Chapter Text
In Genosha, there was an annual festival that everybody looked forward to. It was the week long, mid-summer celebration in the Summer Kingdom, an ebullient, luxuriant affair, hosted by the generous Summers family. Each of the other Genosha ruling families enthusiastically collaborated.
The Frost Dynasty, who ruled the mountains along the spine of the peninsula that formed Genosha, financed some of the festival, plumped up the Summer Castle staff with some of their own servers, chefs and maintenance persons and, in possibly the most gratefully received contribution, provided barrels full of the gorgeous distilled Valstiche. The crisp alcoholic spirit was as famous as the Snawr-Hafa primary industry, gem mines and jewellers.
The Honourable House of Xavier provided entertainment in the form of games, music, plays, circus acts, sports matches, magicians, fire dancers, and ballets. Corazon bakers and sweet makers were beyond anything the rest of Genosha could conceive and they would swoop in on the Summer Castle kitchens, commandeer a section of it, and produce stomach-rumbling smells and sugary delicacies that won hearts and stomachs over at first bite.
Clan Lehnsherr, for once leaving the windy, stony shores of their side of the peninsula without reluctance, brought with them myriad bounty from the sea. Their number in attendance was drastically less than the other countries’ as the Ierocis Zeme had spread their warrior armies around the perimeter of Genosha, standing them solidly against the unlikely event of an opportunistic invasion while the general populace was inland.
Genoshian children had seen this festival from the breast. Adolescents often associated first kisses and first broken hearts with the smoky smell of the wexcor wood bonfires, first highs and first hangovers with the cushiony grasses, whether the fat, emerald grasses in the orchards or the purple, feathery grasses carpeting the rolling paddocks. Weddings and baby blessing ceremonies were often held during the festival, as there was the promise of greater numbers of guests, and consequently gifts, given the festival gathered scattered relatives into one place. There was also a chance, with the mages in attendance, of magic being among the gifts.
The Summer Kingdom, although land-locked in the seat of the peninsula, was fertile and abundant. The inhabitants were colourful and enthusiastic. Charles assumed there was some reason for the correlation but was distracted by the chaos of unfettered enthusiasm. Corazonites were all about manners; it was a relief to see an emotion on a face that corresponded with what Charles could read in their mind.
“Here’s King Erik,” said Raven, fidgeting. Charles smiled widely as he watched the lean man wending his way through the crowds. The King of Ierocis Zeme was always intense; he was frowning now, creases piling like pancakes on his forehead. The creases slipped off and landed in smile lines bracketing his mouth when he saw Charles.
“Your Highness,” he said, kneeling before Charles’ chair.
“Your Grace,” Charles said back. “You remember the lady Raven?”
“No, I recall a brat called Raven, used to steal my horse to swim at The Waterfall,” said Erik and flicked her knee with his fingers. She kicked him. Charles ran his hand over his mouth so it didn’t look like he was smiling.
-Charlie sugar, where are you? drawled a voice in Charles’ head.
Charles laughed out loud, and Raven and Erik’s eyes snapped to him. “Emma,” he said by way of explanation, before answering telepathically, -West side of the courtyard by a peach tree with King Erik and Lady Raven.
There was a mental hurrumph before, -Ugh, stuffy old Lehnsherr. The Frost’s were what Charles’ mother called new money and Emma was dismissive of the lattice work of manners and societal rules that dictated the behaviour of the rest of the peninsula.
The trio greeted Emma; Charles warmly with hugs, Raven excitedly with hand clutching, and Erik stiffly bent over her hand. They had all been in and out of each other’s homes in their childhoods but Erik had been absent in anything but an official capacity for years, once the crown had been jammed too soon onto his head.
“Prince Alexander and Prince Scott are competing in the fights. Will you fight, your Grace?” Emma asked Erik politely.
“Shall I represent you in the fights, Princess?” Erik returned courteously.
“Oh thank you, your Grace,” said Emma, all simpering smiles towards the King and mental eye rolls for Charles’ benefit. “However, Prince Scott has already pledged to do so for me.”
“Shall I fight for you Charles?” said Raven, excitedly.
“Good God, Raven, absolutely not. I know you are a good fighter and ladies from the other Kingdoms fight but Corazonite females do not, my dear.”
“I’m not Corazonite,” Raven grumbled.
“Please, Raven, maybe when you’re older? I would just be too worried.”
“My sister, Cordy, wants to fight,” Emma said. “She’s actually very good for a twelve year old pip squeak. Maybe you and she could practise together, Raven.”
Raven and Emma began to discuss Cordelia’s weapon skills. Erik turned to Charles. “I’ll fight for you, Charles. You needn’t worry about me.”
“Well, I will anyway,” said Charles.
“When Charles was tiny,” Erik reminisced, for Raven and Emma, “before he needed the chair, we thought he would be a great fighter. He was so scrappy. I often had bruises where he would punch me on the thigh, which was as high as he could reach. He was always clenching his little fists and yelling. Demanding tyke.”
“Charles did?” said Raven, wide eyed, “This Charles?”
“Yes, then he learned to talk and suddenly he could charm anything out of anybody.”
“Are you still sulking about the bow and arrow?”
“I’d just been given it, had shot it barely five times, and you… you… with your big eyes and floppy hair and pweeze Ewik!”
Charles laughed. “That still works. Will you play chess with me later? Please, Erik?”
“Gods,” Erik cursed, hoping the skip in his stomach was still private even with two telepaths in range.
“That’s no proof of your charm, Charles,” Raven pointed out, “since you and King Erik are the only people in the whole of Genosha who play that weird foreign game.”
There was a flash of challenge between the warded siblings and Erik gulped.
“Your Grace,” said Charles, unleashing the power of blue eyes peering up from under a canopy of brown hair. Erik locked his knees to keep them from trembling. “Would you honour me by representing me in the boat races?”
Emma laughed. Raven clapped her hands. Being the only countries of the four with a coastline, Corazon and Ierocis Zeme’s rivalry for the boating honours was fierce and long standing.
“Ah Charles, I want to represent my own country for those. I have to beat Corazon, not help them win.”
Charles’ fingers found their way up Erik’s sleeve to the pulse point on his wrist. “You will win too, you’re the best,” he said, with utter conviction. Erik certainly felt at that moment that he was the best, with all of Charles’ fondness twining up his arm and nesting around his heart.
Emma and Raven were holding hands in anticipatory glee.
“Charles,” said Erik, halfway between whining and begging, all kingly dignity absent.
“Please,” said Charles, as if the fate of all life was hinged on the answer, “Please, Erik.” His finger traced a line along the tendon in Erik’s wrist and Erik could feel the tingles in his ribs.
“Gods,” swore Erik, “You’re the most powerful man in all Genosha, you know that? Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll represent you in the boat races and compete against you in the shooting.” Charles smiled at him and Erik thought that was worth the moaning he was going to get from Shaw and the other councillors. “I’d better offer to fight for one of the other hopeful, eligible young people being flung at my head in case I suddenly go insane and marry one of them.”
Emma gave a trill of laughter. “I will be dangled in front of you several times this week, as will my brother and my sister.”
“But you’re like my sister,” said Erik, offering his arm to her with all outward display of gentility, “my fussy, overbearing, vapid sister.”
“And you,” replied Emma, taking his arm, “are like my boring, creaky, mean, judgmental grandfather.”
“Promise me we won’t get married to each other, Princess,” Erik said, kissing her cheek.
“I give you my word, your Grace,” she said demurely, accepting the dry peck. They smiled angelically at each other.
Before Erik knew about marriage and sex and love, Charles was his favourite. He’d wanted a brother desperately but his parents only managed him. There was Alex, the crown prince of Summer, but he was arrogant and never did what Erik said even though Erik was older. And there was Christian in Snawr-Hafa, but he cried a lot, and the people of Ierocis Zeme were not supposed to show weakness, so his tears irritated Erik. Then, when Erik was eight, Mama took him to Corazon and he saw the brand new prince. And he was perfect. And Erik thought it was entirely unfair he wasn’t allowed to live in Corazon with the baby or bring him home to Ierocis Zeme, even though he fit in Erik’s suitcase, Erik was smart enough to try it first before suggesting it. He had to content himself with sitting at the feet of whichever lucky adult was holding the baby, and talking to Charles while waving toys in front of him, and perching by the cradle to watch him sleep.
The genesis of his devotion to Charles was the moment the newborn wrapped his tiny fingers around Erik’s comparatively huge eight year old finger and opened adoring blue eyes to investigate the heir to the Clan Lehnsherr. Erik had been staring down into those eyes ever since.
By the time Charles was half through his teenage years and at the cusp of marriageable age, Erik knew, without bothering to lie to himself, that he thought of his friend in all the ways a man thought about a lover. Except their unbreakable duty to reproduce, as only heirs in their respective kingdoms, meant each of them had a parade of female prospective spouses to smile at every Summer Festival.
Erik would have to pick one, one day, and so would Charles.
“Where is Janos?” wondered Charles, “I’m starving.”
“I can push you Charles,” Erik offered.
“Does no-one care for appearances except for me?” Charles said, horrified. “How would that look? The King of Ierocis Zeme attending his lesser?”
“You are not…” began Erik angrily, but stopped himself and checked his watch chain.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Emma, eyeing Erik interestedly, “it’s you who most resembles my grandfather, Charles.”
Charles sniffed and Erik pushed his chair and no-one in Genosha could remember a time when the King of Ierocis Zeme hadn’t dismissed convention to care for the Crown Prince of Corazon anyway.
They ate a ridiculous sized lunch given how extravagant supper was going to be, but no-one could say no when presented with food they didn’t get to eat year round. Emma kept accepting more Corazon cakes and pastries. Raven had eaten a truly remarkable amount of fresh fruit; “They cook everything in Corazon,” she explained, around some berries. And Charles was blotchy with the amounts of fruit wine he’d been sampling. Erik was attempting to remain impassive and mature, but Charles waved some lamb in front of him and he moaned, his shoulders curving as if to protect him from the temptation.
Charles laughed and dangled the cube of meat in his fingers, which were slippery with the juices, even slurping some of the drips from his palm. Erik had a sharp, inappropriate thought prompted by the glimpse of pink tongue before he hid it deep down with his other secrets.
“You win,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Oh here,” said Charles and he tried to feed Erik directly. “No need for both of us to have sticky hands.”
“Charles,” Erik warned.
“Here,” Charles responded, waving the lamb and flicking juice toward Emma, who tsked and frowned.
“Charles, you drunken mess, that’s Corazon silk!” said Emma, backing away.
“Yes, thank you Princess, I recognise the produce from my own country,” Charles responded dryly. “Erik, you’re upsetting Emma. It’s truly ungentlemanly.”
Erik reminded himself he was a King, born to both serve and rule, that keeping calm in crisis was an important skill and this was good practise. He bent towards Charles stiffly and took the meat in his teeth, telling himself he wasn’t feeding off the approval Charles’ glance portrayed.
They spent some time watching a contortionist and a dance troop. Janos turned up in time to carry the thick quilt Charles brought from an elderly woman from the Summerlands, and the bracelet from a small blonde girl from Emma’s country, and the fur slippers he bought from the trapper couple from Ierocis Zeme.
“What do you want with all these things, Charles,” asked Emma. Her voice was flat with ennui, but her eyes were sharp with interest, her mind tapping at Charles’.
“You’ll see,” said Charles, and gave the slippers to an old man from frozen Snawr-Hafa, the quilt to a new mother from Erik’s Kingdom and the bracelet to a mooning young man with his eyes unwaveringly trailing a lovely, not-at-all oblivious young lady.
“Oh, that’s such a good idea,” said Emma, clutching Raven’s wrist in one hand and her purse in the other. “I’ll see you at the supper.” Erik and Charles could hear them giggling far longer than they could be seen.
“You will be a great king, Charles,” said Erik, allowing his hand to slip onto the back of Charles’ neck.
“If I do half as good a job as you’ve done, Erik, I’ll be content.”
Erik was proud of his accomplishments as King but he also couldn’t imagine ever attaining a state of contentment with him on one side of the Peninsula and Charles on the other.
XXX
There were no games planned for the first day, nothing official for the young King to see to, just a sunny afternoon and his favourite person laid out in front of him. Charles was reclining on a picnic blanket, telling Erik about last eleven months, during which he had taken his official diplomatic tour. Each of the young nobles took one or two of these tours to educate themselves outside the insular Genoshian community.
“There is something to be said for the Summerlands,” Erik said, stretching out on the blanket, grass cushion soft under his back.
Charles made an agreeing sort of hum. “I love it here. Mother calls it the Provincial Kingdom, or The Outskirts.”
“Charles,” Erik intoned, “I don’t know how to tell you this but…” he sighed dramatically, “your mother is a snob.”
“You’ll start a war,” Charles warned him, giggling. “ ‘The King of Iron insults the Queen of Hearts!’ There are no reporters out here are there?”
Erik raised an eyebrow and looked intently around at the remote location, under a sole tree in a paddock that was spread out flat from the tree and gently sloping in the opposite direction. There were ten sheep under a cluster of trees in the distant corner and Janos respectfully removed down the hill, making tiny tornadoes race each other through the purple clover.
He sighed though, “Reporters, ugh. I don’t mind when the serious ones come and properly relay how a new machine works and the impacts that will have for Genosha. However, when it’s just a picture of me in the crown going on about my lack of metallokinesis, just…. it’s been said. It changes nothing. Even worse, when people whisper my Ma was unfaithful, that I’m not heir…”
Charles cut in. “You look exactly like your father, slightly taller and thinner. No,” he affirmed, “no one can say that with much conviction.”
“So you can read minds in a country that shuns magic and favours science, and I lack an ancient hereditary power in a country that reveres it,” Erik surmised. “Shall we swap?”
“Your people would protest,” Charles said, “they adore you.”
“All Genosha loves you, Charles,” said Erik. His focus on Charles was so intense, Charles blushed and his breath came short. Erik was a safe and constant part of Charles’ life, a comforting memory, but Charles was starkly aware of how handsome he was and how handsome Charles felt within his gaze and the reverb of his rumbling voice.
Charles changed the subject.
XXX
The opening supper was announced by a trumpet of Castrous horns, although most of the Genoshians had been dressing for it for at least a half hour. Erik and Charles had reluctantly left the paddock and gone back to the castle to change. Supper was set out on the three tier courtyard with the tables clothed in red and set out under stretched, waxed fabric for shade, which snapped in the breeze like sails, and the poles holding them aloft were wrapped with pale green and rich yellow ribbons, the colours of the Summer Kingdom, new growth and sunshine.
Charles was ensconced at a table on the highest level, surrounded by eligible young people, eddying around him like confetti, their chatter and peels of laughter making Erik feel ancient as he stole glances while entertaining his own, more subdued, confetti.
Erik tried his best to really focus on the faces in front of him: the impassive brown eyes of Betsy Braddock from Summer, the brash flawlessness of Emma’s older sister Adrienne, the brilliant red skin and impressive tail of the military expert, Azazel. It was no use making obvious comparisons.
When the food came, Erik was sat at the high table with Charles’ mother, Emma’s parents and their hosts. It was an excellent repast: delicacies from around the peninsula including moist, roasted meat, fruit in large bowls and platters of Corazon-made sweets. Erik was drinking honey Valstiche in a hot, herbal infusion. He had to pretend he wasn’t attuned to the shouts and chortles from the table with the Princes and Princesses on it. Princess Emma was turning herself into a human diamond, to the giggles of the others at the table, and Prince Scott had lifted his glasses to fry bits of food with blasts of magic from his eyes.
The general din should have smothered any individual sound, but Erik could hear Charles’ low echoing laugh. It was embarrassingly distracting. Erik supposed it was fortunate his table mates weren’t demanding sensible conversation, weren’t managing any themselves. His brain was processing conversely little with every cup of Valstiche he consumed. It was reverting to his default obsessions: Charles, and Erik’s lack of magnetism. He was tiddly but not as red-faced as the Queen of Corazon, or as loud and coarse as the King of Snawr-Hafa.
Shortly, after the dessert platters had been cleared, Erik excused himself and retired to his room, ignoring the glare from his Foreign Relations Minister. This was fair; a warrior King from Ierocis Zeme should not be running for cover. Erik, however, was fairly certain Hazel Frost had just slurred a sexual suggestion involving him and her and the dish of berry syrup, and felt that retreat at this point was simply diplomatic.
Erik’d only been in his room long enough to remove his short cloak and boots before there was a knock at the door.
“Erik,” Charles was calling, “Chess?”
Erik opened the door, “Please.”
Erik wheeled Charles in and they waved to Janos before shutting the door.
“Will you set up, Charles?” Erik requested, “the set is on the table by the window. I’ll make drinks.”
“Thank you,” replied Charles, with a teasing grin, “only hold the goat, would you? Still full after that feast.”
“Don’t abuse your elders, brat. And we only put milk from goats in drinks not any other parts of the infernal beasts, and perhaps we could have more variety in our diet if your ancestors hadn’t crowded us out of the West side of the peninsula and made us perch on the East cliffs with only the goats and the sea for company.”
“Yes,” said Charles, cheerfully, “your savage witches and your heathen gods. If only you’d taken to being civilized, we’d have shared the whole peninsula and they’d’ve been our ancestors, rather than yours or mine.”
“And there wouldn’t have been war between us for generations, and we’d have been brothers, you and I,” replied Erik.
“We basically are brothers, Erik,” said Charles, stone chess pieces clinking on the board as he spread them into place.
“We are not,” cried Erik, forcefully. Charles winced at him, but smoothed his face out and rapidly looked back to the board. “I, I mean,” Erik stuttered, “brothers c.. can’t get married.”
And then it was Erik looking away, Charles flaring quite red. There was a stunned moment, only the rustle of Charles’ sleeve and the sound of Erik gulping to accompany it, then Charles said, in an obviously feigned casual tone, “Of course, I know just what you mean. Where’s that drink then?”
“I took a jug of Valstiche from the feast,” said Erik, moving quickly to hide that his hands were yet shaking, “with flavours from Armando’s country, a mango-like fruit and a sharp tasting spice. Will that suit my precious prince’s palate?”
“That sounds delightful, thank you.”
They settled into the game, Charles playing white as he had since Erik taught him to play after his first diplomatic tour. The new Valstiche mix was delicious, refreshing and sweet. They talked at first of Cogollo University. Corazon had Genosha’s only University and Ierocis had the Military Academy. Charles was more heavily involved with the University than any previous patron, had studied there despite being so young, and had spent the majority of his recent travels in University towns and acquiring more texts for the library. The game remained secondary as Erik was drinking in Charles’ company, absent for nearly a year, and Charles was attempting to converse with his old friend through a veil of raging attraction while fighting to conceal it in his face and voice.
Eventually relaxing, Charles absent-mindedly reached out with his hand, Erik meeting it with his finger, and they played one handed while Charles clutched Erik’s finger as if he was still a baby and Erik was still eight.
Charles won. He grinned so brightly, Erik was reminded he was only seventeen; he was so smart and they’d known each other so long, it was easy to forget it. Janos appeared and Charles smiled sadly at his silent assistant as he tucked a blanket over Charles’ legs. Erik’s heart thumped, he knew they were speaking in their heads and he felt cut, cut out.
XXX
There were four days of games during the Summer Festival.
On the first day, were the fights. The people loved to fight against Erik, mainly because he was the only King competing in the games which were reserved for unmarried folk, and it gave them the chance to show off.
Erik placed thirteenth in hand-to-hand combat, lost depressingly to a slip of a girl in the staff contests but no one could best him with a sword. They fought with blunted blades, scoring points. Erik fought with an unhinged grin, which reminded everyone watching how dangerous he could be.
There were display battles between those people with powers. Erik sat next to Charles, allowing him smear salve on his broken skin, and pretending not to be upset when his cousins displayed the metallokinesis Erik had expected to develop. The mage’s of each kingdom were present. Evangeline, Snawr-Hafa’s Dragon Protector, arrived in her red, dragon form, impressing on the crowds the might of her mountain kingdom by her sheer size. She quickly morphed into human form and joined Winston and Hazel Frost under their shade. Ororo, the beloved mage of the Summerlands, and Jean Grey, the hermit mage of Corazon, walked among the people arm in arm. People stopped them to chat or merely called out, “Bless you Storm,” or “Bless you Phoenix.” Sebastian Shaw was the mage of Ierocis Zeme and he was conferring with the Head of Genosha’s military institute, greedily assessing the talent.
On the second day, Erik beat Charles in the shooting but Charles got further in the archery. “Because you stole my first bow and arrow…” Erik muttered, a little too grumpily to be joking.
The third day was always racing and Erik sat them out at Charles’ side. Charles was cheering for Hank in the foot races and Raven on her horse, waving teal and rose-pink flags in the Corazon colours. Erik had many, many cousins to support, but Charles noticed he saluted any competitor from Ierocis Zeme.
Charles was carried down to the lake by Janos on the fourth day, and placed under a shade next to Emma.
“I melt in the sun,” Emma claimed, peering toward the lake where the sun was bouncing back in blinding flashes.
“I go pink and my freckles fornicate and reproduce alarmingly,” said Charles. “Oh, sorry Emma. Inappropriate language.”
Emma rolled her eyes, then pointed to the shallows where Erik was standing, donning gloves and squinting at Charles. When he caught Charles’ eye, he stroked the blue and pink tunic he was wearing and winked.
Everything in Charles paused for a beat. He made a strangled noise and Emma glanced at him sharply. Charles didn’t notice, only watched Erik wade out to the boats, aware of how much he wanted to be with Erik on a national level. His lungs withered under the weight of frustration, making his breathing shallow.
Emma picked his hand up and squeezed it. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he requested, knowing the uselessness of denying his heart in front of a telepath.
“You didn’t know?” Emma asked, while looking into the crowd and waving.
“Should I have?” Charles sounded bitter. “When there is no hope for it.”
“We are such good little political cogs,” Emma observed. Her tone was delicate and warm; ugly sadness underneath it, detectable only to Charles. It was his turn to assess her with new understanding.
“Yes,” he said, “we are.”
Erik won the boat race that afternoon and, according to tradition, presented his embroidered victory sash to Charles. Emma interrupted them with a delicate clearing of her throat before they stared at each other for too long. Charles needed the reminder that there were more people in his presence than just Erik, with his eyes like the lake and water still dripping down his collar.
-Was it obvious? he asked her.
-No love, she said, and then out loud, “Must be time to prepare for the bonfire, if your Highness and your Grace would escort me?”
They made a pretty party back to the castle, Emma taking the brunt of the conversation.
XXX
Charles put in a cursory appearance at the bonfire. He was tired and sore, his tiredness making it hard to keep the enthusiastic voices damp in his head and his own thoughts from circling back to Erik.
The chair couldn’t cover the terrain surrounding the bonfire easily; Charles suspected being carried around by another man was robbing his dignity like a leak in a water tank. He had Janos carry him down to the lake instead and set him down in a secluded area. The silent man’s hand curved over Charles’ hair, and Charles, grateful and pretending his eyes weren’t wet, gripped that hand and kissed the palm.
“You’re a good friend,” he told Janos. Charles removed his clothing and began to drag himself to the water. Janos frowned and held his arms out. Charles sighed and nodded, so Janos picked him up, waded into the lake waist deep before placing Charles into it gently.
The lake water was frigid. It felt glorious to Charles. As his legs submerged they regained feeling, prickly at first like pins and needles, as scales erupted over his skin and fused his legs together, and finally a complete and intricate control once his whole tail was formed. It wasn’t like the mermaid’s tails depicted in tapestries hung on Erik’s stone walls or the picture plates in nursery books, but long and thin, with a dorsal fin running like a fringe from tailbone to caudal fin and six lengthy ventral fins dotted in pairs down the tail to balance him out like a three legged stool. His caudal fin kept the same triangle shape only inverted, a fantail. The tail was white, pearlescent. Charles loved it.
But he never revealed it. Most people didn’t know, pretended not to know, or had been paid not to know.
“Thank you,” Charles said to Janos, “go dry out by the fire.”
Charles pulsed out to the deep, tensing muscles and releasing them, his tail rippling transversely behind him like a ribbon.
Charles loved his life, met his duties willingly, but he was dislocated on land. In water, Charles was thoroughly relaxed, no more hiding. He had full range of movement too, could propel himself by wiggling like a shark or a dolphin, the motion so powerful it made Charles feel full.
And yet, even with that, even with the ability to breath in the depths, he couldn’t stay there. There was nothing to hear in his head underwater; it was nice for a break but lonely after too long. Charles had long ago surrendered the dream of an unfractured life. He would always be pulled in two disparate directions.
He was exploring around the Northern shore of the lake when a violent vibration ripped through the water and Charles felt it in his lungs. He spun and swam towards the source. There was another ripple, not the same boom from the shore, this was smaller as if something had hit the water. Charles hurried.
XXX
Erik had been locked in with the other Kings, Queens, mages, Emissaries and Councilors for the evening, although there was more drinking and back patting than policy making. The meeting room was smoky and smelly and stale. The only order of business they completed was a trading agreement with Dutukana. Emissary Munoz had proposed a comprehensive and reasonable contract from the tropical farming nation that Genosha was happy to sign.
When they broke the meeting to join the festivities at the bonfire, Erik tied his cloak and strode as fast as he could without breaking into undignified running. He searched the crowd, thrusting clumsy mental inquiries out to engender a response from Charles.
Instead he stumbled upon young Cordy Frost watching red skirted dancers twirling impossibly fast and leaping and sliding dexterously around their audience. She was swaying and clapping her hands, her straight dark hair escaping from its ribbons.
“Princess Cordelia,” he said, making a bow. She curtsied, sharp and simple.
“Having fun, Iron?” she asked, getting away with being glib in the absence of her parents.
“It’s wonderful,” Erik said, as if he hadn’t noticed Cordelia’s cheekiness and he had noticed his surroundings. “Have you seen Prince Charles?”
”He’s gone to the lake. May I speak with you though? Please, your Grace.”
“Certainly. What would you like to converse with me about?” He didn’t look forward to the day when Cordy became another perfect, polished Snawr daughter.
“Your Grace,” she said, serious eyes shining in the fire light. “I want to be a great soldier. I can already ride my horse and shoot and spar with a staff better than my sisters and brother.”
“Yes, I saw you practise with Lady Darkholme and I was most impressed,” Erik told her.
“Did you?” she asked, face impossibly bright despite the shadows. “Well I thought… since you’re the King of Ierocis Zeme, where all the soldiers are trained, and you’re the best with a sword, maybe we should get married.”
Erik stared at her. He had no thoughts in his head, let alone words to pull a response together.
Cordy returned the stare, only her expression said clearly, ‘Keep up.’ She nudged him. “So I could train.” When he still didn’t respond, she added encouragingly, “and be Queen of the soldiers…”
Erik recovered himself. “I am so honoured you thought to include me in this plan,” he said formally, “however, I foresee a problem, Princess.” He knelt on one knee in front of her. She hadn’t seen puberty or a good growth spurt yet. “I will require my Queen to have children and being pregnant would interrupt and impede your training.”
Cordy sagged and frowned. She bit her lip.
Erik feigned deep thought. “We may be able to arrange a better solution. What if, and no promises now, but what if I asked your father to let you be ward at Ierocis when you turn fourteen. I think, provided one of your sisters is married by then, he may be quite happy with an exchange and I have a cousin who would very much like to ward at Snawr-Hafa.”
“And you’d teach me to fight?” She was blindingly hopeful. Erik vowed to himself to secure her an Iron future.
“Yes. And ride, also strategy and languages and foreign customs, and all sorts of fun things. Sailing, cartography, oh, camouflage…”
“Battle plans?” she suggested. Her hand had snuck trustingly into his.
Erik chuckled. “You’re going to be one of my generals aren’t you?”
“You’re my favourite,” she said in his ear.
He scoffed, “Oh come on now, I know that’s not true. I’ve seen you sit at Prince Charles’ feet for hours during story time.”
She blushed. “Okay, Charles is my favourite, but you are second. Absolutely, no contest.”
“Shall I tell you a secret, Princess? Charles is my favourite too,” Erik confessed.
“That’s not a secret,” Cordy screwed her nose at him, “everyone knows that.”
“Oh,” said the King.
“Anyway, he’s gone to the lake. That edge,” she pointed to the west. “Will you tell me what Daddy says? About my being a soldier?”
“Of course,” Erik promised. He bent over her hand and winked. She giggled and turned back to the dancers.
Erik was stopped several times en route to the lake and greeted by upwards of twenty other people. Erik thought he was quite cordial given his impatience. The Summer Festival was the only informal opportunity for anyone to speak to royalty without waiting to be addressed first, or travelling to a quarterly appeal day, and Erik knew he needed to honour that tradition.
As he left the crowds and picked his way down the rocky path, he saw Janos, sitting at a fire with some other shadows, the flames picking out random features of their bright faces and clothing to highlight.
Erik had solitude for less than two minutes before his mage, Shaw, stepped into his path.
“A word, your Grace,” he said and Erik could hear the disrespect eddying under the correct phrases. It made him give in, although by rights he could send Shaw away with a sneer, had seen his father do so in years past, but Erik nodded and followed the mage up a path to a small cliff. The moon was brilliant making sharp sparkles on the lake-top like constellations. They were about three metres above the water and Erik was struck with a curious thought of what it would feel like to be enveloped in the water tonight.
He was in the process of turning away and towards enduring Shaw when his body stiffened and stopped obeying him. There was a faint red rope of light cinching his arms to his sides and his legs together. He could still move his face and his muscles obeyed him within the confines of the magical restraints. “Shaw, what…” he started to demand.
“I want you gone,” said Shaw, naked emotion for once. “I tried binding your powers in hopes you would be passed over as King but you are still beloved. You retained leadership and forwarded the state of the country with your machinery, your anti-magic industry. Now, I have bound your body and you will be in no position to rule at the bottom of the lake.”
Erik panicked, sealing his own fate as his desperate anger surged out as energy toward Shaw, testing the magic bonds. But Shaw smirked cruelly and Erik realized his mistake a second late. Shaw’s greatest power was as a mirror, and he reflected the surge directly back at Erik, who was propelled to the cliff edge and, helpless, fell over.
He had a few seconds to fear for his people before the lake surface slapped his back and neck, cold and viciously rigid.
Through the sparkling pinpricks of light crowding his focus, Erik saw a flash of white before another steel band attached itself to his chest. He started thrashing but it was too late. He was sinking away from the light and soon could not see anything. His body started fighting for air, dragging water into his nose and mouth.