Suddenly, she felt a shift in the air, and the whispers of the guards grew into shouts. Jesenia felt the earth rumble beneath her feet. With a grinding of marble and steel, Solmiris’s gates slowly parted. Jesenia’s people rushed to their feet, filtering into the relief behind walls. Bodies pressed close and begged the guards they passed for water and bread.
Jesenia helped the grandmother and the child to their feet, entering the city behind the rest of her people. When she stepped through the gates and joined her people in the plaza, her eyes were pulled upward, where a god-like figure watched over the scene with careful eyes.
Val-Theris Angelicus, the Angel-King of Seraveth.
He was more handsome than any man could ever dare to be. Silky blonde hair touched his shoulders, and his piercing blue eyes swept over the crowd carefully. His body was adorned with fine golden armor that gleamed where the sun struck the plates. He was taller than the soldiers at his side, towering over them in both height and his commanding presence.
But it was the wings that caught her attention the most. Pale and vast and beautiful, the feathers were outstretched and shimmered as if veined with gold like everything else in the city.
She imagined he would look arrogant or cold, or would radiate fury and power to explain why whole legions of mortal men would die for him, for his throne. But he looked like none of those terrible things. There was the permanent downturn of the corners of his lips that did not belong on a face that appeared soyoung. There were shadows beneath his eyes where ruling had worn down the thin skin there.
A single moment passed where their gazes collided. He looked as though he was searching for something, and Jesenia could not make herself small enough to vanish under the weight of his attention.
Her hand lifted absently to her chest. She had heard stories, of course, of his grandeur, but only now could she see why they called him an angel.
Jesenia was forced to move along by the guards, and when she looked back up to where the king was standing, she only saw a glimpse of his wings as he turned away.
Her eyes and thoughts drifted away from him, taking in the rest of the lower ring of Solmiris. It stretched like a vision—cobblestone streets lined with carved fountains, silk banners rippling softly in the wind, well-kept homes adorned with cascades of flowers, ivy, and well-trimmed bushes. The splendor almost hurt to look at.
Jesenia’s people were quickly ushered into a corner of the lower ring by the guards. The gates of Solmiris were hastily shut behind them, sealing them inside a city that clearly did not want them there. The guards looked at her and her people like a sickness, a poison, despite the many words of blessings and thanks for allowing her people inside.
She knew the relief here would be short-lived, but she could not dwell on it, for her throat was too dry and her stomach too empty.
The Elders were called to meet with the King in his citadel, and were given a single ear of raw corn to eat on their way to answer their summons.
The rest of Jesenia’s people were given scraps meant for the pigs.
THREE
The throne roomof Solmiris was a cathedral of gold and glass. The afternoon light poured through its high windows, painting fractured halos across the marble floor. Val-Theris sat upon the lower steps leading to his dais, wings folded tight behind him. His golden crown rested on his throne like a shackle he had discarded.
Val-Theris did not wear his crown, nor did he sit on his throne. He saw such things as indulgences, as vanity.
A crown and a throne make not a ruler, he always told those who asked why he chose to stand with his people, not above them.
Before him, five Lunarethian elders knelt. Their robes still smelled faintly of the smoke they left behind, and their eyes were hollow as they spoke.
“It was Korvath,” said the one in the center, her voice rasping. “They took our food, stole away our women, slaughtered our families…” her voice trembled as tears slipped from her eyes, “and what they could not take, they burned.”
The king leaned forward slightly, listening. He did not interrupt as every word settled in his chest like stone.
Another elder, his body aching with age, added, “We beg for sanctuary, O Great Val-Theris Angelicus, he who was born of his God’s Light. We have nothing worthy of your favor, and only hope you will grace us with your mercy.”
Val-Theris was quiet for a moment. “Solmiris will not turn away the lost,” he said at last, his voice quiet but strong. The elders wept openly, one of them reaching to kiss the top of his boot. He gently stopped them with a hand. “Stand,” he said, “There is no need for worship. Mercy is not my gift, it is my duty.”
A slow clap echoed through the chamber from above.
“Mercy is not my gift, it is my duty,” mocked a voice from the upper balcony overlooking the throne. “How poetic, brother.”
Val-Theris’s spine stiffened. Val-Oros floated down, his armor black as night where his brother’s gleamed gold. His smile was lazy and cruel, and the air seemed to darken around him, despite his flaming wings producing their own light.
Where Val-Theris was a soft radiance, Val-Oros was a living flame, and every soul in the room felt it.
“You should not be here,” Val-Theris said evenly. “I did not invite you into these halls.”
“And yet here I stand,” Val-Oros replied, stroking his beard. “I find myself endlessly intrigued by your benevolence toward foreign scum.”
“It is your insatiable violence that drove them here, brother.”
