Adrin

Sefoni brought Adrin to a small waiting room where Zafrys, Vaclan, Jocyanë and Irezan had already gathered to wait for the assembly to be called into session. They all fell silent when he entered, making it impossible to avoid the uncomfortable notion that they had just been talking about him.

“Technically the seat ought to go to Adrin, but I’m going to guess he’s not ready to preside over an Assembly session just yet,” Zafrys said, just a little too loudly.

“But Jocyanë absolutely is capable of presiding. There’s no need for you to tax yourself any further today, Rezy.” Vaclan rested his hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“It is no great hardship for me to withstand an Assembly session,” Queen Irezan replied. Her voice was high and breathy, and she looked older than her fifty-five years, with hair gone mostly to gray. This was the first chance Adrin had to look at her closely, and though on a first glance she appeared willowy and frail, she had the eyes of a woman who had faced death more than once and returned from the brink. The eyes of a survivor.

The family continued their civil argument over who would be responsible for administering the meeting. Adrin examined the large painting on the wall, a family portrait of Kierfes and Isuld that he’d never seen before. They didn’t brandish swords, or gaze austerely across the centuries in regal splendor, as they did in the portraits he’d seen reproduced in books. This painting depicted them at rest. Kierfes Talmuir, first king of Elorhe, reclined in a chair with a toddler—his future successor—asleep on his chest. Isuld looked on from a chaise nearby, with her red-black hair—usually depicted falling in impossibly luxurious waves—twisted into a bun.

Kaethar had said something to Isuld’s shade about “the life we never had,” but Isuld had lived a long and full life. It gave Adrin an odd feeling in his chest to look at them, but he could retrieve no concrete memories to go along with that secondhand nostalgia.

“It’s time,” Zafrys said, drawing Adrin back into the present.

“What do I need to do?” he asked. Everyone else looked so calm, so ready, that Adrin hardly felt fit to stand among them. Jocyanë had exchanged her lavender tunic for one in green and yellow, a vivid rebuke to the idea that this was a time for mourning or fear. Vaclan looked the part of a Talmuir scion, dressed impeccably in dark blue with golden accents, his hair tied into a neat queue. Zafrys wore a green scarf that glimmered with golden threads over her deep blue kaftan, and even Irezan’s subdued white and gray tunic was perfectly tailored. How could he ever truly belong in this family?

“You’ll sit at the back table with me,” Zafrys said. “These aren’t normal times. All you need to do is watch, listen, and learn.”

He followed them out onto the dais. The room rose up in tiers on three sides of him. Representatives looked down at him from desks hung with banners that identified their provinces. Elorhe had been assembled from the pieces that remained after the Victorless War, and so long as the provinces recognized the authority of the monarchs and adhered to their law, they could retain their identities and customs. Even four hundred years after the unification, Elorhe was in some ways more like a broad alliance than a coherent kingdom.

To Adrin’s right were the seats of the old noble houses. Only a few of those remained, but between them they held the majority of Elorhe’s land. Namai, the vast western province, was represented by an elderly couple. The representative from the Pardrials, the mountainous region at the southern tip of Elorhe, looked as ancient and weathered as the mountains from which she came. Then there was Grais Yasoh, lord of Nalla-Bidharac and Adrin’s overlord, though he was little more than a figurehead; everyone knew his father Norsyff held the real power in that province. And beside him was Saiglen Gabarias, Lady of Weslesca and wife of Grais, though theirs had been an odd marriage where they each retained their name and lands.

Toward the center of the room were desks for those that didn’t fit in either the aristocratic or the democratic bloc. The golden crane of Norana adored a desk where a stern-looking man sat, representing the Sanctuary faith, and in front of him was an empty desk draped with a black banner depicting a golden eagle. That was reserved for the Tresuan, but no Tresuan had attended the assembly since Alzyn Semfrey’s departure. A few others, like the representatives from Sulair and from the capital province, also sat in that middle segment.

The remainder of the room—more than half of the total seats—was reserved for the city-states of the east, who elected their representatives by a popular vote. The front desk of that section was adorned with the green-and-white tiger of Heniscau, and the man who sat behind it—the “Senator for the Bharsalli Corporation,” Adrin couldn’t help thinking with some distaste—was the de facto leader of the bloc, Laursal Arneckas.

Jocyanë stepped forward to address the nobility and representatives who had gathered in the assembly chamber.

“I would like to begin by putting any rumors to rest.” Her voice carried clear and strong across the chamber, boosted by the vitricial amplifier she wore on a necklace. “My father lives. He sleeps in the care of our Devoted healers, who assure me that all his vital signs are strong. I have every hope that before long he will be able to stand before you himself and explain what transpired in the Ocean yesterday. Until such time, I am afraid, we may be unable to answer every question about the disturbance. However, one thing is clear: the Ocean has chosen Adrin Remyer as Prince Ethereal. In light of the present crisis, all ceremonies and celebration will be postponed, but I have faith that soon, we will be able to give him the reception he has earned.”

Adrin performed a formal bow and took his seat beside Zafrys. He could feel every eye in the room upon him, but that didn’t cause as much discomfort as the chill in the princess’s voice.

After Jocyanë finished speaking, she took a seat beside Adrin, folded her hands on the table in front of her and stared straight ahead. Her mother spoke next, and the entire room fell silent to listen to her unamplified voice.

“I know you all have many questions,” she said, her voice stronger than it had seemed in the antechamber. “We do not yet know how far the disturbances were felt, nor do we know the extent of the damage that they caused. All speaking lines and other lines of communication have been severed by the incident. Although we have dispatched messengers and received some reports from the surrounding area, there is still much that we do not, and cannot, know at this time. But we do have some idea as to the nature of the incident itself, thanks to the efforts of researchers at the University. Professor Maisk, if you are ready?”

Queen Irezan stepped aside, and a man rose from a bench along the wall to approach the podium. Adrin recognized him as Etherret Maisk, though he was far more familiar with the theoretician’s books than with his face. The professor was of the same generation as the queen and her brother, and most of his short, straight hair was still black, but his mustache had gone completely gray. He adjusted the ceram amplifier on his collar before he began to speak in a clear, thin voice.

“Yesterday, two successive pulses were observed that caused a near total disruption of all ethereal currents within the ambient field. The surge of the first wave rendered our meters inoperable, so we were unable to measure the second, though we presume that it was of roughly equivalent magnitude. All devices that depend on the ambient current for operation were disconnected and ceased to function. However, devices powered by human vitricity were unaffected. In some cases, we were able to restore functionality devices merely by re-initializing them; that is to say, by establishing a connection to an appropriate current within the ambient field. However, some devices, in particular those of a more complicated or delicate nature, have suffered damage that cannot be so easily repaired. Many of our instruments, unfortunately, will require extensive repair or replacement. The connections between speaking lines have also been severed, and it is unlikely that a connection can be re-established remotely. New devices can be built and dispatched to extend a new network of communications, but it will take time, especially because they must be delivered on foot. I believe that restoring the linecar will present great difficulty as well.”

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Adrin winced. There were maintenance crews who made repairs when a cycle went out of sync due to an anomaly in the ambient field, but now every cycle in the track would need to be reinitialized and recalibrated. In normal times, these anomalies only caused a bumpy ride for a second or two before the linecar reached the next cycle, but the very redundancy that made it so reliable before would make it a nightmare to repair.

And what if it happened again? There had to be a way to prevent another disaster like the crash the girl in his dream witnessed. Perhaps a failsafe brake, powered by human vitricity? It would almost certainly deplete the user, but that was better than the whole linecar coming apart. Would one person’s vitricity be enough? What if every conductor and attendant had a place to link into the system? Adrin lost track of the professor’s lecture as the idea took shape in his mind, and his fingers itched for pen and paper to start sketching it out.

“What of the seals?” someone called out. It was Grais Yasoh, Adrin’s former overlord, who had risen to his feet. “Are the constructs ravaging the provinces as we speak?”

“The construct seals do not require the ambient field to function, and should not be affected by the disturbance,” Professer Maisk said.

“How sure are you of that?” asked one of the Namaian representatives. Voices rose in a clamor to echo his concern until Vaclan stood and spoke over them, his over-amplified voice filling the room.

“Two members of the Ethereal Guard have been dispatched to Efrinas to discern the state of the seal there,” he announced. “We anticipate that one will return soon to report what they have found. Thank you, Professor Maisk, for your research and your continued efforts.”

The professor didn’t look like he was done speaking, but the prince had obviously intended the words as a dismissal, so he yielded the platform. Now Vaclan faced the assembly, and though the room was now quiet, he did not reduce the volume of his amplification.

“When the event occurred yesterday evening, I was overseeing the training camp at Suthmin. As you can imagine, there was some confusion in the immediate aftermath, but order was quickly restored. Already, our engineers are conducting an assessment of the damages, in order to develop a comprehensive plan for repairs. But as Professor Maisk just informed you, the event had no effect upon devices that rely upon personal vitricity. The strength and effectiveness of Elorhe’s peacekeepers has not been compromised.” He delivered the last line while sweeping a stern gaze around the room—a warning.

After he spoke, other messengers were called forward to deliver reports. They told the same story; every single device that depended on the ambient field had failed. A few injuries, nothing serious, at least not in the vicinity of Thaliron. It would be days, if not weeks, before they would know what had happened in the rest of Elorhe. Were his mother, father, and sister all right back in Dhanlir? And even if they were safe for now, what would happen if repairs couldn’t be carried out in time to bring in the harvest, or keep the food from rotting?

“And what does the new prince have to say about all this?”

Voices were rising again, shouting questions and demands. What had truly happened yesterday, and why? Who was responsible? Where was the Tresuan in these troubled times, and why had none of this been foreseen?

Turbulence in the ambient current rose along with the voices and general agitation. Adrin tried to focus on the physical world, but he could no longer shut out the other vision, and it was hard not to twitch as the disorienting twists caught his eye.

“What will become of us?” someone called out, and Jocyanë stood up beside him, slamming her hands down on the table.

“What will become of us?” she repeated, her amplified voice soaring above the cacophony. “That depends on each and every one of us in this room. It is up to us to decide if we will be divided by our fears, throw away our institutions, and allow Elorhe to descend into chaos and war the likes of which have not been seen for more than four hundred years. Or we can stand united by our common history and learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. We can come out of this catastrophe stronger if we cooperate and hold on to what is truly important. It is up to each and every one of us to do what is best for Elorhe. If we put our trust in each other and hold onto our faith, I have no doubt that we will prevail.”

Most of the room had quieted as she spoke, but the Namaian representatives still whispered to each other when she concluded. Now Saiglen Gabarias rose from her chair and stepped forward.

“May I address the Assembly, your majesty?” she asked Queen Irezan.

Lady Saiglen Gabarias looked like a queen—like Queen Isuld herself, to be precise, and had gone to some lengths to cultivate the resemblance. She had the same red-black hair as the first monarch chosen by the Ocean, and wore it loose, letting it hang in waves that fell nearly to her waist. She wore an actual dress, not just a longer tunic—an anachronistic piece of attire, but one that suited her, giving her movements an extra touch of grace. She had to be close to fifty, but age had taken nothing from her, only added to her dignity and gravitas.

“Thank you, Princess Jocyane, for your inspiring words,” she said after reaching the podium, looking up to the princess before turning back to face the assembly. Adrin had an excellent view of her impressive hair. How did she keep it from getting tangled?

Saiglen continued speaking. “Indeed, we are all fortunate that the future of Elorhe rests in your capable hands. But it would be foolish to go on blithely trusting in an institution that has given us ample reason to doubt. We must ask difficult questions and face difficult truths. None here have forgotten that eight months ago, another young man went beneath the waves and never returned. Now a second supplicant has sought the Ocean’s favor, and apparently received it, but in such a fashion!”

Adrin drew in his breath, doing his best to remain still and calm.

“You say the king is alive and well, but why can he not be awoken? This is all a very strange and disturbing affair, and owing to the depth of my love for this kingdom, I cannot help but feel a deep concern. Your family and the Ocean have brought peace and prosperity to Elorhe, and for that we are all deeply grateful. No one here wishes to return to the dark days before Kierfes and Isuld. But we can no longer pretend that the Ocean will always present the perfect solution to all of our problems. It is time to look beyond traditions for new solutions.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Laursel Arneckas called from the other side of the room. “To think I’d see the day where Lady Saiglen called for looking beyond tradition and finding new solutions. Why, it’s enough to make me believe in miracles.”

He hopped down to the main floor with a sardonic smile on his face. “Queen Irezan, Prince Vaclan, if I may?”

Saiglen left the podium and swept back to her seat.

“I cannot help but wonder if we would even be here today, having this conversation, if not for the tragic loss of so many brilliant minds sixteen years ago.” Laursel looked directly at Grais Yasoh. “Your brother, my daughter, we can only imagine what they might have achieved if they hadn’t gone off on that damned expedition.”

Laursel kept his tone amiable, but Adrin didn’t trust the lean, handsome man one bit. That same man had lied to his mother’s face in just such a friendly tone.

“Fortunately there’s a new generation of innovators coming of age now, and from what I hear, the Prince Ethereal is one of them. Why must we continue to limit our potential due to rules that are antiquated and obsolete? We must unleash the potential of our engineers and inventors to achieve that future Princess Jocyanë envisioned. To do anything less is to betray our children, our grandchildren and all future generations.”

“Perhaps your grandchildren will benefit,” Grais Yasoh called back from the floor. “Already our farmers struggle to feed their own while you pick their pockets with the latest innovations.”

“Don’t blame innovation for the poverty of your people, my lord.” Laursel loaded the aristocratic title with disdain. “They will find a better explanation for their suffering closer to home.”

The floor erupted in argument again, more demands for more answers, demands that Adrin himself speak. On top of everything else, the ambient currents swirled, chaotic and nauseating. He’d stepped into a hornet’s nest, and angry insects were swarming all about him.

The door at the back of the assembly room flew open, and a man dashed in. His soldier’s tunic was soaked with sweat, making it appear black, save the single gold stripe. Everyone watched in silent anticipation as the member of the Ethereal Guard bounded down the steps of the center aisle and stopped just in front of Irezan and Vaclan. He took an interminable moment to catch his breath.

“Well?” Vaclan asked.

“Still sealed up nice and tight,” the messenger replied, his face breaking into a broad grin.

A wave of relief seemed to spread through the Assembly at this welcome news. Someone even let out a cheer, but surely no one felt more gratitude than Adrin at that moment. Even as the arguments resumed, he knew that at least he would not have to face a construct on his first full day as Prince Ethereal.