“It’s where the leadership of the realms meet to negotiate a truce. To avoid war.”
I don’t see how there could be a truce here aside from Khitan surrendering, and they won’t. Wei and Yusan didn’t come to Khitan for nothing. King Joon didn’t put all of this together for a treaty. And annihilation ain’t peace. But what the fuck do I know about the politics of the realms? Maybe enough gold will solve it. Seems to solve everything else.
I keep staring at Aeri’s eyes. I loved them when they were brown. I love them gold, too, but something about it feels off. Why would the ring turn them when it didn’t happen with Euyn? I mean, it’s god magic, so who knows, but it feels like it should work the same on all the Baejkins.
I grip the reins as a chill spreads over me. It feels like she’s hiding something again. But she swore no more lies, so maybe the cold spot is just this armor. We didn’t release the spirits of the guards, so maybe this off feeling is just the dead guy poking at me.
“What about you?” I ask Mikail. “Are you going to the parley?”
He shakes his head. “I was flatly refused.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Something-something, I’d be too antagonistic. Cowards.” He stares daggers at the queen and the general in front of us.
“Not Sora?” I ask.
She turns her head at her name.
“Interestingly, also refused,” he says. “I think that has more to do with keeping our little group separated than anything political. We did manage to kill a roomful of their palace guards when we were unarmed. They’d rather not have us all together.”
True enough, but we aren’t nearly as dangerous without Euyn. I breathe a heavy sigh for the fallen prince. Gods guide his soul.
We ride quietly to the sound of boots and hooves clomping along the wet cobblestone road.
“Where are they doing this parley thing?” I ask.
“It’s supposed to be on neutral soil,” Mikail says. “Obviously, there isn’t any of that in Quu, so I’m not sure. I’m certain we’ll find out, though.”
“Where is the priest king?” Aeri asks.
Mikail points to the largest, fanciest ship. “He is always on the same ship as the Water Scepter. He is seated on the throne under the awning. The relic is being wielded on the prow by the person in the blue robes.”
If I squint, I can see somebody on the front of the ship with a gold staff, wearing cobalt blue.
“Wait, the priest king doesn’t do it himself?” I ask.
“No,” Mikail says. “Wei uses the scepter to constantly magic the waters of the islands, and the scepter, like all the relics, has a cost. The bearers only live around two years in the Temple of Divine Waters.”
“Two?” Sora blinks.
He nods. “The longest known bearer survived for four years. No one lives longer than that, and as you can imagine, switching leadership every four years would be disastrous for any realm.”
I stare at him. “So random people sign up to take that job?”
“Royal Weians,” he says. “Anyone wielding a relic must be of royal blood, or it won’t work, as we saw with Quilimar. In Wei, the priest kings have multiple wives and dozens of concubines to produce heirs of royal blood. And those children, along with the whole nation, believe it is the greatest honor in the land, and the most exalted death, to wield the scepter. The bearers have every luxury and comfort for the years they bless the waters.”
“But if the king doesn’t have the power…” Aeri starts, eyeing the ship.
Mikail glances at her, a little respect shining in his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking—why not usurp the throne? It has happened a few times in the past, and believe me, we’ve tried to facilitate a change in leadership, but Uol, the current king, has the country in an iron grip. He is worshipped as a god on earth. It’s excessively clever to create a cult around yourself when you fear a coup.”
Weird to worship a regular guy. At least the Baejkin kings are immortal with the crown.
We’re almost at the base of the mountain by the time I absorb all that.
“Coming out!” General Vikal yells.
Everyone stops at once, weapons aimed.
