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I could spend hours just walking around the square, but we've arrived just before the start of the council session, and Zale leads us straight inside the fifty-foot tall amphitheater where the lords of the world decide our fates.
"You'll take my family's box, and you won't cast a vote tonight. If you wish for a voice, you'll need to ask your stepfather to name you at the council." Zale's long strides don't wait for me. "Or ask me," he adds, shooting me a quick glance over his shoulder.
Right. Like I'm about to beg him for a favor.
Two days ago, Zale acted like my enemy and I responded in kind. Yesterday, he took care of me, and I don't quite know what to do with that—or with the kind guard he’s assigned to me.
My asking for something is a step I'm not about to take. I don't know where this strange dynamic of ours is leading. Following the flow is easier.
The large box holds half a dozen seats, and I take the one closest to the edge, to have a better view.
Thousands of such boxes surround the sand floor of the arena in the middle, and most are occupied. I don't recognize most of the long, severe faces in formalwear, but most seem young—though with demi, I never know.
We've arrived late, and the council session starts only moments after Zale strides through the arena to reach the elevated platform at its center. I note the presence of Salvar Rhodes by his side, though he doesn't notice me, too preoccupied by whispering in the ear of the king.
The ecclesiastic figure in fine white raiment stands. “We’ve gathered today to address the threat organized rebels might pose to our respective countries, and to Xhera as a whole," he calls, his voice rough and aged.
Unlike most around the oval table set on the main platform, the holy man's old, and thoroughly common.
I've seldom seen a rich common man, and I find that I don't like the sight. His protuberant belly and red nose speak of a life of excesses. No amount of makeup or fine clothing can hide it. At least, the demis remain beautiful despite their many sins. This man looks like the worst of us.
He continues.“For years, we’ve been at peace. A precarious, uneasy peace, as each kingdom retains customs that may offend their neighbors. But peace nonetheless. I, who have seen the last war, see the value in peace. With this in mind, I propose we hear these rebels. Listen to their demands, and reasonably give a voice to the changes our younger generations want to see.”
A beautiful woman clad in black—with a deep tan and striking eyes shining red even at this distance—snorts. “You’ll remember your order started the last war because you wanted change then, too. You wanted a world where I, and those like me, don’t exist, so that the commons might feel more relevant. How did that go for you?” She speaks with saccharine hatred.
The old man's eyes never meet hers. “We’re not rehashing the old days. Who knows what these young men and women demand this time?”
“If I were to hazard a guess?" Zale says. My stepfather tries to speak in his ear, but Zale waves him aside without a care."More money, mostly. That seems to be the kind of shit people want.”
I grin. He’s got that right.
A delicate, beautiful lady smiles, though it never reaches her amber eyes.“We have been working on improving life as a whole. It’s been slow progress, like any real change, but look at what we have achieved in the last hundred years. I remember a time when half the kingdoms didn’t have any running water or electricity.”
I don't know who she is, but I decide I hate her.
We're supposed to be content with the scraps off her table?
“Commons don’t see that, because they don’t live a hundred years,” a brown-skinned man says, arrogant and dismissive. “It’s all about the now with them.”
My teeth grind. What in the seven hells is this? And why isn't Zale saying a thing? Surely he knows better.
We're not indulgent or ungrateful, or whatever else they imply. We're condemned to remain at the bottom because no job pays a decent wage unless it requires magiks.
The woman in black grunts. “Tell me you didn’t call for a meeting to talk in circles again. Some of us have things better to do.”
“I didn’t call for this meeting at all.” The holy man holds his head high. “The young king has something to share.”
I watch Zale stand, and wonder if he's about to tell these idiots they're mistaken.
Then I remember who he is.
Why would he come to our defense when he thinks exactly like the others?
I shouldn't have come here.
“Our intelligence retrieved this map from a rebel compound right after a meeting." The hologram of a large map of the continent appears in the space above their platform, and though focusing on it hurts my head, I do look.
"It is our belief," Zale says, his voice toneless, "that they mean to attack all relevant cities in one strike. I’d like to call a vote. We need to call martial law, increase the protection of each one of our courts, and lend forces to the peace warriors of Magnapolis in order to prepare.”
