The Shattered Crowns

Chapter 61: A pit full of Hydras



The soft colors of the walls glimmered under the wavering torchlight, shadows waging their eternal war against the flames. Beyond the heavy silence, the distant howling of the Lunar Storms seeped into the room. The God King sat at his desk, his expression unreadable as he tapped the edge of a quill against his lip. The crown on his head gleamed under the flickering light, its weight as heavy as the decisions before him.

"This is not what you said would happen," the God King said, his voice calm but edged with menace.

"I do not have the faintest clue how he managed to lift the Tridact," replied the Contractor, a wiry man whose shoulders drooped beneath the weight of the iron chain draped around his neck. His hands fidgeted as he spoke, his voice trembling. "The Entanglement should have held firm. I set the contract myself, my King. I swear it was perfect."

The King turned in his seat to face the Contractor, his golden bracelets clinking as he moved. His gaze was cold, sharp enough to flay. "You have served my father and my grandfather, and now you serve me. Yet here you stand, failing at something so simple. I do not reward failure."

The Contractor winced, his chain rattling softly as he dipped his head in a shallow bow. "It has not failed, my King. I am one of the last true masters of Entanglement. There was no possible way for the terms of the contract to be altered. Once a contract is struck, it remains until fulfilled. Nothing breaks a contract."

The King resumed writing, his quill scratching faintly against parchment. "And what were the terms of the contract? How much resin was required for it to hold?"

The Contractor hesitated, but before he could respond, a soft knock at the door drew their attention.

"Let them in," the King said, setting his quill down. "It's best to have them all here for this discussion."

The heavy doors creaked open, and two Knight Templars of Reem stepped inside, allowing three men and a woman to enter the chamber. Each moved with practiced grace, their presence commanding the room without need for introduction. The torches flickered as the group took their places.

The King folded his hands on the desk and said, "Now that my Inquisitor and our esteemed guests have arrived, let us begin again."

"My King, I am humbled to have been invited," said Fabien, inclining his head slightly as he took his seat.

The Inquisitor, dressed in a golden mask with prongs flaring out like a sunburst, leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. His voice was sharp as a blade. "You can imagine my shock when I learned the Angel of the Red Sands had ascended. Even his ceremony was rushed because of it."

"It was as I have already explained—" the Contractor began, only to be cut off by the Inquisitor, who leaned forward, invading the older man's space.

"See, I would very much like an answer, not excuses," the Inquisitor hissed. "Because you, Contractor, have created a very big problem for us."

The Contractor's voice wavered. "It was as I said—the contract still holds. Entanglement is a precise art. It cannot be undone so easily."

Fabien, rubbing his temple, interjected, "Enough of this. We need to focus on managing the fallout from the Angel's ascension and how the people of Reem will respond. The time for excuses has passed."

The King held up a hand, his tone calm yet commanding. "There is no need to raise your voice, Fabien. I would not wish to wake my wife or concubines at this hour." His gaze shifted briefly to the silken-draped bed at the far end of the chamber, where shadows hinted at the sleeping forms of his companions.

"But," the King continued, "Fabien has a point. We must plan for the Angel of the Red Sands. Contractor, you were saying?"

The Contractor, his shoulders hunched, stressed his words. "The contract was simple."

"Yes, it seems you will repeat yourself endlessly," said the woman draped in a thin, wispy cloak. Her voice was light, almost mocking. She glanced at the King with a smirk. "You've still not learned how to entertain a woman properly, Coleus. No wine, no intrigue—how terribly dull."

The Inquisitor snapped, "That is your grace, Masika."

Unbothered, the woman chuckled. "The titles of men mean nothing to me. I am the herald of death for Coleus' enemies. Us of the Court of the Banshees do not need empty words to prove our worth. We shred his foes to pieces with our voices."

"You play at being Queen of the Banshees," the Inquisitor sneered. "A fitting title for one who claims to need none."

Masika ignored him, her attention shifting back to the King, but before she could speak, the King raised his voice. "Enough. If I wanted petty squabbling, I would summon the minor lords. Contractor, continue. What were the terms of the contract?"

The Contractor swallowed hard, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. "The exact words were that, once the Tridact is taken from its carved-out obelisk, it will switch weights with one of the stars in the sky."

The room fell silent, the weight of the statement hanging thick in the air.

"And the resin?" Masika asked, her tone colder now.

"Enough to fill the manor of a Coven lord," the Contractor admitted reluctantly.

The King leaned back in his chair, the golden bracelets on his wrists catching the light. "Do you understand why you are here, Contractor? My ancestors spent fortunes on contracts that would ensure there would never again be an Angel of the Red Sands. And yet, here we are. Explain."

The Contractor shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to the others in the room. "It should not have been possible. Perhaps…" He hesitated, his words catching in his throat.

The Inquisitor leaned forward, his masked face close enough to loom over the Contractor. "Speak plainly, or I will see to it you never speak again."

The Contractor winced, the chain around his neck rattling. "Perhaps he truly is the Angel of the Red Sands. His Impresa mark could have given him the strength to lift the star."

"A myth," the Inquisitor scoffed. "No man can lift a star."

The King drummed his fingers against the desk, his expression unreadable. "Your explanation is unsatisfactory. Guards."

Two guards stepped forward from the shadows. The Contractor's face drained of color as the King spoke again. "You have served my crown faithfully, but your failure cannot be ignored. Inquisitor, take the Contractor's chain to his son and inform him of his new position."

The Inquisitor stood, his thick boots sinking into the plush carpet as he approached the Contractor. He gripped the chain with gloved hands, his movements slow and deliberate.

"I will offer my condolences to your family," the Inquisitor said, his voice mockingly soft. "Rest assured, your son will serve the God King well."

With a sharp yank, the chain unlatched from the Contractor's neck. The old man's eyes widened in horror as his skin began to flake and crumble, his body collapsing into dust.

"Always hated him," the Inquisitor muttered as he returned to his seat, tossing the chain over his arm like a trophy.

"That was rather brash," a smooth, measured voice said. Veneres, who had been silent until now, leaned forward, his expression calm yet calculating.

Masika tilted her head, her lips curling into a smile. "Oh, Veneres, you're always so composed. Does my amusement offend you? Surely you don't regret the Contractor's death. You always preach about the limited value of men."

Veneres sighed. "My concern isn't his death. It's the lost opportunity to uncover what truly happened. The Contractor may have known more."

The Banshee Queen shrugged. "He gave us what he knew. Besides, I can end this with a blade in the dark. I'll kill the Angel while he sleeps."

The King shook his head. "Do not touch him. Even if you could bypass the Ukari—a feat in itself—his death would destabilize Reem. The people adore him. To kill him now would risk rebellion."

The room fell silent as the King rose to his feet. "No. Let him play the hero. Let him fan the flames of Reem's spirit. When the Battle of the Bridge comes, he will meet his end there."

"A martyr," Veneres murmured. "How poetic."

The King's lips curled into a faint smile. "Indeed. It is ironic, is it not? The First King of Reem built this kingdom by defying the stars. Now, the Angel of the Red Sands will die beneath them, paving the way to Eastern Lorian. His death will free us."


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