Hours after the execution, as the storm gathered strength above the city, the king of Lucyra strode through the halls of his ancient castle in a terrible mood. For nearly two thousand years executions had been an effective method for cleansing the city of the foreign contaminants which plagued it. But for the first time after an execution the air of Shabboleth’s city still trembled with foreign magic—and it was even worse than before, if anything.
Whoever it was had come for his vault, of course. It was the most impressive collection of treasures in all the land, the result of nineteen centuries of personal curation and care. The items his vault contained were so rare and valuable that even the other Seraphim, who all had their own impressive collections of treasure, coveted it. Outwardly, though, they mocked him for it, calling him a whole range of juvenile insults. They said he was obsessed, that he was small minded, that spending so much of his time preoccupied with material possessions only proved him to be the lowliest of the Seraphim. The same men and women who could never harm him in the trial of a thousand centuries had all decided he was weak.
You sad fools, Shabboleth thought. No treasures in any vault could ever be as precious as the child walking behind me. My only wish is that I had realized it sooner.
Still, he did enjoy his collection. And defending it from fortune seekers had become something of a yearly tradition ever since Lucyra had become his sole demesne some two thousand years ago. This time, however, something was different. Whoever it was who’d chosen to try their luck against his defenses had discovered a new avenue of attack. Somehow their magical aura had been suppressed, making it close to impossible to locate them in the physical world via the sixth sense. Their magic was irregularly thin and scattered, causing Shabboleth to pursue paths within the ether which had all ultimately led to dead ends.
My only saving grace is that their method is imperfect, he thought. Or perhaps the magic being concealed is so immense that it can’t be perfectly suppressed.
Of the two, Shabboleth had begun to lean towards the latter. Scores of Destined had crossed him over the years, but none had ever exhibited the ability to wield such an advanced form of magic. There was really only one other possibility.
The child of one of my enemies has come to invade my home. Or is it….
Jezebel’s voice was full of concern, breaking him from his brooding reverie.
“Whatever is the matter, father?”
A small, grudging smile crossed Shabboleth’s face. Her ability to sense emotions had been an incredible boon over the years. Certainly one of his better decisions. Statecraft had never been one of his areas of talent, but Jezebel had done much to shore up his deficiencies in that area. It was hard to overstate just how much he treasured her.
“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with, dear,” he said kindly. “A task I gave to someone else has been left incomplete.”
Hippolytus walked side by side with Jezebel, as he was want to do in recent days, and he did not miss the implication.
“Tell me your desire, my lord, and I will make it reality.”
“I desire silence,” Shabboleth sneered.
The throne room lay just ahead, and the two guards standing before its tall doors kowtowed to Shabboleth before opening them. He strode through the threshold without sparing them a glance, making his way to the high throne which stood on an elevated platform in the middle of the room. The throne room was hexagonal in shape, and ancient stained glass windows telling the story of the Cataclysm and the thirteen Seraphim lined every wall but were darkened for the black clouds swirling outside the castle. The entire room was illuminated by an immense glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling above the throne, beautiful enough to count as a work of art and nearly as old as Lucyra itself.
More guards stood at attention along the walls of the throne room, and at a silent hand motion from Hippolytus they quietly withdrew. Shabboleth gathered up his robes and climbed the steps to assume his throne while the guards hurried out of the room. Upon taking his throne he cast a harsh gaze upon Hippolytus as he bent the knee before him. Jezebel remained standing beside Hippolytus, though she clasped her hands together and held them low.
“I must admit that I don’t entirely see that the execution was necessary,” she said. “The people seemed disinterested at best.”
“Do you disapprove?” Shabboleth asked, curious.
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m just not sure if it had the intended effect.”
“Give it time, my darling girl, and you will see the wisdom in strict measures. The people need occasional reminders that the power above them plays a robust role in their lives. It ultimately makes them feel more secure. And issuing warnings to our enemies is always prudent.” He paused. “You are young yet, but you will see.”
“I trust your judgement,” she said, stung.
“Forgive me,” Shabboleth smiled. “I did not intend to lecture you. I’m an old man, even though I don’t look it, and old men must be allowed their ramblings.”
“Daughters never mind when their fathers ramble,” Jezebel replied. “On the contrary, we expect it.”
Shabboleth’s smile widened. He reached a hand down to her, which she accepted.
“Why don’t you go down to the kitchen and ask them to bring dinner up to us tonight?” he said. “We can share a meal together in our rooms just like we used to do when you were a girl.”
Jezebel’s eyes immediately lit up, and the excited smile she gave Shabboleth warmed his heart.
“I’ll ask for pork and lentil curry, and we can have sweetbread for dessert!”
“That sounds heavenly, dear. Go on!”
She gave him a nod, then released his hand and whirled about to leave. The new spring in her step confirmed that his suggestion had been a good one.
To be twenty-five and eager for life again, Shabboleth thought. She’s given me far more joy than I ever anticipated. Perhaps I’ve been too frugal with placing trust in others over these long years.
His expression darkened as it turned to Hippolytus, who still knelt before the throne with his eyes downcast, waiting for a command.
…And yet. Here kneels before me the perfect example of why frugality with trust is prudent. If Jezebel wasn’t fond of this blustering incompetent I would’ve done away with him long ago.
“You’ve abandoned your duty, Hippolytus. The air of my city still trembles with the presence of foreign magic.”
Hippolytus responded without lifting his head. “We tortured the Destined as you directed, sire, and applied your potions to them. If more danger remains in the city then the threats cannot be related.”
Rage instantly swept through Shabboleth, but he quickly took it under control.
“I tolerate you, Hippolytus, because my daughter is fond of you and I cannot bring myself to harm her by giving you the punishment you so rightly deserve. This mercy I grant you is one that I give to no other mortal, but make no mistake….”
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
He then leaned forward, and allowed some of the anger he felt to show in his expression.
“...If my walls are breached under your watch, you will pay a price most severe. And if my daughter comes to harm….”
“I would die before allowing any enemy to place their hands upon her.”
“Death will be too easy for you if you do.”
“Give me your directive, sire. I won’t fail you again.”
“You will personally inspect each aspect of the castle’s defenses. Give special attention to the undercroft, where the waste tunnels link to the rest of the city. Immediately correct any deficiencies you find, and execute on the spot any guards who are lax in their duty.”
“Your will shall be done, my lord.”
A whisper of magic blew across Shabboleth’s senses, and he closed his eyes, seeking out the source. For just a moment the magical suppression faltered, perhaps because of his contact, and he was able to sense more about the person wielding it.
A Seraphim is in my city, he realized. And only one Seraphim would ever think to use this kind of shameful magic.
“Go now to your task!” Shabboleth hissed. “An old friend is about to call upon us.”
Hippolytus bowed his head low, almost to the floor, then rose to his feet. He walked backwards out of the room, and kowtowed to Shabboleth upon reaching the door. The guards outside shut the door after him.
Silence grew in the throne room. A sense of doom swept over Shabboleth, all the ancient fears returning.
“This is my kingdom!” he rasped. “I rule—I command in this place! I am not a character in someone else’s story!”
His body began to swell. The robes which covered him were torn asunder as his form spilled out over the throne and spread across the floor. What used to be his torso bulged outwards and upwards, nearing the chandelier hanging high overhead within the space of seconds.
“You obnoxious fool,” he growled, voice modulating as the transformation took hold. “You lord of naught but lies and deceit! I swear to the God which granted us power that this castle shall be your final resting place!”
Rows of new limbs exploded from him, fleshy arms and pod-like hands seeking out purchase wherever they could as though they had minds of their own. He rolled his body over to extend them and then leapt towards the ceiling, smashing the chandelier in the process of latching on to the stone. Bits and pieces of metal and glass rolled off his carapace, shattering when they fell to the floor.
Shabboleth opened up his massive lungs and let out a humongous roar which shook the entire room and the castle beyond.
“ERIC!!!”
He released his hold on the ceiling, and his immense body fell to the floor. He thrashed about with the same wildness as a hooked fish, crushing his throne and obliterating the stained glass which lined the walls, but he wouldn’t have cared even if he’d been aware of it. He’d perceived that ruination was finally upon him, and he raged with all his might against the reality which had caged and tortured him for so long.
Shabboleth was aware of their presence, naturally. He’d been sending out feelers into the Pattern all day, even before they’d arrived in the city, but so far he’d failed to locate them. Mattias felt an incredible sense of satisfaction at being able to see his strategy work so well from right under the enemy’s nose.
Nevertheless, he’d spent most of the day scouting the city from the air, just in case. Holding still would’ve made it slightly easier for Shabboleth to find him, and that couldn’t happen before the time was right. He had every intention of revealing himself, of course. Eventually. But timing was everything, as it had been for everything else so far.
Mattias swooped down, landing at the very top of the wall which girded the city’s massive main gate, and stared up at the castle high overhead. Two nearby guards standing sentry at the wall chatted aimlessly with one another, totally oblivious to his presence.
Another feeler came through the Pattern, blindly seeking out the source of suppression, and Mattias decided the time was ripe for a partial reveal.
It just wouldn’t be quite right if things were too easy for her, now would it? he thought, smirking.
He allowed the suppression to weaken for just a moment before setting it back into place, and the reaction from the other end was instantaneous. Shock waves radiated throughout the Pattern, centered on the throne room high above. Mattias took off again, flying towards the docks on the other end of town from where Amara was sleeping.
A deafening roar exploded from the castle, causing a bit of pain in Mattias’s sensitive ears.
“ERIC!!!”
He shot an annoyed frown up at the castle.
“You’re so noisy,” he groused.
Jezebel stood alone in the dining hall, protecting her ears from the tremendous noise and chaos which had suddenly rocked the castle. The immense thrashing and shaking coming from above caused her to crouch and take cover against a nearby wall, and once it was finally over she placed a worried hand over her mouth.
What could possibly have made him so furious? she thought with alarm. He was angry at Hip but that can't be what caused this type of reaction.
The door on the far side of the room burst open, and Hippolytus rushed inside. When he saw her he immediately ran to her, and she rushed to meet him.
She threw herself into his arms when they reached one another, and she squeezed him tight for a moment before he released her halfway.
“Are you alright?” he asked, scanning her for injuries.
“I’m not hurt. What just happened, Hip?”
“I don’t know. He said an old friend was about to call on us.”
“An old friend…?”
Hippolytus shook his head. “...He ordered me to inspect the defenses. I think he’s expecting something to come from the sewers.”
Jezebel could hardly believe how calm he felt. Small waves of fear flowed off of him, but for the most part he felt the same as he always did when they were together. His emotions were always so remarkably stable.
“How can you be so calm?” she asked. “I thought the whole castle was about to shake apart.”
“It’s not me your father is so angry at.”
She let out a scoff, and smiled despite herself. He wasn’t being facetious—that was the genuine reason why his fear was so subdued.
There’s something so beautiful in how uncomplicated he is, she thought. He’s straightforward to a fault. Father wasn’t entirely wrong to call him single minded.
“I’ve never seen him so angry, Hip,” she said. “I think something terrible is about to happen.”
Hippolytus moved to hold her close again, but Jezebel resisted by placing both hands upon his chest plate.
“There’s something I need to ask you to do,” she said.
“Anything,” he replied, and she could see in his emotions just how much he meant it.
Her mouth opened to tell him what had been on her mind for so long, but fear soon caused it to close.
I’m scared, Hip, she thought. I’ve been scared for my entire life. I want you to take us far away from here. Somewhere father can never find us.
It was so tempting, but she knew she couldn’t say it. Her father would never hurt her no matter what, but if they really did something like that he would certainly take out his anger against Hippolytus. And the truth was that even if they initially got away, her father would eventually find them. There was no one who could help her.
She knew for a fact that her father truly loved her, and she did love him in return. But no one was capable of hiding anything from her. She could see who he really was beneath all his long years of wearing the royal mask—he would never allow her to leave his orbit no matter how long she lived. Her greatest fear was that she’d eventually become an old woman who’d accepted the place he’d assigned to her, haunting the halls of his castle like a ghost as the years took their toll.
“...Please just be safe,” she finally said.
Hippolytus smiled, and leaned down to place his forehead against hers.
“No power exists that could ever separate us,” he said.
She released him with a half-hearted smile, and bade him farewell as he turned to go. A quiet sigh left her once he’d exited the room.
I enjoy how genuine he is, she thought. It’s such a rare and valuable trait. I have to be more careful not to give him any hint of my true feelings or else he’ll do something rash.
Hopelessness settled across Jezebel like a wet blanket. Her future seemed to have been determined long before she’d been born. Even during the rare times when the outside world threatened to upend the status quo, her father always loomed large over her life. And probably always would.
