Chapter 91:

Lady Nari finally finished with the Rajas boy late into the second nightsleep. After telling Ajay to take the now unconscious body back to the barracks, or a clinic if necessary, she pulled her mattress onto the floor and settled into it. The fear and terror of the Rajas boy had been extremely enjoyable. As an outlet it was excellent. Maybe she should consider having a Rajas brought up to her regularly. It had helped calm her down when she needed to be calm, and it was helping her now figure out exactly how to think about Sukren.

Because he was the issue behind all of this. If it was true that he’d absconded with the Promised Daughter… well, then all of Lady Nari’s problems could be laid solely at his feet. Nobody would have moved against her if she’d had the Promised Daughter at hand.

Ah, Sukren. Why did you disobey me? Why did you do something I didn’t tell you to do?

For the first time since she’d heard about his betrayal, Lady Nari felt something in her heart, a twinge, almost, of pity. Poor Sukren. He’d never been able to break free, it seemed, from what his doctor-priest had done to him. She hadn’t minded that, of course, what mattered was whether or not he could follow through on his part for the Uprising. Who cared if Sukren seemed unable to form relationships with anyone other than the Promised Daughter – and herself? His mission required nothing more.

But now Lady Nari wondered. Maybe he had needed something more. A different approach, slightly warmer handling. Oh, but Sukren had responded so powerfully to Lady Nari’s promise to rescue him! She’d thought he was the type who needed to be left hungry for love, who would turn away from those who were too inviting.

Then again, it seemed there were a lot of things lately that Lady Nari had mistakenly thought.

Am I losing my touch? No. I’m the one who grew up in a wall nursery and found my way into a regent’s position. I’m the one who tricked and killed my way into the Council. I’m the one who pulled the Free Serfs from their roots as a middling religious movement into a powerful political force. I’m the one who orchestrated the Uprising. I’ve been deceived by those I relied on, by other serfs, but that does not mean that I am not who I always was. Nor does it mean that those who deceived me are no longer my serfs, my own, mine to drag, if need be, to the fulfillment of the prophecy.

Of course, of course, mercy will be a part of that. Now that I am no longer angry, I will be able to think of the best, most fitting form of it. For Sukren. For Anzana. For Dasgu. For everyone, really, who has ever failed to put the serfs, and the serfs alone, first.

***

Purple and green etches in the walls, that was all that was left of the entrance hall. The hatted mushroom-like regent’s desk had been chopped up; the mini-monument of the information desk had been smashed to splinters. Even both fences, full-grown last time Vek had seen them, were sawed down.

He and Zedid stood side by side where one of the fences used to stand. And it wasn’t just them, either. Other serfs, also there to watch the rally, stood beside them. On the far side of the entrance hall, still more serfs stood behind an invisible line. It was as if both fences were still up and dividing the entrance hall into thirds like before the Uprising, only, neither fence was actually there anymore.

In the middle third of the entrance hall was the rally. Or maybe parade, Vek should call it. Parades were usually a Rajas thing, drunken princesses and princes taking over entire elevator shafts, spilling into elevator bays, going up and down and cheering and laughing and staggering and throwing up. There wasn’t much throwing up going on in the parade Vek was now watching, but there was a lot of everything else. A lot of cheering, laughing, and banners waving high, banners with every kind of rock stitched into them, calf rock and mud rock and scale stone, and holiest of all, rock from the birthsites, from UpLevel and RockSpire, from EarthSlash and CaveMound.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

And rock-god, watching the parade, hearing the serfs in it cheer, practically smelling their hope and enthusiasm and faith, didn’t Vek feel something stirring inside him? Some sense that things had to work out okay, that maybe the Chenta nationalists rallying everywhere the past few days might make things better, that all the disillusion Vek had been feeling could be left behind him like a dream, that maybe the trials would end before they got to him, that maybe he could finally, finally belong to the one tribe he’d grown up in, the one tribe he’d dedicated his entire life to…

The serfs behind Vek kept jostling him and Zedid as they fought for more room and a better view. Vek grinned a little at their spirit; the parade was infecting them too. In front of him, barely an arms-length away, was the strong steady beat of marching legs, the joyful noise of sheep horns and drums, and bright faces all around. Next to him, Zedid’s eyes were shining too.

Wait, was she crying?

Vek immediately turned and put his arm around her waist. “What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t hear her very well above the drums and the horns and the chanting cheers. He had to bend so that his ear was by her mouth. “I just… I don’t know,” he heard her say. “I hope this means things will get better, but yesterday there was another Syndicates trial.”

Vek swallowed. “Who? Anyone we know?”

“Someone named Olan Kahamina. I don’t know him, do you?”

Vek shook his head.

“I don’t know why I went to his trial,” Zedid continued. “But I did. And you know what I saw? The judge pulling out a file, one of the files Lady Nari kept on us, a Free Serf file.”

At that, Vek went utterly still.

“The judge used some letter in the file to find Olan guilty of being a Rajas tail. It was some letter Olan wrote ages ago, to his own patron, back when Lady Hamina – I mean just Hamina – was alive. The judge used that to find him guilty! I mean, I get it, Lady Hamina was no Free Serf patron, and Olan wrote a letter to her that got some other serf, a Free Serf, in trouble, but still…”

A horn’s blast went off in his ear. Vek almost jumped out of his skin. He turned to snarl at the serf but stopped and forced himself to smile instead. He waved to the serf still blowing on the horn, waiting for him to pass by before he turned back to Zedid. Then Vek stopped himself again. The entrance hall was wide open, a cavern in the heart of the castle. And they were standing at the very edge of the parade. Everyone could see them; anyone might. And someone might wonder, what were Vek and Zedid talking about so intently?

“Let’s talk later,” Vek said out loud.

Zedid looked relieved. She leaned on Vek’s arm, and a smile returned to her face. “Look!” she said, pointing.

It was another banner, the biggest one of them all so far. Once again behind him Vek could feel other serfs pushing up against him, practically climbing up his legs in order to peer over his shoulders at the bright, blue-dyed cloth. It was held aloft by two strong Chenta men, both of them branded on their forearms like Vek. On the cloth itself the words were stitched with vivid red thread.

Death to all piss ta! Death to all ash ta! Death to all goldskins!

Piss ta. That was new. Sure, the Eenta had called the Chenta dirt ta for long enough, but the Chenta had never responded in kind. Vek had never heard anyone mock the Eenta for their water birthsites the way the Eenta mocked the Chenta for their earth birthsites. And as far as he knew, nobody had ever sneered at the Xhota for their fire birthsites.

“That’s a good one!” Zedid was crowing. “Piss ta! Ha! I like it!”