Seeing her mute, Artheus gave a wry grin. “But you wonder why I am here at all. That, at least, is simple. Lævateinn contains something of a...residual memory.”
He lifted a hand into empty space. A tongue of flame sprang into being above his palm. The fire coiled playfully around him, gamboling and flaring like a faithful dog reunited with its master.
“More importantly...Rey’s actions are her own, but I still regret that I have caused you pain.” He bowed again. “The Lords of Heaven proved too formidable one thousand years ago. I was helpless before their might. But now...”
He produced a slip of paper from within his garments. It was pure white, like virgin snow.
“I left this within Lævateinn. A twin to the one I gave my comrade-in-arms.”
Liz could not help herself. “What does that mean?”
Artheus shrugged in mock exasperation. “No word of thanks? If only you knew the toll it took upon me.”
“How could I know when you haven’t told me anything?” Liz stepped closer insistently. “I don’t know what to make of any of this.”
Artheus brought a finger to his lips, grinning mischievously. “You shall have no answers from me. Not yet, in any case. As of now, they would do more harm than good. I ask only that you bear this in mind when the time comes.” A shadow of remorse fell over his face. With a self-effacing snort, he tapped his chest. “Do not become like me, child. Do not allow doubt to sway you. Failing to save my blood-brother haunted me until my dying day. If you must choose, make a choice that you will not regret.”
He gave a half smile. There was more than a little of Rey in it, Liz thought.
“Believe in who you are, and the way will be revealed.” He raised his hand high. The white card shone between his fingers. “For there is a way. Trust that it lies at your feet. Walk it without doubt, walk without fear, and hold your convictions high.”
His words rang with all the authority of a man who had founded an empire.
“Cast down all who oppose you. Crush any who stand in your way. Show your enemies no mercy. Suffer none to impede your advance.”
In one sense, he was advocating arrogance, but in another, he was describing strength of heart. The monarchs of the Grantzian Empire had to be the strongest, the mightiest, the grandest of men. Only the most delinquent of children could ever fit such a mold.
“The road ahead is yours and yours alone. Walk in faith, and yield it to no one.”
Artheus spoke as the only man ever to stand atop the world. Liz’s was the path of the chosen few, a path that only a handful of people in all of history would ever know: the path of kingship.
“Arrogance is your privilege. Conceit is your right. Be as prideful as you please, for only the most regal deserve to sit the throne.”
He spread his arms wide, the very picture of a man who knew he was born to rule. That was his right of kingship, forged in bloody combat and harrowing trial. He knew no doubt, no uncertainty, no fear. That very arrogance and audacity were what marked him as an emperor. And yet, at the last, he lowered his head. In his final moments, he spoke not as an emperor, but as a man like any other—one who wanted the best for those he held dear.
“He is my only brother. I beg you, see him safely home.”
With one final smile, Artheus dissolved into particles of light that scattered the gloom. The darkness thinned as light spilled through, and the world began to fall away. Liz sensed that this would be the last time she would ever see this place.
It almost seemed like Rey and Artheus had vanished too readily. They had said their pieces and disappeared, giving her no time to come to terms with their loss. In that respect, they were a lot like someone else she knew. Fondness warmed her chest. They and Hiro truly had rubbed off on each other. It was almost enough to make her jealous.
All three siblings, blood-brother included, had been self-centered to the end, but they were strangely hard to dislike. Liz could not bring herself to feel resentment, only affection. They had shown her vital truths, enough that she could see them off with a smile on her face.
“Thank you.”
The words were worth speaking even if there was no one left to hear them. Rey and Artheus had helped her shed the last of her doubts. There was no more hesitation in her heart, only the heat of a newly kindled flame.
“I’ll carry on your legacy. You just watch me from Valhalla.”
Now that she bore their hopes on her back, she had no more time to waste.
At that moment, she noticed something lying at her feet: Artheus’s slip of white card. He had left it for her, no doubt, yet she had never had the chance to pick it up. As her fingers closed around it, the light swelled—and she woke up.
As she came to, she felt something around her eyes. She reached up to touch her cheek and felt telltale traces where tears had dried on her skin. She rubbed her eyes, realizing she must have been crying. A familiar ceiling came into view as her sight adjusted to the darkness.
She slid out of bed and looked at her hand. The white card was nowhere to be seen. She still did not fully understand what had just happened. All she knew was that she felt no more doubt. She reached down to lift up the white wolf dozing on the covers.
“Wake up, Cerberus.”
“Ruff?!”
Suddenly finding herself in midair, Cerberus snapped awake and looked around in alarm. Once she saw Liz was the cause, she relaxed again, although not without a resentful glare.
“There’ll be time to sleep later. We need to...” Liz trailed off, her eyes flattening into unamused semicircles. “Wait, why are you so heavy? Have you put on weight?”
Cerberus’s ears flattened against her head. She looked away innocently. Liz’s jaw tightened—it was obvious the wolf was playing dumb—but there was no time to press her on it. She had to act before this surge of inspiration faded.
“Once this is over, you’re going to tell me exactly what meals you’ve been sneaking.”
Warning given, she hurried out of the room. The ladies-in-waiting at the door looked at her in surprise, but she ignored them and burst into the next room down. The door swung against the wall with a thunderous crash.
“Eek!”
Aura shrieked, practically leaping out of bed. She stared at Liz in pale-faced shock, the Black Chronicle open in front of her. At a nearby desk, Scáthach spun around in similar surprise, a quill in her hands and a sheet of parchment before her. Liz put the pieces together at once: This was another of Aura’s compulsory study sessions. Still, that was not important now.
“We need to talk,” she said.
Two women and a wolf looked at her dubiously.
“We have to win this battle. And I’m going to need your help.”
She did not offer them a reason. Her request was entirely selfish. It was the middle of the night—far too late for anyone, even a member of the royal family, to call on anyone else’s bedchamber. Yet the intensity in her face permitted no refusal, and the confidence in her eyes compelled obedience. There was an arrogance to her now, an unswerving belief in her own cause...as if she were truly the first emperor reborn.