Hexes of the Fall (The Hex King Book 1), page 37
The guard remained silent, but it was obvious that there was something on his mind. His face was grave, his eyes shadowed with more than just weariness.
Genry waited, but his patience didn’t last long.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Emersen took a breath, glanced at him, then away again. “What if it wasn’t a dream?” he asked softly.
“What?”
The guard sighed. He’d been leaning against the wall, but now he pushed off it and began pacing back and forth within the cramped space of the infirmary room. “I’m saying that the queen gave the order for the Solian hexers to reinforce Galan’s walls not more than an hour ago. It’ll be a massive project, and they’re still planning how to do it the most efficiently, but they’re set to start tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Genry said, refusing to be alarmed. “Well, that is a bit of an odd coincidence, I suppose.”
“It’s not just that,” Emersen said, still pacing, now at the end of Genry’s cot. “Your other dreams have been equally odd of late, like when you dreamed about the queen declaring Lusa an ‘enemy of the Peace’ just before she actually did.”
“That’s just logical,” Genry muttered. “My subconscious probably just assumed the obvious.”
“Hmm, perhaps,” Emersen allowed dubiously. “But what about the visions you had on Sarien Crest? You described things that happened after you had fallen unconscious. You couldn’t have known about those things, and yet you did.”
That much, Genry had to admit, was true. When Emersen had tried to fill him in on the details of what had happened on the evening of the equinox, Genry had been unnerved to discover that he already knew much of the story … and more. He remembered all the visions that he’d seen while dead, of Rede and Ordan healing him, of Liv and Stery attempting to subdue the rogue drakonid, and of Ellex confronting Lusa after their escape. But dying was a mysterious process that he scarcely understood anyway, and it therefore seemed excusable to have inexplicable experiences in conjunction with that event. What he couldn’t excuse, however, was that the visions had continued for days after he’d been revived.
“I don’t have a clue what you’re implying, and I’d prefer it if you would get to the point,” Genry said stiffly, crossing his arms.
“All right, I will,” Emersen said. He stopped pacing and looked at Genry directly, leaning over the metal frame at the foot of the cot. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? You’re a seer.”
Silence.
Genry stared at him blankly. He’d asked the guard to get to the point, but he regretted it now. Hearing that word was like having a bucket of ice water splashed in his face—so shocking that he could scarcely draw breath for several seconds.
“Th-that’s absurd,” he spat with some difficulty once he’d gotten his lungs back in order. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Emersen asked. “Your twin can turn into a fire-breathing monster and can fly on wings of smoke and ash. Is it so difficult to believe you might dream of the future now and then?”
“Yes,” Genry snapped. “It is difficult to believe. Seers are a threat to the Peace. It’s illegal! I wouldn’t … I couldn’t—” He could feel himself beginning to panic and forced himself to take several deep breaths, reaching for a rational argument rather than an emotional one. “People don’t just suddenly become seers,” he pointed out.
Emersen gave an impatient sigh and looked away. “Yes, they do,” he said after a taut silence. “I’ve seen it happen before.”
Genry blinked, drawing himself up in confusion. “What do you mean, you’ve seen it happen before? Seen what?”
“Listen, Genry. Don’t say anything, just … listen. I told you before that you remind me of my brother, Kraus, and now you remind me of him more than ever. When the fire happened, he almost died. He was badly injured, not just in the flesh but also in the mind. Afterward, he started having vivid dreams, mostly from my perspective, oddly enough, and would insist that they were more than dreams. And the weird thing was, he was right. A lot of what he dreamed actually came to pass. At first, I chalked it up to coincidence and uncanny intuition, but … well, when the same coincidence happens repeatedly, it becomes a pattern.”
Genry stared at him, unwilling to connect the dots. “That has nothing to do with me,” he said in a flat tone.
“Yes, it does,” Emersen insisted. “I cared for him after the fire. I’ve seen these exact symptoms before. The sleeplessness, the nightmares … My brother had an awakening after his brush with death, but he didn’t awaken as a hexer. He awakened as a seer.”
Genry leaned back, thinking over all that Emersen had just told him about Kraus. “That’s why you arrested him,” he said softly. “So … supposing you’re right about my dreams … does that mean you’re going to arrest me?”
“No, no, no, no,” Emersen said quickly, straightening up to emphasize the denial with his hands. “Remember, I told you I arrested Kraus because of something he said. You see, it’s not illegal to be a seer; it’s illegal to say you’re a seer.” Emersen held his gaze for several seconds, as if he were trying to communicate something nonverbally.
Genry blinked, unnerved by this whole conversation, and looked down at the chain-shaped Oath mark that ran across both palms, reminding him of the responsibility he’d undertaken to be whatever Galan needed. He’d assumed it would need either a prince or a knight, but what if it needed something else?
“What am I going to do?” he whispered.
“Just don’t tell anyone,” Emersen answered. “Especially me, or any other knight who’s sworn to uphold the law.”
“But you already know,” Genry pointed out.
“Yes. But so long as you don’t claim to be a seer outright, everything will be fine. Remember what I said about bending the law? You just have to keep quiet about your visions, and no one will find out.”
This was the obvious solution. The only issue, of course, was that Genry had never been any good at keeping secrets.
He chewed his lip, thinking.
“Besides,” Emersen continued, “calling yourself a seer would be about the worst thing you could do at the moment, especially right after Lorelai Lusa called herself a seer then immediately proceeded to attempt to dismantle the Peace right at the site of its birth. People are going to contest the legitimacy of your Oath, anyway. They don’t need another reason.”
Genry clenched his jaw. Emersen was right. The unusual appearance of the Oath mark, combined with the fact that no one had actually witnessed him swear it, meant that there were bound to be questions. Emersen had asked about it days ago, and Genry had told him the truth almost immediately.
He thought in silence for a minute then said, “Okay, but shouldn’t I at least tell Lady Tagan?”
Emersen folded his arms. “Do you think she’ll believe you?”
Genry frowned. Lady Tagan had never respected his input before, and he doubted she would be more receptive to a claim that was ten times more outlandish than any he’d made previously. Besides, he couldn’t offer her proof of what he’d seen, and he could already imagine the eyebrow she would arch in incredulity if he tried to explain it.
Genry rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe you’re wrong,” he said hopefully. “Maybe these visions will go away after a while. Maybe they’re just a weird side effect of dying.” He slid down in the cot, wishing he could just go back to sleep and forget this terrible new possibility that Emersen had presented. He didn’t want to have a secret like this. But now that he was considering it seriously, he found he couldn’t help but think over all his dreams in a new light.
And, as he did, something wonderful occurred to him.
“But if my visions were all true, that means that Ellex might be in less danger than everyone assumes,” he said, sitting up again with renewed energy. “In my vision, I saw her go with Lusa of her own volition, intending to enact some kind of vengeance on my account. But once she learns that I’m alive, she’ll have no reason to get revenge and will probably come home!” Genry suppressed a hopeful smile as his mind raced ahead.
Though he hated the thought of Ellex spending any amount of time with a madwoman who had proven her capacity for violence, he knew she could handle herself. She could keep herself safe until she learned the news that he was alive. Even illegal resistance organizations received news from Galan, didn’t they? Besides, she had promised to stay in Galan for as long as he needed her. She had promised. She would come back.
“We probably don’t even need to send a rescue mission,” he continued eagerly. “We just have to make sure she knows I’m alive. Get the nobles to spread the word as they go back to their home provinces.”
“But Genry,” Emersen interrupted, “you can’t explain how you know this. You cannot imply that you know more than you should.”
“I won’t have to,” Genry said, waving a hand. “I’ll just make some kind of dramatic entrance to prove I’m alive. I’m sure they’ll do the rest.”
He relaxed with a sigh of relief, happy to have a semblance of a plan. If being a seer meant he could do something to bring Ellex home safely, he thought it might not be so bad.
Lady Tagan came later, which was to be expected. Healer Taniel had been fending her off for days, insisting that Genry needed time to rest and recover. Today, she refused to be deflected.
He listened glumly to the loud argument taking place just outside his room, knowing full well how it was going to end.
At length, the door was swung open to reveal a black-clad Lady Tagan, her face pinched with the lines of deep vexation and worry. The instant her eyes met his, however, they were suddenly filled with desperate relief. She rushed forward, pushing the door behind her so that it snapped shut with a resounding crack.
“Genry, thank Solace,” she fumed, taking his shoulders and peering anxiously into his face. She seemed like she wanted to check him over for injuries but was afraid to touch him, as though he might fall apart at the least provocation. She was not wearing her usual hat with the dark veil, so he found himself subjected to the full force of her unfiltered gaze.
“I-I’m fine,” Genry protested, unnerved by this display of concern. “Honestly, I’m completely healed.”
Immediately, her relief and concern evaporated and were replaced by a storm of fury. “Then why are you still in the infirmary if you’re fine?” Lady Tagan demanded. “Practically the entire court saw Lusa stab you, and most believe you’re either already dead or in critical condition, despite our best efforts to reassure them otherwise. You can’t imagine the uproar there’s been!” She sat delicately on the edge of his cot but continued to stare at him with sharp, accusatory eyes.
He clenched his jaw, an unexpected prickle of grief stealing through him. For a moment, he had thought his grandmother might have actually been worried about him. But, of course, she only cared about him in so far that he was the queen’s last eligible heir.
“The healer ordered me to rest,” he said with a sigh. “My physical wounds are gone, but … there seem to be some lasting mental effects.”
The memories of several different visions flashed through his mind’s eye, but he clenched his jaw to refrain from elaborating. He was glad Emersen had advised him not to confide in her.
“Pfft,” Lady Tagan scoffed. “If you can bear them, then you must. I’ve been trying to hurry the visiting nobles back to their home provinces where they’ll be easier to manage, but most are refusing to leave until they’ve seen you. We’ve done our best to assure them that you are quite well, but those who witnessed it say you couldn’t have survived such an attack. They need to see proof before they’ll be satisfied.”
“They’ll have it,” Genry said softly. “Call all the nobles to a meeting, and I’ll stand before them.”
Lady Tagan gave him a surprised look. “Good. Yes, good. But you must decide what you’re going to tell them about your Oath. Let me see your hands.”
Reluctantly, Genry opened them and let her inspect the Oath mark that ran across both palms. Her mouth tightened with displeasure as she did. She rubbed the edge of one as if hoping it would come off like paint.
“For someone so fanatical about the Knight’s Code, it is shocking how quickly you are willing to abandon tradition,” she told him with unconcealed anger. “Ellisaria told me everything that happened. In uncertain times, we must cling to our traditions all the more tightly, and this new Oath you’ve taken is … not appropriate, to say the least. If you admit that this is not a legitimate Oath of Peace, the great houses will revolt.”
Reluctantly, Genry had to acknowledge that she was probably right. He was proud of the Oath that he’d taken, but he knew the nobles wouldn’t approve in the slightest. Nor would the commoners, for that matter. Telling them the truth wouldn’t protect the Peace. If anything, it would probably do the opposite.
Genry nodded solemnly. “I know. But only the queen, Rede, and Ordan were present when I took the Oath. If they’ll agree to keep quiet, we can just tell everyone else that it is the Oath of Peace.”
Lady Tagan blinked at him in shock. “That is precisely what I was going to suggest,” she said, peering at him suspiciously. “Perhaps you are a bit out of sorts.”
Genry shrugged glumly. A week ago, he would have balked at the thought of telling the court such a massive lie, but now, with the world turned upside down, Ellex missing, and part of himself caught up among the stars, it seemed like the only logical thing to do.
Lady Tagan leaned back and regarded him sadly. “Well, I’m glad we’re in agreement, for once,” she said, though she did not sound especially glad. “But Genry, you must not do anything like this again. You must stay out of harm’s way. You must.”
Genry frowned, piqued by the reproof in her voice. “It’s not my fault Lusa stabbed me. It hasn’t exactly been great for me either, you know. You think I wanted this to happen?”
“Yes, I think it’s exactly what you wanted,” Lady Tagan rejoined without hesitation.
A short silence ensued, with emphasis and accusation on her side and shock on Genry’s.
After a moment, she continued, “I heard all about what happened from a dozen different witnesses. You challenged the witch. You provoked her and then stood waiting as she rushed forward.”
Genry gaped at her. “It wasn’t like that!” he exclaimed. “Great Solace … that’s insane!”
“Is it?” his grandmother asked grimly. “You’ve wanted to be a knight for years and have swallowed all their propaganda wholesale. We celebrate the likes of Sir Jordain, who died in the defense of Queen Hadelyn. We tell a thousand stories about his heroic sacrifice. I suppose it’s only natural that you took them to heart.”
Genry’s mouth was still open, ready to argue, but not a single word made it past his lips. He was transported back in time to the moment when he had stood between Lusa and the queen, his heart beating with searing courage. It was all he had ever wanted—to stand in that place, right between the embodiment of the Peace and all that threatened it. And after Lusa had stabbed him, as he lay staring at the stars framed by the skylight, he recalled a sense of peace and completion.
Perhaps Lady Tagan was right. Why else would he have been so hasty to ascend the tower if not in eagerness to follow in the footsteps of Sir Jordain, his hero?
Genry lowered his head into his hands, overcome once again by the same sense of wrongness that had plagued him upon waking up in the temple. “They shouldn’t have brought me back …”
“No,” Lady Tagan said sharply, grabbing his wrists and tugging them away from his face. “No, Genry. Don’t you see? In all those stories, the knight dies so that the sovereign can live. But, in this case, you played both roles. You were Sir Jordain and Queen Hadelyn. And now that the knight has done his part, it’s time to learn the role of sovereign so that you can one day undertake the responsibilities thereof.”
Genry stared at her, full of confusion and despair. “How?”
“Listen to your advisors,” Lady Tagan said with the ghost of a smile. “Do the right thing.”
“And I suppose you know the right thing?”
“I believe so,” she admitted, drawing herself up proudly. “I have decades of experience and the most extensive information network in Thaedra. I daresay there are few better qualified to hazard a guess.”
“Well, we must send word the Athenaeum,” Genry said with scathing mockery. “Centuries of debate over how to determine the ‘right thing,’ and all we ever needed was more information and experience.”
“Well, of course,” Lady Tagan said, baffled. “What else could you possibly want in an advisor?”
Genry frowned, unable to answer. He felt that something essential was missing, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Emersen had neither half the experience nor access to half the information that Lady Tagan did. Nevertheless, for some reason, Genry felt that his guard had provided him with more helpful advice in the past couple of weeks than Lady Tagan had his whole life.
“Someone I can trust,” he said quietly.
Lady Tagan raised her eyebrows, leaning back with an affronted expression. “I have served the Vestrid line all my life. You dare call my loyalty into question?”
“Yes,” Genry said boldly, raising his chin as his heart pounded in his chest. “You canceled my duel behind my back.”
Lady Tagan gave a small laugh and rolled her eyes. “Oh, that. Genry, does that even bear mentioning? I saved you from a humiliating loss. You should be thanking me.”
“I staked my honor on that duel,” he reminded her. “I staked Galan’s honor. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Words,” she replied, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “They fade quickly.”
“Not if they’re written down,” Genry spat. “You impersonated me in writing. That’s a treasonous offense, you know.”
