Chapter Text
Set in chapter 3 from King Argaven XV’s perspective.
The Envoy, that damnable monster, walks slowly up the grand hallway towards me. It’s clear he’s been studying: his pace is slow and respectful, and he stops short of any movement when he reaches my dias. His barely-trembling hands are folded, and I hold back a savage smile. A delighted smile.
So he’s heard of Estraven’s betrayal; good. At least he won’t be acting on any pretenses. Any that I know of, that is. I can’t push down the snarl that thought brings, and the Envoy’s flinch is like the cracking of ice– sudden, sharp, done in an instant.
I smile, and bid him tell me the message. They flounder and spout about Estraven’s betrayal: of country, of our people, of me, of the Envoy. It fogs his rhetoric like the fine mist of kurem snow. I can’t tell what is his mission and what is his motive.
It doesn’t matter anyway. The Envoy has no shifgrethor to waive. And he doesn’t even know it. Genry, the freak, the monster, the Pervert. Genry, the alien Envoy. Well. I don’t take kindly to outsiders. Karhide is on its way to greater things, no need for a society of Perverts to get in the way.
So I take all my fear and throw it like a huge, tightly-packed snowball at the Envoy. I give him advice. Don’t trust anybody. The thought of how I trusted– I never trusted– that traitor– that bastard–
I have to cough to catch my breath. The Envoy tries to entice me with promises of trade, knowledge– all that shit. I don’t really care. I can see the Envoy getting anstier and anstier, and it makes a swell of happiness rise in me. He’s losing the duel of shifgrethor, obviously. It’s clear he’s not even trying. That makes me mad.
Then he reveals it: immortality. A jolt runs through my stomach, feeling like the swooping of kemmer. It can’t be–
But no. It is. The Envoy, the freak, the Pervert– can dilate time. It’s a frightening thought. So frightening that I have no choice but to bend shifgrethor to his whims. I communicate with his device.
What makes a traitor? The damnable thing doesn’t know. It’s as good as the Foretellers– that is, perfectly and infinitely useless. But it does confirm the Envoy’s claim.
Well, no matter. I’m the King of Karhide. The Harge dynasty has stood in Karhide for generations; My great-something grandparent settled the damn civilization, for crying out loud! I’m not bending to the whims of some society of Perverts out in the Void– no.
I turn the Envoy away, let him go free. He wasn’t responsible for Estraven’s betrayal– that’s purely the others’ fault.
The clicking of his ceremonial boots follow them. My shadow, blacker than the night, follows as well.
No one, not even Estraven, can help the Envoy now.