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Fitzroy’s last thought before the magic seized him, was that he hoped his friends were all right.
His first thought after arriving at the Palace was that he wished his friends were there.
He could feel the magic of the Empire pressing down on him. It was nothing like his own wild magic, and his body was clearly rejecting the intrusive magic. Somewhere behind the first, second, and third layer of gaping attendants, costumiers, grooms, courtiers and other observers, a group of people dressed in silver robes and eery masks clearly disagreed with this phenomenon. He couldn’t see their faces, but he could sense their disapproval just as strongly as he could sense their magical signatures.
Fitzroy didn’t know what he was supposed to do – he could hardly tell his body, and most importantly his magic, to stop rejecting something so clearly perceived as hostile. He was saved from overthinking this conundrum when he saw two costumiers approach with a beautiful dress in Imperial yellow, black and white.
“Absolutely not.”
The entire room fell silent at his declaration. The attendants closest to him froze, halting in the process of undressing him. Fitzroy considered the situation. Adventuring with the Red Company had given him opportunities to visit surgeons and healers on multiple worlds. Combined with his own wild magic, he had been able to reshape his body and voice to represent his true self, and ever since he’d finished healing, he had delighted in his body. His appearance was something he had crafted with passion, creativity, and support from the skills and experiences of others. He was not ashamed of it, and so he didn’t really mind that the attendants were undressing him in front of so many people – or at least, the undressing wasn’t any more bothersome than the rest of the room’s strange, hostile energy. But he would not allow someone else to put him in a dress. If he wanted to wear one, it would be on his own terms, not someone else’s.
“I’m not wearing a dress,” he clarified. Almost everyone in the room seemed to let out a sigh of relief, except the two costumiers carrying the dress in question. They went extremely pale and almost fell over themselves trying to perform a first-degree apology without dropping the dress. Out of the corner of his eye, Fitzroy saw four of the silver-robed wizards move towards the costumiers with a threatening air about them that Fitzroy didn’t like at all. He knew he had to act immediately, before the wizards got a chance to oppose him.
“I’m sure you have different robes somewhere,” he said, waving his hand in a gesture he remembered his tutor taught him to use in situations like this.
His tutor, who had merely lifted a brow when Fitzroy told him he had chosen a name for himself.
His tutor, who had agreed to call him my lord instead of my lady.
His tutor, who had known it would most likely never matter what Fitzroy called himself, because he was never supposed to meet anyone else.
He suddenly wondered what information all these people were working with, and how much they didn’t know about him.
Well, the Empire might have stolen him away from his friends, but his sense of self had been moved right along with him and he was not abandoning it here.
Fitzroy stood up straight and let the attendants finish undressing him. He was aware of a ripple of surprise moving through the room when his upper body was bared, and another when his undergarments were removed. He pretended he didn’t notice, and wondered how those around him would adjust.
When the costumiers returned with extravagant robes, once again in Imperial yellow, black and white, he nodded in approval. He overheard a quiet argument between two grooms, who were discussing whether his head should be shaved bald in accordance with the standards for Astandalan male aristocracy. While Fitzroy didn’t like the groom who kept referring to him as ‘her Radiancy’, he decided to keep quiet. He loved his hair, and he was not letting the chance to keep it slip away.
His bath was a blur. He didn’t even get the chance to enjoy it – which was a real pity, because bathing was one of his favorite activities – between all the scrubbing, brushing, filing and grooming. After he was dried off, he was covered in salves and tinctures, and it was a miracle the make-up the grooms applied didn’t glide right off. He was then redressed, this time in the new robes, and then adorned with more jewelry than any one person could possibly need. The toe rings were particularly uncomfortable, and he couldn’t help wiggling and moving his toes every few seconds.
Fitzroy’s magic’s natural connection to air made it easier for him to eavesdrop on conversations happening further back in the room. He caught some snippets of the conversation between a small group of masked wizards, who were discussing how ‘she’ hadn’t properly connected with the magic yet, and how they couldn’t postpone the coronation ceremony without losing their subjects’ faith. Apparently, the political situation was very fragile so shortly after the death of the Emperor and his heir.
Fitzroy didn’t appreciate the way they referred to their ‘subjects’. It was one of the many (many) things he had criticized about the structure of the Empire in his poetry, and he vowed that if he couldn’t escape from his role as Emperor, he’d make sure all of his people were taken care of.
He knew the government of the Empire was rotten to the core. But it was also fragile now, and he could use its current instability to his advantage. If only his friends were here… Oh, how they’d shake up the government and put these arrogant wizards in their place.
Three wizards approached him and bowed. “If you would be so kind as to follow us, Glorious One,” the person in the middle requested. Fitzroy barely prevented his nose from wrinkling. What a ludicrous form of address.
He followed the wizards to the next room, where he was loaded into a litter and lifted by four exceptionally strong and fine-looking guards. They carried him on an endless tour through the palace. When Fitzroy got bored, he used his magic to create a little one-way window in the litter’s cover. He peered out at the people watching the procession. It was easy to see the difference between the different social and political ranks, and the ridiculously high number of nobles obviously spent a great deal too much money on their wardrobes.
Ah, he knew exactly how to pick out everything that was wrong with the Empire. If only he had the ability to come up with solutions as well.
At long last, they arrived at the throne room. Fitzroy couldn’t completely suppress his grin of amusement when he remembered That Party. He hoped his friends were on the way, and that they’d crash this party just as spectacularly, if not more so.
The litter was carefully lowered, and Fitzroy disembarked. He followed the path formed by a never-ending number of silver-robed wizards until he reached two wizards with different masks; one with a sun, and one with a moon.
The person with the moon mask droned out a long-winded commendation of the greatness of the Empire, and Fitzroy got distracted by the beauty of the throne room while listening with half an ear. It was only when there was a significant pause in the wizard’s oration that Fitzroy refocused. The air charged with magic as the wizard with the sun mask lifted a golden coronet and spoke. Fitzroy just understood that he was being crowned, when the wizard named him ‘Empress’ and used a distinctly feminine name that Fitzroy had never heard before. All he knew was that it wasn’t him.
“That’s not my name,” he said. The words could be heard clearly throughout the entire throne room, and the already quiet crowd seemed to go even more silent and still.
The wizards – who Fitzroy had just realized were probably the Ouranatha his tutor had taught him about, but he hadn’t recognized because they were supposed to be helpful and faithful to the Emperor – shifted a little in surprise. It seemed like a silent conversation took place, and Fitzroy carefully poked them with his magic. There was definitely something going on with the masks, but his wild magic recoiled from the schooled magic and he let it be.
“Your mother was the Imperial Princess, and your father was the Grand Duke of Damara.” The priest wizard hadn’t asked a question, but Fitzroy nodded in confirmation anyway. “And so, you are hereby crowned Empress, the one-hundredth of the greatest Empire in history, –”
This name was supposed to carry magical weight – Fitzroy could feel it coiling around him. It was most likely the name his parents had given him when he was a child, but that he was never told or made to forget. Nevertheless, it was not his name, and so the magic couldn’t grab him, and his own wild magic flared up in response. His robes billowed around him, and he knew his eyes were filled with fire.
“I said that is not my name.”
In a last bid to gain control, the priest wizard with the moon mask asked him for his true name. Maybe he hoped the magic would bind him when they used that name instead. But Fitzroy wasn’t afraid, because his magic had reached out all around him and he had noticed some very interesting magical signatures not too far away from the throne room.
“My name is Fitzroy Angursell,” he announced, and with perfect timing the doors to the throne room slammed open. Fitzroy delighted in their amazing performance and the reactions of their absolutely flabbergasted audience.
“Good evening, Fitzroy,” the woman in the doorway greeted with a satisfied smirk.
Fitzroy gave her an elaborate bow, and replied, “Good evening, Pali.”
Pali’s smirk grew wider, and then the rest of the Red Company walked in.
It was glorious.
~
“Let’s see…” Fitzroy lounged on the throne, one leg kicked over an armrest. He had taken off the outer layers of his robes, assisted by Jullanar after she firmly rejected Pali’s offer to help with a knife. Now that he could move freely again, he felt more like himself.
“This throne needs to go. It’s incredibly uncomfortable,” Fitzroy announced. “I want something with pillows.”
He was certain a few of his friends rolled their eyes, even if he could barely see them from all the way up on the dais. They had sent everyone out of the throne room after sort-of overthrowing the government. (Fitzroy still thought it didn’t count as overthrowing when he was the rightful ruler. But it would make a splendid song.)
“I also want the throne to be down there with you guys. It’s boring up here all alone,” he whined. This time, he was certain he caught a few eyerolls, but also some fond smiles, so he took it as a win.
“And then?” Jullanar asked. She had been the first to support Fitzroy’s request to actually stay and try to fix the government from within. He knew the Empire was rotten to the core, and this was his chance to make things better for his people. All of them.
“Well, Damian can be the new Commander of the Guard.” Damian nodded in acknowledgement. “And Masseo can make them proper armor, because I definitely appreciated the view, but their current outfits seem somewhat impractical to me.” Masseo gave a firm nod and scowled as if he was personally offended by the skimpy kilts of the Imperial Guard.
“Jullanar, Pali and Sardeet, you can speak to all the nobles and try to root out the bad ones. Without threatening them,” he added with a pointed look at Pali. Pali crossed her arms and huffed in response. “But you can use your sword on those who all three of you agree deserve it,” he added savagely, and Pali smiled.
“The rest of you can help me try to figure out how in the world someone is supposed to run a government.”
The helpless looks his friends sent him made Fitzroy feel guilty for asking them to do this with him, but he reminded himself that his friends stayed because they wanted to, and he was very grateful for that. He opened his mouth to demand a law for the minimum number of pillows that should be available for anyone at any time to lighten the mood, when a knock sounded on one of the side entrances to the throne room.
Pali immediately unsheathed her sword and stalked towards the door. She wrenched it open and barked, “What do you want?”
On the other side of the door was a man who was clearly not a nobleman, with golden skin and wavy black hair. When he spoke, he spoke with an accent that Fitzroy could not quite place. But he didn’t care, because this man was his magic’s answer to his request for help.
“I have some ideas for reforming the government,” the man said clearly. “If you’ll have me.”
Fitzroy didn’t need to think twice. “Yes.”