THE FORTUNIST

50. Wuxhia

“Xri's Blade is halved to its hilt and its blade.”

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Feng is gone.

Wuxhia can no longer tell the pinnacle of his story. When had it become so messed up?

Fowella, he did not know where she went but his best bet is that she is going back to the mainland. He hopes no one would notice that half her hair is gone. He hopes Fowella would not turn on him. But could he blame her if she did? Her truth was painful but it was truth. The Fortunist had said she and Xihan would have only a son. He isn't Xihan. He hopes Fowella would come back. She is his mother after all and he is willing to let go of all the times he had felt that she did not love him enough.

He had not expected Fowella to be that cunning and now there is something that blossoms in his chest, a feeling relative to fear. Wuxhia knows deep down that Fowella is someone he must have on his side. Wuxhia feels no remorse for what he did to Xihan. In fact, he should do anything in his power to spite the cruel man, even if it meant impregnating his own mother who had not seemed to take a single thing along when she scrambled. She had left the palace behind like Wuxhia was her biggest enemy, not to her life but to a child she hoped would be her's the way Bala never was.

"We await you in the strategy room. It's not that way."

Wuxhia halts his strides and scoffs. He had not hosted a council meeting since the one where Bough had announced the misplacement of the Winter Solstice. Those meetings, Wuxhia had decided, were bad news.

"I did not call for a council meeting Idris and I hope you didn't pull that veto ring trick again," Wuxhia seethes, foregoing formalities. He wonders the extent of what would happen if he just disintegrates the Hand here and now.

"I did," Idris says with a confident lift of his chin. "I'm the Queen's Hand and you wanted me to advise you but you run from advice, Lord General. Your regency was a mistake."

Wuxhia stalks up to the Hand who dauntlessly stands his ground until he and Wuxhia are just a few centimetres apart. They are both nearly the same height and Idris' green eyes are glassy orbs of flame.

"You wanted to be the royal Highness," Idris says, "but you are surprisingly bad at it and it's my job to tell you that if you don't want me to alert the queen when she returns. Albenarum is hosting their tournament, you did not send your delegate. Everyone connected to Salem's cryfix is suffering and you have developed no tactic to find it. I'm far away from my house on your insistence and now there's some lunatic running about stealing cryfixes."

"Do you feel the need to criticize me so much?" Wuxhia asks calmly. "I'll let you in on a secret then. The queen is never coming back. She's the only one who made sure your head stayed on your shoulders. Not your wife, not your children, not even your common sense which you've clearly lost. Very soon, not even me."

With that, Wuxhia furiously redirects himself to the strategy room. He does not wait for an introduction before strolling to the queen's chair and plopping in. This time, everyone present had stood up. He examines the faces present.

Bough. The Xri siblings. Nua Tai. Idris.

"Where are the others?" Wuxhia growls.

"There is a nationwide panic your Highness. They have stayed behind to try and restore order."

"The council is incomplete. As such there is no need for formalities. What is so urgent?" Wuxhia's irritation increases as he asks the question. What is indeed so urgent that it should take over his own problems of Bala, Feng, the Fortunist, Fowella…?