Page 33 of Fate of the Sun King

Lor’s Heart magic—that legendary crimson lightning—would certainly give Atlas a different edge.

It could all work, and I suppose, when viewed at a distance, it’s not a terrible plan, but I can’t help but feel like this is all a house of cards about to topple at the slightest breeze. I don’t know how he’s managed to go so long without anyone uncovering his secret to begin with. Surely his clock is ticking towards ruin. All I can hope is he doesn’t take me down with him.

I’m not well-versed enough in the relationship between rulers and their Artefacts, so I have no sense of how the Mirror figures into all of this. It chose Apricia, but for whom? Atlas or Tyr? Does it understand what Atlas has done?

What I do know is that Atlas avoids going anywhere near the Mirror, ordering the palace staff to keep it covered whenever it’s not in use. Does anyone else see the way Atlas carefully keeps himself away from its line of sight? Or is it noticeable only to me? I have my theories about what’s happening, but I have no evidence to support my suspicions.

Additionally, I can’t comprehend how he thinks he’ll ever convince Lor to bond with him after everything he did to her, but I already understand that he doesn’t plan to ask. The Mirror rejected her, though, so unless he’s convinced it to cooperate, I’m not sure how he’s going to accomplish any of this.

What vital fact am I missing? I wish I could get into his head.

We enter Atlas’s study to find General Cornelius Heulfryn pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back. He has Apricia’s black hair and piercing blue eyes, his chin covered with a thick beard. He helped lead Aphelion’s armies during both Sercen Wars, earning him his title and power. His position is mostly ceremonial after his retirement several years ago—an honor afforded to him for his service in the king’s name. Apricia was always a natural choice for queen, given his legacy.

He stops at our entrance, straightening up.

“Finally,” he says, in a way that suggests this conversation doesn’t bode well for Atlas.

“General,” Atlas says, smooth as silk. “It’s such a pleasure to see you.”

“Don’t,” Cornelius says, raising a finger. He’s already shaking, he’s so mad. “You have been avoiding me, and I am here to demand you set a date for the bonding ceremony. My daughter is beside herself with this constant dithering. What are you waiting for?”

Atlas tries to affect a calm demeanor, but I can tell he’s holding back his frustration from the rigid set of his shoulders. I’ve known him long enough to read every cue others might miss.

“I’m waiting for the right time.”

“Bullshit,” says Cornelius. “You’re hiding something. Why do all this?”

Cornelius stalks forward, coming to stand in front of Atlas. He nearly matches the king in size and is clearly not intimidated. It makes me admire him a little. “The council and I didn’t make a fuss when you ‘canceled’ the previous Trials, but I will no longer stand for this. Those were the daughters of some of your most trusted friends and advisors, and even more were sacrificed in the name of a second Trial. How can you treat those lives so lightly? You’re making a mockery of everything this kingdom and the Trials stand for.”

“I do care,” Atlas says, using his most velvet-smooth voice. “Of course I care. It wasn’t my decision to end the last Trials. The Mirror made me do it. You know that.”

Cornelius gives him a look that suggests Atlas is full of shit. If only he knew how right he was.

“Set a date. I’ve spoken with the district heads, and they’re with me on this. They no longer care that their own daughters lost, but the longer you keep this up, the less support you’ll have going forward. There’s talk of selling property to the low fae.”

Atlas’s eyes narrow at that. “That is forbidden.”

“And yet the tides are turning. There is less and less favor for these policies of yours, and the others have agreed that if you do not set a date, we will have to take more drastic measures.”

The general stands straighter, clearly bracing himself for the impact of Atlas’s anger.

My gaze volleys between them, mentally betting on who will win this. The heads of districts have the right to question the king’s wishes when it seems he is acting against the interest of the kingdom, though I’ve never heard of it actually happening before. Cornelius is right, and Atlas’s refusal to set the date is going to cause problems soon. It destabilizes us. Makes our traditions look pointless and like something to mock. No other realm holds such Trials, and most of them think it questionable to do so at all.

The Trials were the invention of Aphelion’s first king after the Beginning of Days. The stories say that Zerra herself had bestowed upon each ruler both the Imperial magic of their realm and the Artefact that would help them rule. With that came the stipulation that each ruler must bond to another person of their choosing to tap into the full strength of their magic.

King Cyrus set out immediately to find a suitable companion but was overwhelmed with choice. Every noble in Aphelion wanted to put their daughter up for the role. Unable to make a decision, he came up with the idea of the Trials, and thus, a tradition was born that’s carried on to this day.

Cyrus apparently also had a bit of an idealistic streak, leading him to include one Tribute from The Umbra to compete. While the official line is that the Final Tribute is meant as a message of hope, the true reason has become much less altruistic than that.

Atlas stares at Cornelius with his eyes flashing as his jaw clenches, but he has to see his hands are tied.

“Very well,” Atlas finally says, his voice decidedly less smooth than before. “I’ll set the date.”

“When? I’m not leaving here until you pick one and it’s announced.”

Atlas rolls his shoulders, his gaze flicking to me briefly. But there’s nothing I can do to help him, even if I wanted to. He’s made this bed of schemes and deceptions, and now he can fucking lie in it. Die in it for all I care. I’m tired of saving his ungrateful ass from all his bad decisions.

“Two weeks,” Atlas says, the words clipped. “Two weeks from today.”