Chapter 15: Seeing the Dawn

At times, Minerva wished she held the power to suspend reality—if only to decide what she desired to say. Some nobles and politicians possessed a certain gift for instantaneous eloquence. She did not.

Nola had prepared her a careful speech, one of flatteries, of empty compromises. A rigged formality designed to dampen the flames, saying everything while meaning nothing.

And Minerva hated it. She didn't believe in a single word.

Her mind insisted on darting from place to place even as the people below waited for the first sound to depart from her lips. Folding her hands in front of her waist to stop herself from twitching, Minerva looked upon her people.

Her mother sat in the front row, filing her real fingernails beneath the long metal ones. A strike of the Blackguard flanked the Emperor beside her. Though red robes clothed them, Minerva knew if she had a view of their backs, she'd find the black circle of a sun set against the scarlet background.

Countless nobles filled the room to overflowing, men and women Minerva had dined with, been the epitome of a model child for. Besides the Empress, they were all soft. Even now they took discrete puffs from ivory pipes, adding to the smoke cloud hanging below the floating firelights. How many of them would last a day on a Terron war front? How many of them still remembered the way of a blade?

Minerva felt the pin she'd been fidgeting with in her sleeve snap in two. It had been said that the first Empress, Korlana Pyroline, had not been overly fond of the Pyro rulers of her time. She'd made alliances with the dragons and the Hydros and staged a coup to overthrow the current powers reigning over the fractured might of the Flamelands.

The histories no longer concurred and Minerva knew they'd been changed. Korlana had been a liberator of the common people, but the history writers focused on her wielding power—giving rise to the notion that the golden bloodlines possessed a divine right to rule. But Edina had not taken her to study with the dragons instead of stuffy tutors for nothing.

Minerva remembered the lesson of Korlana's last words before her disappearance: "The day those in power can only think of what they deserve—when the people are trampled upon and silenced, when the poor are sent to fight the rich man's wars but cannot keep their swords by their sides in their own country—that is they day when the empire must die and be reborn. Let us pray to the One that a leader rises who will stand for them. Let us hope that the people still possess the will to fight."

Someone in the front row yawned while others shifted on their feet, unable to stand at attention for even five minutes.

That small action, compared to the ramrod straight backs of the Hydros as they gazed up at her—motionless as if crafted from the ice they were so fond of—unleashed the fires of rage in Minerva. Her gaze snapped back to the whole room, as if she needed to reassure herself of enormity of her decision and its consequences.

At the very back of the room, positioned beside the door she'd entered through, Matsudo placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. Mouth tightening into a grim line, he nodded at her—as though he'd seen the intent solidify in her expression—and that nod spurred her on to the most reckless decision of her life.

"You are not my people," Minerva said, the syllables seeming unnaturally drawn out until she realized the white dragon had plucked the words from her mind while she spoke and mentally broadcasted them—her voice unchanged—to the entire audience.

Of course the dragons knew what she was planning. They could see the thoughts taking form in her mind. A foreign flash of resolve, of extra courage, burned through her and she understood that the gold dragon on her right had granted her the coveted dragon's blessing.

Her words shocked the assembly into stillness.

"My people are beyond these walls," Minerva continued. "They are the soldiers, the workers, the farmers. Did not Korlana say that the man who only takes but never gives is no man at all? That he is less than human and he is the one who makes himself so?"

You won't warm yourselves at my fire, not any longer.

"You are oath breakers. You are without honor. You plot and scheme and kill when your purpose is to strengthen, to teach, to build. You lounge in idle pleasure while your people starve." Minerva's voice grew in confidence. Never before had she dared to speak her mind and she almost felt drunk on the sensation of it.

"I will remake the empire. And my blood will be the first to be shed for it. I would give the last drop in my veins to those who I call my people. Those of you who refuse to do the same do not deserve your positions. You are the truly weak ones." A vision flashed before Minerva's eyes, one of a restored Pyronia at dawn, able to withstand sun's censure and shine in glory.

She imagined herself the leader of a nation of warriors who would not have to cower to the Dracos or the Terrons, because her people would be battle-hardened, capable of defending themselves. She'd honor Korlana's debt to the Hydros, to the only ones who had kept their peace treaty with the Pyro Empire thus far. Under her reign, the royal guard could purge the lower city of murderers and the Phoenix Kin.

Even if it took half a lifetime for her to gain the throne, she'd set everything right.

Sudden laughter shattered her grand dream.

Minerva took a step back as the nobles collapsed around her—not in displays of renewed devotion and duty to her cause, but in fits of unsightly mirth. She put a hand to her head, trying to think of what she said wrong. What in Elementon had possessed her to speak out like that?

"And what will you have us do next!" a woman screamed up at her. Rubies glittered on a band that encased her entire neck. "Give up our homes to let the Hydros sleep in our beds and dine at our tables?"

As one, the Hydro embassy turned their heads to glare at the noblewoman.

Kaolin bounded up the steps—a complete breach of protocol—but with the current state of affairs, no one seemed to care. "What were you thinking?" she hissed in Minerva's ear.

"Was ... trying to fix things," Minerva mumbled numbly. She shrunk in on herself further upon catching sight of the murderous glower Kovine leveled at her. The most influential rulers flocked to the Empress like ravens to a carcass, already chattering their protests like noisy birds.

"Honestly" —Kaolin scoffed— "you would have done a better job of 'fixing things' if you'd decided to murder them all in their beds and appoint cabbage sellers as the new prefecture rulers. Remind me not to count on you for diplomacy." The spy sighed. "Can't help it now. We're going to have to pass you off as mental to cover this up though."

"You think we're weak?" another voice shouted out from the crowd. Minerva closed her eyes. Things really can't get worse, can they?

Tobias Dracova stepped into the center aisle. Resplendent golden robes draped his form, his long black hair arranged over his shoulders. His ego had recovered it seemed. When at Matsudo's Academy, students were not allowed to "flaunt" their kirukkan stones, only belts with their knots were displays of rank. But now a bronze stone glimmered on Tobias' forehead. A pure color without any gold tainting it meant the wielder held the rank of Muran.

"Let's not fool ourselves, Pyroline," the Draco heir snapped. "If anyone here is weak, it's you."

Kaolin laid a hand on Minerva's shoulder, as if the woman thought she'd throw herself into a fight. Minerva bit her tongue. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Kodak shaking his head, attempting to hide the knowing smile that curled his lips.

If life as a soldier and an assassin had taught Minerva one thing, it was to avoid fighting losing battles. Running allowed you time to recoup, to lick your wounds and gather your senses. Though perhaps even she had been affected by the privileged life of a golden blood, for she couldn't resist taking a parting shot.

"We'll see if I am," Minerva said to Tobias. "But when I come out of my Trial with a heart stone as brilliant as yours, then you'll know that you were wrong."

The Draco prince rolled his eyes. "Oh, wouldn't we all love to see that."

"Enough," the gold dragon's voice boomed. "The Heir Apparent has offered her vision for the future of the empire. Who will stand for her?"

The majority of the nobles in attendance took their seats without hesitation. A third remained standing, including the entire Hydro delegation after a glance at their unmoving king. A few rows behind them, Brenna tugged the rest of her family to their feet by their sleeves. More than I had dared hope for.

At the very last moment, before Minerva turned to enter the Trial chamber, the Emperor rose to stand in support. Vothgar Pyroline was the moon in eclipse—overshadowed by the radiance of Kovine's sun. Minerva seldom thought of him, even though she treasured a few memories: playing with his beard, accepting pretty trinkets and baubles from his hand.

Regret overwhelmed her. She hardly knew her own father.

When I'm gone, away from the Empire and fulfilling a military post in a rural city, perhaps you'll come visit me. We'll have tea and bean buns in a garden and— Even as she entertained the thought, Minerva knew it would never come true.

Her departure would be a clean break. She'd finish her Trial, compete in the Tournament, and be gone. Decades later she'd return—older, wiser and ready to ascend the throne her father would vacate upon his death. That plan left no place for healthy family relationships no one had ever bothered to develop.

Minerva pretended she hadn't noticed the Emperor's change of heart and stepped through the now open doors. The dragons pushed them shut behind her. Before her, the wide stone hallway ended at a smaller door with rays of sunlight streaming down from the glass skylights above.

She felt empty.

Her cheek stung beneath the powder Kaolin had applied and her side ached beneath the bandages wrapped around it. Dropping to her knees on the hard floor, Minerva plucked the pins from her hair, letting it tumble down around her neck. Then, one by one, she threw them at the wall and listened to them plink as they struck and fell to the ground.

What was the point of all this? Minerva knew she would never adjust to living. She wasn't suited for it. All she excelled at was killing—she belonged on the bloody battlefield and nowhere else. She expelled a heavy breath and thrust herself up with her hands to stride over to the Trial chamber.

Until she learned how to live, she knew how to survive.

Black streaks scorched the walls of the cramped room. Minerva closed the door behind her, plunging the room into semi-darkness, lit only by the lamp hanging from the opposite wall. The space appeared much smaller than before. When the Fire Fever took her aunt, she'd found only a pile of ashes in the back right corner of the room. The bed, sheets, Edina's clothes—her body—everything had been burned up.

Now, only a fist-sized chunk of rock rested on the floor. Minerva knelt and picked up the kishuki stone, running her hands across its rough edges, acquainting herself with its present form. She timed her breaths and focused her mind.

Prepare for the pain, she instructed herself.

The fire within took a moment to respond to her call, but as soon as the first flame licked the stone, heat surged to her hands. For a moment she slipped, as if a rug had been pulled out from under her feet, but she fought for control. If she let the fire rule her, it would consume her body and leave ashes behind.

The stone absorbed her power and drew on her for more. It felt alive—and hungry. Minerva fed the beast, though she held back her core. If she surrendered that, her heart stone could steal her ability to wield before setting her ablaze.

Sweat steamed from her body. Minerva opened her mouth to cry out once but snapped her jaw shut when what felt like lava poured out from her throat.

When her clothes caught on fire, Minerva recognized—per Amarante's instructions—the right moment to press her image upon the stone.

This is what I want you to be. She imagined the clear, luminous gem. You will be in the shape of an oval the size of my thumbnail.

The kishuki stone fought against her will.

Minerva squeezed her eyes shut. Dozens of Terrons had failed to kill her. She wouldn't let a dumb rock succeed.

You will obey me. Flames erupted from every inch of her body—bringing torture to her re-opened wounds—but she held the inner image steady.

She'd survive to see the dawn again.

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top