Through the Lies

Chapter 7

Maven

I feel the transport begin to slow and I open my eyes. The sky outside the window is gray and dark despite it being the middle of the afternoon. We must be here.

Mare shifts next to me as she wakes up. I sit up from the window and her head lifts from my shoulder, her warmth leaving me. A few stray hairs from her elaborate up-do stick to the side of her face and I feel myself smirk as I brush them away. 

A sentinel opens the door and I climb out first, my shoes flattening a layer of ash. I take Mare’s hand as she leaves the transport and she lifts her skirts with the other.

The true wasteland of the Choke is pocked with craters from two armies' worth of artillery fire. Some of the holes must be decades old. Barbed wire tangles in the mud.

We move in between sentinels as they wearily escort us across the obliterated earth.

For once, even the sentinels are on edge. They move slowly, their masked faces sweeping back and forth, actually thinking about their own safety as well as mine. Rocks and dirt make the ground uneven under my feet. I pray nothing splinters beneath me. A rib, a skull, a femur, a spine. We don't need more proof of the endless graveyard we're walking through. 

In my clouded, hellish memories of this place, the Choke stretched on forever, In every direction. But instead of continuing forward into oblivion, the convoy slows a little more than a half mile beyond the frontline trenches. In the east, the clouds break, and a few beams of sunlight illuminate the harsh land around us. No trees as far as the eye can see.

A pavilion sits in the middle of the no man's land and the contrast is jarring. It's brand new, with white columns and silky curtains swaying in the poisoned wind. Constructed for one purpose alone; a meeting like the one so long ago, when two kings decided to begin a century of war.

The king of the Lakelands is already waiting.

He sprawls in a simple chair, a small man against the massive Lakeland flag hung behind him.

His milky blue metal transports splay out on the other side of the pavilion, arranged in mirror image to our own and all of them crawling with the Lakelander version of Sentinel guards. More flank their king and his entourage. 

My own entourage slowly emerges from the black transports, obviously not wanting to leave their safety. Only select members of the higher houses were allowed to come.

I stare at the king as we approach, trying to figure out the man under the crown. For as much as I favor black and red, he favors blue. After all, he is a nymph. It's fitting.

I find myself comparing him to my father, the only other king I've ever known. He stands in stark contrast. Where Tiberias VI was hefty, bearded, his face and body bloated by alcohol, the Lakelander king is slight, clean-shaven, and clear-eyed with dark skin.

When he stands, his movements are filled with grace. He wears no armor or dress uniform like my own. Only robes of shimmering silver and royal blue, bright and foreboding as his flag.

"King Maven of House Calore," he says, inclining his head just so as I step into the pavilion.

Only my sentinels follow me onto the white marble platform. Mare stays behind with the rest of the entourage, who waits for permission to take their seats.

"King Orrec of House Cygnet," I respond in kind. I'm careful to bow lower than my opponent, with my practiced smile fixed firmly on my face.

"If only my father were here to see this."

The words are like poison, but my expression stays frozen. In reality, my father is probably rolling in his grave right now.

"Your brother too," Orrec says.