“They call themselves Politai now,” Frentis said. “It means ‘unchained’ in old Volarian.”
Vaelin glanced over his shoulder as Orven’s guards and the Sentar rode into view, the Ally among them, his posture now considerably more alert as he scanned the arena. Vaelin saw the smile playing on his lips. No need to conceal his anticipation now.
“Unchained,” he repeated, turning back to Frentis. “As were you, brother.”
Frentis nodded, frowning a little in puzzlement. “Lady Reva,” he said, pointing his sword at the arena. “I have sound intelligence . . .”
“I know.” Vaelin climbed down from Scar’s back and drew his sword, striding towards the arena and beckoning Frentis to follow, speaking softly. “We do not have much time, so listen well . . .”
? ? ?
All sound of battle had faded by the time he entered the arena. They had been delayed by a few Kuritai found in the maze of corridors that led them here, but the Sentar and the guardsmen were numerous and skilled enough to cut them down without difficulty. Vaelin’s gaze tracked over the surrounding terraces as he stepped out onto the sand, finding them only a third full, nervous huddles of Volarian citizenry keeping their distance from companies of Realm Guard and Cumbraelin archers. The queen stood in the centre of the arena, smiling as she exchanged words with Reva, alongside what appeared to be a monstrous ape of some kind, lying dead with a spear jutting from its back.
Reva ran to him as he approached, her embrace fierce and warm. “Too late this time,” she chided, moving back to deliver a playful slap to his cheek.
He nodded and forced a smile, bowing to the queen as she came to greet him. “Highness. I am glad to see you well.”
“And you, my lord.” He found her gaze oddly cool, the unaffected smile she had shown him in the past now more considered. The greatest conquerer in Realm history, he reminded himself. More than a queen now.
“Lady Dahrena?” she asked, her gaze tracking over the company behind him.
He met her gaze and shook his head, seeing the brief spasm of lost composure she betrayed, her face clouding in genuine grief. “A . . . great loss, my lord.”
His gaze was drawn by a choking sound behind her, seeing another body slumped next to the monstrous ape, her eyes fixed not on him but on Frentis. Her lips moved in some form of greeting, spitting blood across the sand as her hands twitched.
“May I present Empress Elverah of the Volarian Empire,” the queen said.
Vaelin saw how Frentis paled and shifted at his side, seemingly unable to look away from the dying woman as she continued to voice her greeting. He stared at his brother until he turned, meeting his gaze and holding it, hoping he remembered his task. Frentis gave a barely perceptible nod and turned away from the Empress, drawing a plaintive groan from her as she clawed at the sand, desperately trying to pull herself closer to him.
“I have an introduction of my own,” Vaelin told the queen, beckoning to Orven’s guardsmen to bring the Ally.
“Your ageless Gifted?” the queen asked, casting a critical eye over the Ally’s bound form. He returned her gaze with a distracted nod and looked up at the surrounding tiers, eyes narrowed in careful calculation.
“Not exactly,” Vaelin said. “I don’t know his true name, but we have become accustomed to calling him the Ally.”
“I never liked that name,” the Ally commented in a faint tone. “Perhaps, in the years to come you can compose a better one. Something more poetic. You see, I have decided to become a god.”
Vaelin opened his mouth to command him to silence, and froze. He tried to raise his sword arm and found it immobile. He attempted to turn to Frentis but his neck refused to budge. All sensation had fled his limbs, the only movement in his chest which continued to draw breath, and his eyes which flicked about with panicked speed. He could see the queen, standing frozen with the same frown of critical scrutiny, Lord Iltis close behind her, still like a statue, as was every other living soul in sight, even those in the terraces above. The arena was silent now, save for the Empress’s dying gasps and the sound of the Ally’s soft steps on the sand as he moved closer to Vaelin, peering into his eyes.
“You asked about my gift,” he said. “Here it is, or one of them. So many years since I wielded it in this world without need of a proxy. Not so taxing now, thanks to you and your ageless friend. See?” He angled his head, moving it from side to side. “No blood. This body will sustain me for quite some time I suspect. Perhaps until the death of this world, though I’ve no desire to see that.”