Chapter Eighteen

The conclave is packed. The audience is filled with members of the upper class here in Laconia. Frederick stands beside me in the pulpit, facing the group of four sitting on their stone chairs.

Kretia is on the far left, wearing the same ridiculous flowing robes she wore the first time she judged me here. The grays in her robe contrast nicely with her black skin, her hair braided to her scalp, as it was before. Her wrinkled face watches me with keen interest.

The only one with a more tranquil expression is Aolia, the councilwoman of Acadia. Her long, curly blond hair flows freely down her shoulders. Her blue eyes shine brightly, aided with the sun shining through the window behind her. Dressed in the same blue-green ensemble, she is beauty and grace, as I imagine Empress Morimento was before she went mad and died.

Ravenno, the councilman of Magnysia situated between the women, has his nose upturned, as usual. His mouth is drawn into a frown, making him appear older than his fifty years. Wearing red, he is fire personified—and it makes me wonder if the magic Empress Krotas has deals with fire.

The man of the city of Laconia with a lion insignia on his robes, Hazor, has his green gaze narrowed in my direction. His black hair is coiffed to the side, a stark contrast to the white themes of his clothing.

The first time I stood before all four of these people and a crowd like this, I was unprepared, in chains. A prisoner. Now, things are different.

It is Ravenno who speaks first: "Kretia claims you wield magic, and Frederick LaRoe says he witnessed the same. Is this true?" Though each word is laced with venom, his curiosity peeks through all the same.

As a response, I lift my arm and in the same motion, my fingertips come alive with tiny white sparks. My tattoo glows, and I hear many audible gasps in the room.

"Witchcraft," Hazor hisses. "It must be witchcraft for a foreigner to wield the magic only our empresses can—"

It is Kretia who interrupts him and says, "Frederick relayed to us what you saw in Acadia's castle. If her son sits on the throne…" She glances at Aolia, but the serene woman says nothing. "Perhaps you became an empress the very moment you came upon our lands."

"Nonsense," Ravenno says, and Hazor is quick to agree with him. These guys go around and around; I can easily see how they can sit around and argue with each other, and never get anything done.

Finally, Aolia speaks. She leans forward, eyes on me, as she says, "You went to Pylos just as you ventured deep into Acadia. What did you find there?"

I glance at Frederick, and he gives me a short nod. "I found Gladus."

"And?" Kretia asks, her hands tightening on the armrests. Though she sent me away, it looks as though she's afraid to hear what I have to say. I suppose I can't blame her, since she is—or was—Gladus's devout follower.

"And we fought," I say. "She didn't win."

If murmurings filled the room before, a cacophony of sound rises now. Everyone talking, each with their own thoughts on the matter. Some claim I'm lying. As I watch the men and women before me, I can see their opinions are divided.

I reach into my bag. "I brought this back with me." Pulling out the hilt, I hold it high so that those in the audience can see it. With the sun shining through the windows behind the councilmen and women, the metallic hilt appears otherworldly.

Kretia sucks in a breath as her eyes widen. "The Hilt of Storms."

I step off the circular stone and move toward the council. I place the hilt on the first step of the altar they sit upon. A part of me doesn't believe in what Frederick said, that this can't be a Thor's hammer situation, but the gravity of it all is finally hitting me. Each one of them appears shocked at the sight.

It is Ravenno that stammers out, "Ridiculous. It must be a forgery."

"Pick it up, then," Aolia suggests.

Ravenno snickers as he stands, and he glares at me all the while. Within a moment, he's bending and reaching for the hilt, but before his hand can curl around the grip, he winces and steps back. When he looks at his palm, the glove on his right hand is singed off, the flesh beneath it burned.

Holy shit. Frederick was right.

"It is true, then," Kretia speaks. "You defeated Empress Gladus. You can wield the Hilt of Storms. You are unaffected by the scourge and can walk through the shadowstorms as if they are nothing."

As Ravenno lumbers to his seat, holding his hand against his chest with a sneer on his face, Aolia says, "We misjudged you when you first arrived here. We are a people so caught in our old ways we cannot see the walls crumbling around us, but no more."

Through gritted teeth, Ravenno mutters, "No more indeed."

Hazor whips his head in their direction. "What is your meaning? As far as we know, that's a forgery dipped in poison and what she showed us is nothing but a trick of light—"

I don't appreciate the way he's talking about me, so even though it might not be the best idea, I go for the hilt. Once it's in my hand, I lift it high again, only this time I bring it to life. No storms necessary for me. The Hilt of Storms sizzles and ignites, a whiter color than it was when Gladus had it, but still a magical blade all the same.

"How's that for a trick of the light?" I ask snippily as I continue to hold the magical blade high.

The four that make up the council glance at each other. The two on the sides lean over and they whisper amongst themselves. I glance at Frederick as I lower the hilt. "I'm glad that worked," I say as I stop funneling magic to the hilt and stuff it back in my bag.

To the four before us, Frederick says, "What you've seen today is undeniable proof. Even if you don't want to think of Rey as an empress, it's proof enough that she defeated Empress Gladus. With her immunity to the woes, she might be our only hope."

Ugh, there goes that only hope saying again. It's exactly what I don't want to be.

The four on the council all look at me, and I take a step forward and say, "Look. I can forgive and forget the whole jail thing. Let me make this easy for you: I don't want to be an empress. I just want to go home. If there are any resources you can give me to help me get home, I'd be grateful."

Kretia stands, and the others stand with her. "We recognize your deeds and who you are. This meeting of the conclave is done. We will reconvene in the morning to see if there is any way we can aid you in your quest, Empress."

I want to roll my eyes, but I don't want to insult them, so I hold back. I'm no empress, but if they can help me somehow… I guess I'll have to keep my mouth shut.

Frederick taps me on the arm. "Come on. We should get out of here before everyone else. If we don't, I fear you'll be trapped here shaking hands and meeting all the nobles. There are other people who'd like to meet you in the lower city."

I'd rather meet regular people than nobles, so I follow Frederick out of the chamber. Some of the audience tries to get my attention as we pass, but I keep my head down and avoid eye contact.

That went better than the first time, I guess, though I don't know what exactly it accomplished.

We head through the upper city, walking through the streets that are more well-kept and clean than the rest of Laconia. Not one speck of dirt on the stone ground. Not even in the shadows of the tall buildings. It almost looks sterile.

Frederick brings me to the marketplace, specifically one of the only stone buildings on the market level. We pass a small crowd of people, and I'm seconds from asking him where we are when we walk into the building. That's when it hits me.

Large wooden barrels sit behind a makeshift bar counter, and an old man with a short gray beard and a dirty apron stands behind the counter. Wooden tables line the place, each seat full. Every person has a mug either in front of them or in their hands.

It's a bar. Or a tavern. Whatever the hell they're called here.

All eyes are on Frederick and me as we stroll in. We walk up to the counter, where the old man stands, waiting. The moment he saw us enter, he got out two more mugs and filled the cups with some kind of foamy liquid—alcohol, if I had to guess. Whatever weird shit they drink here.

"You must be that special empress everyone's talking about," the barkeep says with a wink as he pushes the mugs toward Frederick and me.

I glance at Frederick, watching him take his mug. "Word travels fast."

"Prim wasn't exactly quiet about her faith in you or what you were to her," Frederick says as he leans an arm on the bar counter. "I… may have helped things along, after—" When I continue to stare at him, he adds, "You must understand, Rey, it's been a long time since the people of Laconia have had any hope, even longer since they truly believed in anything. You may not want to admit it, but you are a harbinger of change, whether you want to be or not."

Frederick gestures around us with his mug-free hand. "All these people are here because they saw you protect them from Gladus's soldiers. They witnessed you do something they thought impossible: stand up against an empress and her power and win. You coming back after your journey to Pylos's castle only proves it more."

A woman at a nearby table stands, raises her cup, and says, "To Rey." She's just a random face to me, but the way she looks at me tells me every word Frederick said is true. I may not know her, but she knows me… and she believes in me.

As I watch the entire crowd raise their mugs in solidarity, repeating the toast, "To Rey," I realize they all do.

Beside me, Frederick lifts his mug with them, though he says, "To you," before he takes his first sip.

Faith. Hope. It's a lot to put on someone, especially a lot to put on me. I've never… this is all new to me, and I don't think I like it. Not only the pressure, but the way they all keep looking at me, as if they're afraid I'll disappear. Or maybe they just want to soak me in.

I don't toast myself, but I do grab the mug on the counter and raise it once everyone else's toast is done. Nobody should be toasting me.

"To Prim," I say, and then I drink.