made in preparation for the offensive were lacking, for he no longer had to justify military action as the means for avenging the memory of Shiphra, knowing that her daughter may yet still live and could be found.

Ghamir squinted an old, shaky eye at Yanat, almost in an accusatory fashion. “I’m surprised to see you so reserved right now, Yanat,” he said gruffly. “Are you not as eager to strike at the hearts of the Crown of Siva as you were when you proposed this?”

“Just not quite as sure of our success as I’d like to be,” Yanat lied, divulging nothing yet about Talitha to the others. “Perhaps the sweetness of a hard fought victory after driving away the Crown Army from our doorstep blinded me to our actual strength.”

“This, from a former captain of the High King’s lifeguards?” Sanak Teos said, crossing his arms and turning his head to one side. “I imagined you had a sense of military experience about you, Yanat, especially serving in the Crown Army’s finest. Now, you are beginning to have doubts after the dice have been cast?”

Doctor Daloh stepped in between them, ready to rush to the aid of her friend. “Put that aside, Sanak,” she said in defense Yanat. “He is right to have doubts when he’s seen the carnage that battle can bring. Can you say that you’ve been upon a field of battle before while you’ve fought the battle of words amongst the trade unions and workers?”

Before the steward of the trade unions could retort, the Duchess had also stepped in to calm him down. She didn’t want to see one of the Confederacy’s weaknesses—a mistrust between the classes despite the utopian ideals they strove for—rearing its ugly head. “What’s done is done,” she said. “The offensive has been accelerated whether we were ready or not. That was the will of the Congress. It is in the paws of our brave fighting men and women to carry forth freedom into a province and to a people that have long been denied it. Let us focus on doing what we can here in these halls and in this city.”

“Like seizing opportunities to capitalize on the wounding of our opponent,” Yanat said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the data pad within, pulling up the news publication he had stumbled across in the hours before the meeting. “The press in this city has certainly been preparing to rile people up with the news when it breaks in full. Criers and journalists have already been putting out unfounded stories saying Phaziah was killed outright.”

“As if to further prove my point, that news—true or not—emboldens the people in seeing that the Crown of Siva can be bloodied,” Sanak Teos said, to which Ghamir eagerly nodded in agreement. “It couldn’t have happened at a better time, when we’re preparing to strike back. The vigor with which our warriors shall fight will be unmatched.”

“That much is clear,” the Duchess said, receiving the data pad from Yanat as she began to read through the article herself. “But if and when the news makes its way beyond Siva and to our allies, perhaps it will also be something to further convince them to come and fight. This war would be over much, much faster if they brought their navy to do battle.”

“Then let the news fan the flames of revulsion for the Crown of Siva,” Doctor Daloh said. “With such gossip about the attempt on the High King’s life working in concert with our attack, maybe it will finally convince the navy at Rovoth to come to our aid.”

Yanat rolled his eyes as the talk of what-ifs continued. He’d heard enough of it in the Congressional halls. Yet the one thing that would truly break Phaziah Ishigar’s stranglehold on all Sivathi—Talitha—was something that he still did not want to see abused by a new master that could be the Confederacy and their intentions to use her as a symbol. He wanted Phaziah defeated as much as anybody else in that building, but the memory of what he’d done to Shiphra and what he’d sentenced her daughter to was almost more than he could bear. He thought back to when he’d spoken with Doctor Daloh on the platform at Palak Station. He knew she was right, in that it wouldn’t be the same as Zeshom Noor’s ownership had been over her if she was eventually found. She would be a free soul. But the chains of responsibility in being a leader in the place of her father would always threaten to shackle her. Was she ready for that?

In spite of how he wanted to protect her from that, Yanat knew that there would be very little he could do in preventing Talitha’s use in that way. Furthermore, in spite of what he thought about it, he still found himself conspiring with Doctor Daloh to find out about the girl’s ultimate fate, perhaps with a vain hope in the back of his mind that she would want no mantle of responsibility when the truth of her heritage was ultimately given to her. Whether that would be forced on her against her wishes was another question entirely, however.

“And what say you to that, Yanat?” Duchess Zuleikha interjected the delegate’s thoughts, handing him back his data pad.

“P-pardon?” he replied, having tuned out everything that was being discussed as he had once again found himself lamenting over the halfhearted sense of freedom that Talitha was likely to receive from the Confederacy.

“I was asking you your opinion on how the message should be steered,” she said to him. “That young man in the article—Veth Kaia? The jockey at the races who pulled the trigger? Perhaps he is a symbol and martyr in which we place our rallying cry. I’m sure he’ll be receiving no mercy from the Crown when he’s brought to trial. If he’s brought to trial…”

Doctor Daloh could practically read Yanat’s mind as she glanced over to him, the lights of the hallway only amplifying the wrinkles of anxiety on his face. She knew that she didn’t want Talitha used as a symbol against her will—if she didn’t so desire it—and here was the rest of the quadrumvirate talking about already using the image of a Sivathi they barely knew as a rallying cry. What wasn’t to say they would do they same in a heartbeat if and when they were introduced to Talitha?

“I think it would be wiser to highlight the woundable, non-divine nature of the High King,” Yanat said, deflecting the question so as not to give away his thoughts on using individuals as sheer symbols, even though he knew it was going to be the most powerful tool against the Crown in the case of Shiphra’s daughter. Besides, he knew about the High King’s shortcomings and breaching of his own code when Phaziah had slept with Shiphra. That was an equally powerful weapon that could be used to besmirch his image. “The Sivathi have been kept in check by fearing the divine image of the High Kings and High Queens for thousands of years, and have only just begun to act against them in recent years with the establishment of our Confederacy. What better way to inspire than by showing our citizens that Phaziah Ishigar never was the god king he claimed to be? If he could be so easily wounded, then his crown and influence can just as easily be toppled.”

“A valid point, Yanat,” the Duchess said, patting him on the shoulder as she stepped beside him, resuming her exit from the fortress. The others soon began to follow behind her. “I’m sure the priests and priestesses of the temples in the Confederacy will be chomping at the bit to show how fragile the head that wears the twin pronged crown really is. All these thousands of years we have spent worshipping these god kings—so-called sons and daughters of the Zaket stars. They are ours for all Sivathi, Yanat. Let us not forget that as we prepare to strike at the heart of the Crown of Siva’s wickedness.”

“And after that, at the head itself of Sarat!” Ghamir said, his rickety bones practically clattering out loud in vigor at the prospect as he walked away. “Doctor Daloh, if you’d be so kind as to come with us, for there are some fine details we’d like to iron out regarding administrative duties during the offensive.”

Doctor Daloh turned around to tag along after the rest of the quadrumvirate as they began to excuse themselves from Yanat. Before she had stepped too far, she stopped alongside the delegate. “You see how eager they are to chase after symbolism, don’t you?” she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes.

“Yes,” Yanat answered, hanging his head low. He knew that he was alone in wanting to fight for Talitha’s independence in making her own choice about how she should be permitted to carry herself as a free Sivathi woman.

“I know what you’re thinking inside, Yanat,” the doctor said to him. “But you have to understand that the Confederacy doesn’t have the personal stake that you do in Talitha and Shiphra. The sooner you come to realize that, the better off you’ll be. And if Talitha seeks to be a leader and symbol to rally around on her own accord, then what?”

“I just want her to have the chance to decide for herself, Doctor Daloh,” he fired back. “That’s all I ask. I just hope the quadrumvirate and the Confederacy will give her that much and not thrust her into that role against her will, because I and the Crown of Siva thrust her and her mother into things against their will. I won’t let the Confederacy of Liberation do that to her again.”

Her eyes softened at Yanat’s insistence, and she could only shake her head a bit at his stubbornness. “Tomorrow we go to the temple together,” she said, holding up a finger to him to give the whole thing a sense of finality. “We do what we discussed and speak with Jophia, and then we find Talitha before the offensive begins. And if we find her, she’ll have her true freedom, Yanat. Freedom that she never had. That’s all you or I can ask for. If I was a betting woman, and she’s like most freed slaves, then I’d put talir on the likely fact that she hates the Crown of Siva enough to permit the Confederacy to push her in usurping her father’s place. Even when she is given the choice that you so desire her to have.”

“And that choice is all I want for her,” Yanat said, turning his head over his shoulder as she watched Doctor Daloh take herself away from his presence, her boots echoing down the labyrinthine, titanic hallways of the fortress. “Because neither Phaziah nor myself ever gave her one before.”

*

Phaziah Ishigar rested in his bedchambers, a horde of surgeons and nurses coming and going throughout the day. It was going to be a few more days before he was his normal self again—the wonders of Sivathi medicine would ensure a speedy recovery—but for the moment, he was sidelined from any royal duties. His wife, though heavily bruised and wearing a sling from where the trampling Rakvah had broken one of the bones in her arm, had assumed that responsibility.

He hated that he was in such a state, especially when Veth Kaia was about to be brought before him to answer for his crimes. Nevertheless, he had no intention of staying idle and wanted to exact justice as quickly as possible, even if he appeared wounded and vulnerable. What sort of message would it send to the Sivathi that were loyal to him if he did not hand down a sentence immediately?

Or could he be merciful, just as he had been towards Shiphra’s daughter?

The High King slapped his palm against his forehead in frustration, craning back his head in his pillow as he felt one of the nurses changing the nanite dressings of his wound. That he could even be thinking about being merciful towards one that conspired against him in such a way was out of the question, especially with all the anxiety and stress permitting Talitha to live was now causing him. He looked over at the bedside table, the small silver incense burners atop its mahogany structure giving off the earthy scent of dried palm oils from the oases along the rivers still under control by the Crown. Between the burners sat the note that had been intended to be delivered to him by Teth Grisha, before he’d unintentionally taken the bullet that was meant for him.

He’d continued to read it over and over, not wanting any sort of inaction on the issue. He knew that his wife shared the same distress at the fact that Talitha was now free, but as for how she would handle things in the High King’s absence, Phaziah Ishigar could not be sure. That was why he wanted to be up and out of here as quickly as possible, despite the surgeons and nurses telling him that he needed to not overexert himself or rush things. He had a planet to run, and the queen consort could only do so much. Moreover, he had a rogue mongrel child that needed to be dealt with before the Confederacy of Liberation enshrined her as one to usurp the throne.

Phaziah clutched at the corner of the sheets to his bed as he next felt the intravenous line being replaced in his arm, the pain amplified by the lingering fact that he shouldn’t have shown a shred of mercy towards Talitha from the beginning. Though it would have done nothing to prevent the civil war, at least the risk of having a pretender to his throne running loose wouldn’t have been in the cards. “Damn it all,” he swore at the nurse undoing the needle from his skin. “How much longer are you going to keep me here? I have an empire to run and a war to wage!”

“I’m terribly sorry, your Majesty,” she apologized, trying to make quick work of her duties so as not to aggravate the High King any further. “Your surgeons tell me that you should be up and about within two days more.”

Phaziah could only roll his eyes and grit his teeth as he felt the needle finally reinserted, the cold saline of the immediate injection sending a chill through his arm that subsided after a few moments. Not long after, a few rapping knocks upon the doors to his chambers were audible. The High King was quick to grab the holographic projecter beside the note on his bedside table, flicking the switch on to see who was outside.

The image of his wife—now absent of Kruva as he’d been practically ground down to paste in the stampeding aftermath of the assassination attempt—soon materialized in his palm. She was clearly still sulking about it with the expression on her face, utterly saddened by the loss of her favorite pet and looking even worse for wear with the sling holding up one arm. “What news do you bring me, Zoba?” the High King addressed the queen consort as he stood outside the doors from afar.

“General Josavak and some of the lifeguards are bringing Veth Kaia and his conspirator into the palace grounds as we speak, my husband,” she said, her image flickering a few times as some mild signal interference came between the transmission. “You still want them here to answer directly to you before we put them on trial, yes?”

“Of course,” he said, waving the nurse and accompanying surgeon away from him as he wanted the upcoming interrogation to be devoid of any of the medical personnel. Only himself, his wife, General Josavak, and the present lifeguards should be privy to it. “It warms my heart to hear that the jockey’s fellow schemer was apprehended. I look forward to seeing their sorry state after knowing they’ve been subjected to all methods of tort—”

“I believe there’s something you and I should both discuss before they arrive,” his wife cut him off.

Phaziah Ishigar already knew of what she was referring to. She knew that Zoba had been equally distressed at the news of his bastard daughter, and not so much out of what it meant for his own ruling power, but more of what she stood to lose as the queen consort if such an usurper ever dethroned him. The High King could only scoff at that notion, as it simply underlined what a sham his marriage was and that it only served as little more than a status symbol to the rest of his court and subjects. The love wasn’t there, and it was handicapped by the infertility, yet, as he’d thought to himself many times before, he couldn’t bring himself to sever the connection with her out of the shame it would bring and his sense of honor. Stuck between a rock and hard place, he continued to rule with an iron fist while enabling his shrew of a wife to live lavishly at his expense. Deep down, he knew she had ulterior motives for caring about Talitha being on the loose, but he was satisfied in pretending that her concern was due to the same reasons as his own.

The doors then parted away into the alabaster stone as the nurse and surgeon departed from his chambers, swapping places with the queen consort as she stepped into the room, acting quick to pull up a seat beside her husband at his side in a farcical notion of care for the High King. His eyes were already on the letter the intelligence corps officer had given him, watching as his wife took it in her one good handpaw that wasn’t done up in a sling.

“I understand why you did it all those years ago, my love,” she said, trying vainly to show an outpouring of understanding to him. She opened the letter, reading it over again and sighing in concern as she did. “Is it really so wrong to permit the gift of life to one who had no involvement in what happened with Shiphra? The mother knew her sin, and she paid for it. You were right to spare the child while still dispensing justice by sentencing her to her fate.”

Phaziah Ishigar bit his lip as he heard that. She didn’t understand. Zoba could say it all she wanted, but she would never understand, for she hadn’t been there. The momentary lapse in judgment and falling victim to his lustful feelings for the slave girl that had been brought from Tirag could never be undone. A marriage to the queen consort that was fruitless and with no children to show for it wouldn’t erase the shame.

“Was I right?” Phaziah Ishigar asked his wife, turning his head over on his pillow to look at her. His eye was twitching in irritation at hearing her speak like she understood his inner turmoil, and the fact that he was still in pain from having been shot at wasn’t helping. “Maybe I was wrong. I realize that now. Don’t act like you know the answer to those questions, because you don’t. I don’t think you realize what we all stand to lose if this bastard daughter of mine becomes a rallying cry for the Confederacy of Liberation. Your fancy dresses, the elegant parties, the lavish palace lifestyle? They’ll be worse than gone, Zoba. You’ll be forced to relinquish them before you’re dragged out on the street by an angry mob of vengeful slaves who fight in the Confederate ranks. They’ll shatter the twin pronged crown under heel and hang you by your footpaws in the Gallery of Zaket Scions, the spirits of our ancestors and past dynasties watching as you’re beaten to death.”

Zoba could only put the one good handpaw to her chest—letter still grasped in it—having to stifle the urge to shudder at the gruesome picture that her husband painted. The words lingered like the incense that swirled about in the air, and for his statement, she had no response. The queen consort could only cobble together an acknowledgement of the imminent danger of Talitha being on the loose. “I don’t deny the threat she poses, my husband,” she said, seemingly ignoring—or unaware—of the personal jab he was taking by referring to her attentiveness to her luxurious lifestyle being taken away first and foremost rather than her life. “But panic won’t resolve our issue. What do you intend to do if and when the Confederacy finds out about her and parades her before their Congress? Surely you will not have a second shred of mercy for her?”

“They would see my throne toppled and replaced with a slave queen, the purity of many dynasties undone by the mistake I permitted to live,” he said irritably, adamantly referring to the fact that her blood was not of pure royalty. “That’s what those few nobles in the Confederate ranks would seek to do. Do you think I would have merciful feelings for her again, Zoba? Did I not already say I was wrong to let her live at all?”

“Then if that is what they intend, what will you do?” she said, repeating her question and putting the letter back on the bedside table as she leaned forward. She then placed her handpaw on his own in another pathetic display of false affection for Phaziah.

He rolled his eyes, internally thinking to himself that he’d entrusted her with dealing with that issue in the few days he’d been holed up in his bedchambers with a gunshot wound. Obviously, she was too inexperienced in affairs of state or directing the military and intelligence corps to know what to do, owing to her obsession with maintaining her standards of living, but it stood to reason that she should have some concept of how to reign in her husband’s absence. Had she been dillydallying during his trip to the Ibra system as well? Did he have to do everything himself?

It seemed that he did, and he’d simply have to wait until he was well enough, which, per the words of the nurse, wouldn’t be much longer. “We have spies in the Confederate Congress that continually report to us,” he answered. “If she’s deep into Sarat by this point, then we must rely on the observations provided to us by the intelligence corps and our spies. At the first shred of evidence we have of her there, we then spring a trap to bring her into custody and have her brought back to Shaleth to stand before me. I’ll only be satisfied if it is my own paw that ends her life.”

Zoba shook her head in disagreement, but she knew there was nothing she could say that could persuade him otherwise. “You and your honor,” she said in dismay.

“It’s not as if we could corner her right now if we wished through a force of arms,” Phaziah replied. “Until the counterattack against Yerusa Province is repulsed, then we can’t move into Sarat to nab her with our armies. In the heartland of the Confederacy and where our forces are thin and consist of mere sympathizers and spies, it is the only option. By the time we retake the polar provinces, who knows if she’ll still be there? She could have been whisked away through our blockade and to a sympathetic colony, for all we know. We cannot let that happen, and if it does and she slips through our grasp again, we must be prepared to pursue her further. This does not end until she is brought to me in chains and she is slain by my paw. Our spies and conspirators shall stand by to apprehend her the moment she surfaces in Sarat, and should she evade us there, we pursue her into the stars and into the sands.”

“And finally, how do we intend to shore up the image of divinity that our people know you to be?” Zoba said, finally seeming to show some shred of concern for the symbolism of the twin pronged crown. “You cannot allow the Confederacy to utilize her in a way that will make those loyal to the Crown of Siva question your power. It may be too far gone to prevent that for the Confederacy and their own subjects—which we shall surely crush when we do emerge victorious in this war—but such news cannot be allowed to fester within our own ranks. The nobles who know are sworn to secrecy, as are the lifeguards, but all the Sivathi still loyal to us? What would they say—what would they do—if they learned of your child born of slave and noble blood? It would only serve to reinforce the Confederacy’s message even more!”

“We double down on my divine power,” Phaziah answered, looking down at the holographic projector again and seeing that General Josavak’s image was beginning to appear. He was nearly there with the lifeguards and the apprehended assassins. “The Sivathi’s faith in the High Kings and Queens has been unquestioned for thousands of years; never mind what some of the folk tales of commoners and slaves say to the contrary. They know that we ultimately hold the power of life and death over their very lives. When they are reminded that we can easily take it away with a snap of our fingers, then they will know that a child of slave and noble blood can never hope to match such strength. How can she?”

Zoba was about to respond, but before she could, the doors to the bedchambers opened once again as General Josavak, flanked by nearly a dozen lifeguards, filed inside with Veth Kaia and Pakta in tow, shackled and beaten beyond recognition. “Watch and learn, my wife,” he said, gingerly getting up from his bed and standing uneasily, bringing along the intravenous pole and bag along. He wasn’t about to appear feeble before the ones who had tried to kill him. “You’ll see how the Ishigars command the power to decide life and death itself as I judge two sub-Sivathi who are not worthy to grace my presence now, and even dared to do so at the Arena of Idoqa.”

Two lifeguards each held Veth Kaia and Pakta by their underarms, both of them unable to stand on their own two footpaws owing to the torture and interrogation they’d endured over the last day or two. General Josavak saluted his High King before turning to look at the former jockey and stablehand, curling his lip in disgust as he looked at them both. “Your assassins, High King,” he said, motioning to them both with his handpaw. “While they haven’t said much in interrogations, the sheer image of their tortured states should be enough to get the point across that such acts against you will not be tolerated in the slightest.”

Phaziah Ishigar regretted that he had to be in such a recuperating state as of now, but he wasn’t going to pass on the chance to belittle two Sivathi who had thought they could end his life. “So then,” he said, trudging forward several paces to face the two convicted men as the intravenous pole’s wheels clattered on the stone floor behind him, the sound and display doing no favors to reinforce the imposing presence he wished to put on. “Veth Kaia, the famous Rakvah jockey who made a name for himself by rising from parents who sold themselves into slavery to give you a chance on the track, brought back down to his true station in chains like his father and mother before him, eh?”

Veth Kaia didn’t answer at first. One eye was completely swollen shut from the beatings that had been inflicted upon him, and the other was barely open at all, while his nose and lips still bled profusely. One of his ears had been torn clean off. The jockey, long since stripped of the silks that bore the royal colors—having relinquished his right to wear them at all after his heinous act—only looked back at the High King, staring for a good ten seconds or so and tilting his head to one side before finally conjuring up a response. “If a commoner is what I truly am at heart, then it’s no wonder why I did what I did,” he said with a sneer. “I wore your colors that one and only time just to get back at you and the whole system that’s held the Sivathi prisoner for countless centuries. It wasn’t just about avenging what my mother and father had to do to afford me an opportunity. It was about taking action for all of our people.”

Phaziah Ishigar snarled a bit as he leaned in closely to Veth Kaia, narrowing his eyes. “Your people?” he said questioningly. “The Sivathi are mine, boy. The right to rule through the privilege of the twin pronged crown was passed down to me by my father, and his father before him. You weep for slaves and the commoners, and with the same heartbeat that spurs you to do so, you curse and attack the monarchy that protects them?”

Pakta, his head hung low off to the other side, couldn’t help but burst out in laughter at the High King’s statement. The lifeguards that held him fast tightened their grip on him in response, but it did little to abate his tone. “You protect us?” he said, a smirk upon his face. “The chains you force upon the slaves, the starvation and hopelessness you thrust upon the common workers; you call that protection?”

The High King was not one for playing games with those beneath him, much less with a common Sivathi like Pakta and a middle class citizen in name only like Veth Kaia. “You are more insolent with your tongue than a man of your type has any right to be,” he fired back, mocking his caste. “Do you not know of the chaos, lawlessness, and roguery that ensnared our people in ancient times when the High Kings and Queens did not rule, and we were but roving tribes in the desert? We protect you from yourselves and the ruination you would bring for us all should the Confederacy have its way.”

“And yet such a chaotic rabble—so you claim them to be—has brought civil war upon you for many years, Phaziah Ishigar,” Veth Kaia said, spitting a glob of blood down onto the floor before the High King’s sandals and not doing the courtesy of even referring to him by his title. “More and more flock to them every day, and those numbers will only grow when they learn of what we did to you.”

“What you did to my useless general, you mean,” Phaziah answered snidely. “You maybe can wound a god king, but you cannot kill him. Not when he is blessed by the Zaket suns to rule for as long as he still draws breath, and into eternity when his likeness joins the Gallery of Zaket Scions. But I’m afraid you two won’t get the privilege of seeing me crush the pathetic state that is the Confederacy of Liberation. First on Siva, and then on the colonies.”

“You don’t understand,” Veth Kaia said, his head naturally beginning to slump again as he had little more energy to even hold it upright anymore. “It isn’t about either of our lives. Take them if you must. It’s the message that we sent to everybody in that arena and beyond who saw you struck down, even if it wasn’t mortally.”
What Pakta said next as he built upon his friend’s defiant statement practically shattered all the nerves in the High King’s body. “There will be other messages like that, Phaziah Ishigar; don’t doubt that for a second.”

At hearing that comment, the High King felt his jaw work in a pent up rage. Other messages. Like his daughter and everything she represented? Is that something that Veth Kaia and Pakta could be unconsciously alluding to? The nurses and surgeons had told him to remain still and calm, but he felt his blood boiling that the very idea could be suggested. The two assassins couldn’t know anything about Talitha, but the way they spoke practically made it seem like they did. Such messages of hope and resistance against the Crown of Siva were already pushing his subjects to lash out against him and speak in insolent tones. He would have none of it!

“General Josavak,” the High King said to his most trusted officer. “I want these two executed.”

“Your will be done, your Highness,” General Josavak bowed obediently, snapping his fingers and commanding the lifeguards to bring the two to their tired footpaws. “What would you see done to them?”

“Have their tongues cut out of their insolent mouths in front of the entryway to the Gallery of Zaket Scions at first dawn, for all the citizens of Shaleth to see,” the High King said venomously, gritting his teeth in a villainous manner. “In which they’ll then be made to beg for their lives mutely where words can no longer serve them. Then the last thing they’ll feel is the executioner’s blade on the napes of their necks before their bodies are strung up for an entire month. Let the necroptera vultures peck and feed upon their remains with such fervor that even the grandsons of the sympathizers to the Confederate cause will tremble in fear at recalling that day.”

“Do your worst, Phaziah,” Pakta said, narrowing his eyes and stifling the fear in his body as resistance against his oppressor overrode every other feeling. “No matter what you do to us, more Sivathi will take our place. The right to wear the twin pronged crown will soon be at an end for you, and we shall watch your downfall in the next life as we bask in the glory of the Zaket suns with our brethren.”

“You really believe in those twisted beliefs of the common and slave folk, don’t you? That the glory of our suns is for all to share?” Phaziah answered as he smacked Pakta across his cheek with the back of his paw, knocking a tooth or two loose in the process. “No matter. Just know that there is no afterlife for the likes of you, or any slave or commoner. There is no heavenly reward for those who raise a finger against an Ishigar. Take them away, General Josavak. Continue your preparations for our defense against the Confederate attack, make sure these two are ready to be slain at first light.”

General Josavak, being the sadist that he was, smiled at the realization of what was going to happen to the two assassins. “As you command, your Majesty,” he said, ordering the lifeguards to take them back to the dungeons in preparation for the High King’s command. A thin smile spread across his lips, barely able to hold back his appetite for the spectacles that were going to play out.

Feeling as if he’d won some great victory, Phaziah Ishigar watched as he leaned against the intravenous pole still tethered to his arm, knowing deep down inside that while he would outwardly shatter the bravery of Veth Kaia and Pakta, he wasn’t so sure if the message that was sent in their executions would do the trick. They were still defiant in their hearts, and countless more Sivathi were as well. For too long he had let this rebellion fester, and he’d made the gravest of errors in permitting his child to live.

Blasts of fire and the searing cut of blades had not ended the civil war as of yet, nor would it when it claimed the lives of the assassins. But in that moment, all of Siva held its breath, knowing that even the fall of two more could not silence the storm gathering around the High King’s lost child.