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Kosandion had paced a few times during the night because it helped him think, and Gertrude Hunt woke both Sean and me up every time he moved too much, which was why the two of us decided to join him for the morning briefing.
I read somewhere that lack of sleep was cumulative. After this event was over, and we got Wilmos back, I would sleep for a week. Unlike Kosandion, I couldn’t stay up for 48 hours straight without some chemical help.
Kosandion held out his hand. Orata jumped up, put a small vial into his fingers, and went back to her seat. The Sovereign put two drops into each eye and firmly set the vial on the table.
Resven approached, picked up a dish with one of Orro’s beautiful muffins on it, and held it out to Kosandion as if he were a two year old.
“Please take a bite, Letero.”
Kosandion just looked at him.
“Sleep or food,” Miralitt said. “You must have at least one.”
Kosandion picked up a muffin and took a small bite. “Let’s move on to the ratings.”
Orata looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Surkar is leading across all categories with an average of 17 points.”
Kosandion chewed his muffin. “Of course he is.”
“It’s that damn show.” Orata waved her arms.
“What show?” Sean asked.
She glanced at Kosandion. He nodded.
Orata tapped her tablet and tilted the holographic screen toward us. On it a panoramic shot of a battlefield rushed toward the viewer, following a bird of prey that swooped down over the field. Bodies in armor littered the bloody ground. Here and there, individual duels still raged, the fighters tripping over corpses. The view zeroed in on a large warrior in antique Dominion armor. He climbed over a hill of the dead to a rock jutting from the bodies. Atop the rock, another fighter splattered with blood roared, brandishing a spear.
The challenger made it to the rock and ripped off his damaged breastplate, revealing a shockingly muscular chest. Miralitt raised her eyebrows.
The two men clashed. Weapons rang, striking each other. They danced across the crag, cutting and slicing. Finally, the challenger leaped and buried his sword in his opponent’s throat. The wounded man clasped his neck, spat out a torrent of blood, stumbled about, waved his arms, seemingly forgetting that there was a blade in his throat…
The hero leaped and kicked the pommel of the sword, driving it into the man and knocking him off the cliff. Miraculously, all the soldiers on the field stopped to watch the body fall. It landed with a meaty thud.
The hero pulled off his helmet. He looked remarkably like the Dominion version of Surkar. If not for the obvious differences in size and pigmentation, they could have been cousins.
“I’d watch that,” Sean said.
Kosandion rolled his eyes.
The hero grabbed a flag, pulling it from under the corpses, triumphantly planted it by his feet, and bellowed. “Warriors! Comrades! Look! The tyrant is dead! Let his death serve as a warning to those who dare claim our freedom!”
“‘Claim our freedom,’” Orata muttered. “It’s not even good writing.”
“They’re not watching it for the writing,” Miralitt said.
“No, but they are watching. In huge numbers.” Resven glanced at Orata.
She covered her face with her hands.
“I swear on this field watered with the blood of our battle-kin that my blade shall not rest until every threat to our liberty is vanquished. As long as my heart beats in my chest, I will stand for justice and peace.”
The camera panned to the few warriors standing among the carnage below.
“That’s a lot of peace,” Sean said.
“Yes, they had a large budget,” Orata said. “They even got Samrion for the lead. He’s an intellectual, nuanced actor. He usually does mystery and intrigue shows. We talked before the production. He was very apologetic. Apparently, they paid him an obscene amount of money. I don’t know what they were feeding him to get him to that size…”
“Who are ‘they’ and when did they have time to put all of this together?” I asked.
“They are the Enforee family,” Resven said. “They own one of the largest video channels, and they opposed the Letero’s succession. They lost and now they’re bitter.”
“The identities of the spousal candidates were made public seven months ago,” Orata said. “They put it together pretty quick. A tight deadline but not impossible.”
The hero gripped the flagpole and waved it around, flexing.
The message was clear: the Dominion needed a warrior to safeguard its freedoms and lead it to glory, and Kosandion wasn’t it.
“How do they benefit from Surkar winning?” Sean asked.
“They don’t,” Kosandion said. “Selecting Surkar as a spouse would involve the Dominion in the Horde’s internal squabbles. He brings very few benefits and lots of problems, problems which will keep me occupied and distracted. It’s one of the many stones they hurl into my path hoping I will trip on one of them.”
