Throne Hunters Book 4, Chapter 33

“Vic.” Anna’s voice was leaden with shock. “What have you done?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that was an accident?” He winced. “No? Fair enough.”

Anna’s eyes were wide as she stared at Melisende’s corpse. “You just killed the most powerful woman in Flutic.” She said this as if exploring the truth of the words. “The only person who could call off her Gold-rankers. Who could end the fight our friends are in outside.”

“Meh.” Vic shrugged away her words in irritation. “I read the writing on the wall. She was never going to play nice. Worse, I had to prevent you from making a mistake you’d regret.”

“That I’d regret?” Anna’s voice rose in growing outrage. “You just murdered Lady Melisende Celestis, and you’re—”

Vic ignored Anna’s protests. Of course she was mad. Nobility stuck together. In the end, privilege was thicker than blood. Instead, he moved quickly to the corpse and knelt by her side.

A pendant caught his eye. Beautifully wrought, it featured a sapphire embedded in an armature of gold filigree. Gently, he lifted it from the dead woman’s chest.

Artifact Acquired: Pendulum of Grace and Dread
Quality: Epic

Special Ability: Royal Gravitas

Activation: A target whose Presence is less than your augmented own suffers hesitation and crippling bouts of doubt. Rivals are compelled to deference, and find their dearest held convictions assailed and undercut by your words.

+5 to Presence

+2 to Ego

Passive Effect: Echo of Sovereignty
While worn, your voice carries in crowds and silence alike, as through the air itself desires your words be heard.

Limitation: Those who wear the Pendulum grow unable to ask for help or show weakness without suffering psychic backlash which manifest as crippling migraines. To remove the Pendulum requires a match of wills against the Artifact based on Ego. Failure requires waiting 24 Bells before trying again.

Vic let out a low whistle. “Well, isn’t this a pretty yet nasty thing. Aptly named.”

Anna had rushed to the main door that led out ostensibly to the landing or great hall. “The fighting’s still continuing. We have to do something. We have to flee before Yseult gets back. The moment she sees Melisende dead we’ll be done for, there will be no reasoning with her—”

“Anna.” Vic’s voice was a whipcrack. “You’re babbling. Take a breath.” He bounced the sapphire pendant in his palm. “After all, everything’s fine.”

“Fine?” Anna’s eyes widened. “Fine? Our friends are dying below, our only hope of salvation has a huge hole in her eye, courtesy of you, and the Gold-rankers are on the way, not to mention that we’ve lost House Emberfell’s support, or worse—”

“Shh,” said Vic, rising smoothly to his feet. “Everything’s fine. I’ll admit we were on shaky ground for a second there, but now, with this?” He bounced the pendant in his palm. “I’m just going to need two things from you if I’m to play hero.”

Anna’s suspicion was instantaneous. “What?”

“The Twilight Crown and the Aureate Master.”

Anna was unable to restrain a bark of disdainful laughter. “You’re serious? After this?” And she gestured at Melisende’s body. “You want me to trust you with the Twilight Crown?”

“It’s our only hope. My Ego will be…” He worked out the numbers. “Something around the mid-30s. Which will be essential if I’m to control the power I’ll be wielding. What’s yours, currently?”

“24 with the Master. I—what are you planning?”

“Trust me.” Vic extended his hand. “It’s been nice chatting, but as you said, our friends are dying. Give me the Crown. Give me the Aureate Master. I’ll save us all.”

Anna took a step back. “You’re out of control, Vic. I can see it now.”

Vic stepped forward. “Darling. Countess. I’m a Throne Hunter through and through, a dyed-in-the-wool lamb of a team player. Melisende’s was a necessary death. She was never going to play along. Her Artifact—” And he bounced the pendant, “—ensured as much. Now. Trust me. Please.”

Anna’s eyes were wide, glassy still with shock. She glanced at the corpse, looked over her shoulder toward the landing, then shook her head and went to dart out the room.

“Damn it,” hissed Vic, and used Subtle Step to reposition himself almost instantly between her and the door. “Anna—”

“Let me go!” She leaped back as spectral thornblades appeared around her, revolving rapidly with their wicked tips aimed at his heart. “You’re out of your mind, Vic, I won’t empower you to make this worse—”

His temper began to flare. “Anna. Give me the Crown. Yseult will indeed be here soon. Only I can save the day. Save the city. You. Everyone. We don’t have time. Crown. Now.”

Anna turned and ran for the small door that led to the library.

“Fuck me,” moaned Vic, shoulders sagging. Predator’s Insight told him all he needed to know about Anna’s weaknesses. She was but 3rd Level Thornblade Marquessa, and her greatest strengths lay with her current Artifact suite plus her close combat abilities.

Vic raised The Point, but couldn’t will himself to activate it. Anna’s Presence was just too high, higher even than Melisende’s had been. So he slipped the Pendulum over his neck, discarding the Ruby’s Hunger as he did so. A moment later he was bonded to the Pendulum, and felt its subtle bump to his Ego.

It was just enough.

Anna was crossing the threshold when The Point speared through her calf and pinned her leg to the carpet. Vic willed the Artifact to remain extended, but he couldn’t stop from grimacing as the countess screamed and fell to the ground, wrenching around her impaled leg.

“Stop it already,” he snapped, striding over to where she lay twisted. The first of her thornblades flew at him, but his Web of Steel Ability allowed him to smack it aside, cutting it in twain, and he dispatched the others in like manner. Anna had drawn her sword, and was clearly intent on attacking him, perhaps unleashing her Crescent Slash, but his Inherent Alertness allowed him to kick her wrist at just the right moment, sending her blade flying.

“Enough!” He snatched the Twilight Crown from her brow, and immediately the pressure that was constricting his lungs abated. Jettisoning the Viridian Cloak, he placed the Crown upon his brow and felt it connect with his Cosmos.

Ah, now that felt good.

His Presence surged up to 24, his Ego to 27.

“Anna.” He pitched his voice to carry, focusing the entirety of his will upon her. She glared up at him, furious, desperate, frozen. “Give me the Aureate Master. I am your friend. I want us to succeed. Let me do this for all of us.”

Her Ego had dropped precipitously without the Crown. The pain had to be terrible. Still, she struggled to resist him. He dropped to one knee before her and extended his hand. “For our friends. So that I can save them. Each moment is precious. Please.”

She grimaced in impotent fury as the Pendulum worked its power upon her, then pulled the great golden bracelet off her arm, jerked it free, and held it out, looking away as she did so.

Ah, yes.

Vic could practically taste the godlike power that was to be his.

Gingerly, carefully, he released The Point from his Cosmos and instead bound the Aureate Master to himself. Activated it so that it manifested about his arm, and then groaned as the entire world thrummed with overwhelming power.

Vic rose and swayed as a great river rushed through his heart, his mind, his very being. His body was a torn sail flapping in a hurricane wind, his pulse so rapid he thought his heart would burst. Sweat drenched him almost instantly, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Staggering back, he placed his hands to his brow, but resisted the urge to tear the Twilight Crown away.

His Ego and Presence were perfectly matched. 34. Beyond epic, something only the angels themselves might feel, or poor souls at the peak of a bout of glory.

Vic laughed, fought the urge to cry, and with a deep inhalation brought himself under control. The room around him rippled as if the walls had been transmuted into stage setting, great painted dioramas on hanging drapes. This was all so pathetic, so mortal, to banal.

But with immense effort, he turned away from Anna who was drawing the shortened Point out of her leg, and strode across Melisende’s suite to the far door.

The one through which her brother had disappeared.

Vic wrenched it open to reveal a genteel parlor. He reeled through it, one hand still clutching at his head so that his mind would burst, and shouldered open the door beyond. Or tried. It was barred.

“Open this door!” he cried, and his voice was thunder, his need imperial, his authority angelic.

A moment later the crossbar was removed and the door swung open hesitantly.

There. The pale-haired brother, his expression terrified, his face clean-shaven. A striking nose, heavy brows, an outfit of subtle martial cut. Skin waxen, he gaped as Vic pushed into the room, driving him back.

“I… what have you…?”

“Kneel!” Vic raised his chin as his will crashed upon the man, who dropped to the ground as if his strings had been cut. “I am Victor Carmine, and mine is the duty, the necessity, to demand you save Flutic. Have you an ounce of civic duty in your bones, man, have you ever lusted for power and glory?”

The man’s eyes were wide, bulging as he gazed up in horrified fascination. “I… I have, I’ve… it should have been…”

“Excellent! Then you shall be a made lord of House Celestara, because your sister is dead! She refused the crown, but you shall be king! King of Flutic—barring a few minor provisos that we can discuss later.”

“She… she isn’t dead.”

That gave Vic pause. “Not dead? Her body lies in the other room.”

“Her… her duplicate fake body.” The man took a shuddering breath. “She has an Artifact. Even now she’s awakening in her double.”

“Oh.” Vic blinked. “I should have known that was too easy. This double. Where is it?”

The man raised his arm to point at the wall.

Vic leaned forward. “Melisende has scorned you all these years, hasn’t she? Belittled you? You’re worthy, better than she could ever dream, and now you have your chance to show the world your mettle. Want it, man? Want the crown? To be called King… what’s your name?”

“King Josse Celestis,” he whispered.

“King Josse Celestis!” boomed Vic, throwing his arms up in celebration. “What a ring! The whores shall bestow their salubrious bounties upon you for free, for eternity! You’ll drown in female flesh—wait, are you into women?”

“Mostly,” gasped the man, hand going to his chest as if it hurt him.

Shit. Vic didn’t want to give him a heart attack. “Well, women and male flesh, it’ll be yours, indiscriminately and without end. Plus scales, wealth, power, respect, the whole thing. All of it. Yours. If we kill Melisende now.”

“Now.” Josse’s eyes grew distant as if he gazed upon visions of heaven, and then he blinked and gave a shaky nod. “This way.”

“Good man,” murmured Vic, stepping back so Josse could lead the way. Back into Melisende’s suite. Anna was gone, her blood vivid on the carpet. Josse moved with confidence to a massive mirror which he tore from the wall to reveal a slender door, its seams so fine it was barely visible.

“Her secret compartment,” Josse whispered, pulling at a latch so that the door swung outward. “Or so she thought.”

“Lead on, good Josse,” beamed Vic. “You’re doing absolutely swell.”

The room within was small, tiny really, and dominated by a crystal coffin stood upright against the far wall. Within, a perfect replica of Melisende stood clothed in sober finery, her chest rising and falling, a blush rising to her cheeks, her eyes darting from side to side beneath her eyelids.

“She’s waking up,” hissed Josse, drawing back. “We’re too late.”

“Pish posh,” said Vic. “We’re right on time. How does this open?”

“It won’t open till she’s awake,” said Josse, washing one hand with the other. “It’s part of the Artifact’s defense.”

“All right.” Vic crossed his arms. “So she wakes up, then what?”

“She’ll see us here, but she’ll be trapped…” Josse’s brows rose. “She’ll be trapped, but the protection will have ended.”

“Then you’ll do the deed,” said Vic, pressing the dagger into Josse’s limp hand. “And in doing so, claim the crown with the truest currency known to man: blood.”

Josse stared at the dagger, face somehow going even paler, then up to Vic. “I… do I need to…?”

“Of course.” Vic wanted to laugh. The combined might of the Crown and the Pendulum made him feel as if he were going to fly apart. His upper lip was hot and wet. When he touched it he saw blood on his fingertips. “True kings cavil at nothing. Nothing! Not even the Marheim Bog Flood.”

“Marheim…?” Josse’s confusion was pitiful.

“Never mind, that’s an advanced and pretty disgusting technique from the Kitty Kat.” Vic swung Josse around so that he faced the coffin. “Seize the future, Josse. Show the world you are strong enough to take the crown.

“Strong enough,” whispered Josse. “The crown.”

Melisende’s chest rose and fell more rapidly, and then her eyes flicked open. At the same time there sounded a slight click as some latch or lock gave way.

“Now!” barked Vic, reaching across to scrabble at the coffin’s glass side. He found purchase and yanked it open. With all his might, his power, his supernatural authority, he demanded: “Strike!”

“Josse!” screamed Melisende, her horror contorting her features, but her brother snarled like a beast and lunged forward to plunge the Ruby’s Hunger into her breast.

Then again, then a second time. Blood spattered all over the inside of the coffin, and Melisende’s scream was cut off as she gasped, choked, then sagged to the bottom of the coffin’s confines.

Josse was gasping, wheezing, sounding half-panicked, half terrified.

“Good man!” Vic clapped him on the shoulder. “I hereby declare you the King of Flutic, a bona fide good chap, and worst brother in town.”

Josse wheeled about, eyes half crazed, bloody dagger raised.

“I’ll take that,” said Vic, easing the Ruby’s Hunger out of the man’s fist. “Now, anything we should take from in here?”

“This is all mine, now.” Josse smoothed down his blood-splattered tunic. “I’ll… her Artifacts. House Celestara Artifacts. Mine.” And he reached down to wrestle a thick signet ring off Melisende’s hand, then to tear a black opal from the collar of her gown, barely visible against the fabric. Finally he a golden scepter that had appeared against her corpse, ejected from her Cosmos by her death. It was topped with a stylized solar disc, its length carved with mysterious symbols.

“The Scepter of Empyreal Ordination,” marveled Josse, holding it aloft. “Mine at last!”

“Great. Now. We need to move fast or all this was for naught. You need to head downstairs and stop the fighting. My friends are defending themselves. Then when Yseult Khan shows up, you need to tell her to stand down. She does have to obey you, right?”

“Right,” agreed Josse shakily, but without much confidence.

“Have you bonded those Artifacts to your Cosmos?” asked Vic.

“I… not yet. But…” Josse closed his eyes, and then seemed to relax a fraction as his Ego and Presence no doubt received some sizable boosts. When he opened his eyes, he looked calmer, more wary. “Who are you?”

“As I said, I am Victor Carmine, a sophisticated wastrel of no account who’s only here to coronate you as King of Flutic. Where does that authority of mine come from? We seize authority, that’s where, and we’re going to help you seize yours. King Josse! I just love it. Don’t you hear the clarion calls, the crowds screaming their approval? But before we get to all that, you must swear fealty to me.”

Josse narrowed his eyes. “Fealty?”

“Don’t play coy. We both know I’m to be the power behind the throne. You shall enjoy the pomp and circumstance, I shall be mostly absent but occasionally checking in.” Vic allowed his voice to swell with menace. “But I shall be your master, Josse. I shall be your patron, your benevolent lord. Worship me and prosper. Already you have been reborn in blood. Now kneel, and usher in a new age. A better age, a golden age. Kneel!”

This last came as a roar, and Josse blanched even as his legs gave way and he crashed to his knees.

“Swear fealty to my rule,” ordered Vic, feeling sublime, imperious, unstoppable. “Now, Josse. Swear it upon the Twilight Crown!”

The other man struggled with his doubts, his breath coming in fast gasps, but it was all too much. He had not the strength of will of his murdered sister. So he gave a curt nod, licked his dry lips, and swore. “I, Josse Celestis, do swear… fealty… to you, Victor Carmine.”

The Twilight Crown hummed in delight, and a message appeared before Vic’s eyes:

Josse Celestis is oathbound to your rule.

He shall suffer -2 Ego in all matters pertaining to your authority.

“Ah,” smiled Vic, a frisson of delight washing over him. “Why, but this is better than sex! Why didn’t anyone tell me? But enough. Quick now. We need to get downstairs and stop the madness.”

His impossible Presence washed over the bulwark of Josse’s mind, and the new head of House Celestara rose and strode from the room. Vic glanced about the small chamber. There were all manner of intriguing little chests and sacks on shelves, but he couldn’t stay to loot the place.

Well, perhaps one gold-threaded sack. This he grabbed and placed inside his tunic as he followed Josse outside.

“Who are your friends? What House do they belong to?” demanded Josse as he stepped over the first Melisende corpse.

“Nominally? House Sonora, who swears fealty to Lord Draken. But really we’re kind of an anarchic-socially conscious collective intent on destroying the oppressive power structures that lead to endemic corruption and abuse of the poor.”

Josse glanced back over his shoulder at Vic in confusion as he reached the main doorway.

“We’re friends,” simplified Vic.

Josse hesitated, but now was clearly not the time to question further. The sound of fighting still came from below, and the entire manor shuddered again under the assault of some great power.

Josse strode down the hall and out into the landing that looked over the grand staircase to the huge hall below. “Stop all fighting! I, Lord Josse, command it!”

The figures who fought and leaped and bled below ignored him.

Josse raised his fist. The fat signet ring glimmered gorgeously. “You will all cease fighting within my manor!”

The ring flashed gold and the combatants fell apart, dazed and confused. They looked up in wonder as Josse moved to the had of the stairs. Vic saw Nessa and Sam standing back to back, both scored with lacerations, wounds, and burns. He gave them a cheery wave, then decided to underscore how great things were going by giving them a double thumb’s up.

An older warrior in House Celestara colors gazed up in confusion. “Lord Josse?”

“I possess the Scepter of Empyreal Ordination!” Josse’s voice boomed across the hallway as he raised the golden rod. “I am the Lord of House Celestara, now that my sister Melisende is no longer with us. As your rightful lord, I command you cease combat immediately.”

Shock and confusion warred on the House Celestara faces below, but Josse continued to flourish the scepter with grim determination, and slowly, one by one, the blue and gold warriors lowered their weapons.

“Excellent,” said Vic. “Let’s make sure everyone’s on the same page. Nessa, where’s Kársek and Anna?”

“Anna was with you,” called back Nessa. “Kársek got separated from us.”

The house shuddered again, and now dangerous creaking sounds came from the ground floor.

“Looks like he’s alive and kicking,” grinned Vic. “My Lord Josse? Shall we stamp out the last of the flames?”

“Lets,” agreed Josse, and together they descended the stairwell. Everyone should have been looking at their new lord, but they could only gape at Vic’s magnificence. Not that he blamed them. He must cut a superb figure, complete with the Crown and Pendulum. His heart was still pounding terribly hard, and his vision was growing a tad blurry, but it wasn’t anything he’d not experienced on various nights throughout his life.

They reached the bottom of the steps and were about to turn toward where Kársek was still ostensibly fighting on, when the front doors to the manor at the far end of the huge hall were flung open.

A figure strode into the house, her armor blazing gold, her helm boasting a rather phallic horn, her tattered cloak streaming behind her. Radiant, resplendent, and refulgent with a golden aura, she tore off her helm to reveal Yseult Khan’s devastatingly handsome features, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at the scepter in Josse’s hand.

Then, slowly, she took in the blood that covered the man’s hands, sleeves, and front, and in a whisper that carried the length of the hall, demanded, “Brother. What have you done?!”