Chapter IV | The World Riptide

Year 693 a.S., Winter | City Pyraleia, the Capital

The Minister of Church, Lord Baron August Caecilius.

In the seconds before the making of history, he found himself stroking the shiny gold surface of the king’s crown. Then the crowd of people before him reappeared in his vision with his trance ended, and the Throne Hall came back to life. Members of the King’s Court, knights and nobles from houses across the nation—they all came to see the first crowning of a new king in two centuries. The Lord August prayed no one had noticed his nigh heretical act, but he knew there was no point in prayer, so he stopped and continued on.

He was dressed in his religious garb for the occasion, a robe made of linen ribbons that curled up from the ankles and joined at the waist. These ribbons dragged across the dusty floor of the Throne Hall as he moved from the throne itself down to the ground floor, where the Crown Prince stood in waiting. Three long years had passed since the previous King’s Carnation had declared his nephew to be their next monarch, and only now that he was eighteen could they finally crown him a king.

And Claude himself, at present the most important man in the world, found the entire affair to be dreadfully droll. Despite the fact that the ceremony had not been done in over two centuries, the Church missed not a single beat, as if they had been practicing for this moment every day since the coronation of Finryd himself. “The paradox of tradition,” the Kid King thought. “Somehow both striking and dull at the same time.”

Finally, when it was done hours later, and he was seated in that old throne, a seat as pristine as the day it was chiselled from the rock wall behind, the country once at standstill could finally begin to move again.

“Your Grace,” were the first words uttered at noon then. They were uttered by Sir Nico Calista, High Lejindir of the RINGKNIGHTs, an order of the GUARDs formed to dedicate themselves to the king and nothing but. There were nine of them, including Sir Nico, each one representing a city of Purily, and as well a ring on the king’s hands, paid as tribute from each of the eight kings who bent the knee and the last for House Morsylis itself. “I would have died in your service, if the Holy Lady instructed it to be.”

Claude crossed his legs over an armrest on the throne and took a bite out of an apple he had squirreled away into a pocket before arriving. “Good sir, I must admit that a dead knight is of very little use to me. I’m very proud of you for realizing that.” His uncle narrowed his eyes at Claude, unamused by the quip. And another he noticed, was a Lana Rose who sat at the far end of the hall with the squat Minister of Transport, barely restraining her laughter with an arm slung over her stomach. “I jest, of course. A good RINGKNIGHT is meant to die for their king, but old Finryd took too long. How many generations of High Lejindir precede you, Sir Nico?”

“I am technically the fourth, Your Grace.”

“The fourth lejindir of the First Order,” Claude elaborated. “Almost comical, if you think about it. I’m assuming you want to retire now? I recommend City Midia; I’ve heard both their girls and their summers are gorgeous beyond compare.”

“I wish to retire to the HUNTERs. Your Grace.” He almost tacked the honor at the end as if it were a burden to do so.

Claude brought his feet back to the ground and sat in his throne proper, taking one more bite of his apple before stuffing it into his pocket. And as he chewed, he examined the old knight, with his white hair and deepening lines. Jokes aside, Nico Calista was known as the greatest knight in history, and in his youth, the years before the Old King had lost his wits, he singlehandedly quashed a Midtown rebellion in the Western Wing. A rebellion worth cannons and rootsteel. He traveled from city to city putting rebellions to rest, it was said. Twelve in total, each one in fewer than an hour. “I don’t recommend it,” he finally said.

“Alas, it is my desire.”

“You are a duke’s brother,” Claude continued. “Once retired of your oath, you may return home with riches to spare. A life in Layer 1 without worry or responsibility, there to bask in the world’s pleasures in every breath until your last. Who in their right mind would choose to join the HUNTERs?”

Sir Nico cracked a smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “I am not the only one with this wish. The Peach RINGKNIGHT, Sir Hiroaki Chiyoda, will join me there as well. The First RINGKNIGHT, Sir Cassius March, too. And finally, the Wraith RINGKNIGHT, your fifth cousin I believe, Sir Aquila Caecilius.”

“Lords and youths…” Claude muttered. “Fine. Throw your lives away as you please. I’ve already found a replacement for you, Nico, and with your lejindir gone, the rest of you have no obligation to remain. Who else has plans to leave, by the way?”

The Throne RINGKNIGHT stepped up next, then, beside Sir Nico who glanced concernedly at the young man. “I’ve heard a great many rumors that your Minister of Intelligence has of late shuffled off his mortal coil, which leaves his position unfilled. My king, I would like to request to fill that very position. If you would do me the honor.”

“Timothy Tom,” Claude mused. “By the holy lady, what a stupid name. Your entire house is near a joke, sir knight. Why would I name you a position of such great responsibility?”

“If I may, Your Grace,” Sir Nico interjected. “Timothy is a bright young man. Strong and intelligent, and earnest to a fault. He would be a blessing to your court.”

Claude almost chortled. “Odd, I never thought earnestness to be a desirable trait for spies and gossip-wielders.”

“On the other hand!” Tristan called out from across the hall. “House Tom has been known to lie and cheat for almost their entire history.”

“You make a fine point, little minister!” Claude called back. “Fine then, Lord Timothy. I accept your request. The court is dismissed!”

Nico Calista cleared his throat. “One last thing, my king. I was wondering, who is to be my replacement?”

Claude paused. He had known Nico would retire for nearly a month now, long before his coronation was to be had, and since learning it, he struggled to find a half-decent replacement. Nico the Steel had been his hero since he first heard the name, and no matter the swaths of knights he investigated, not a single one came close to the prestige of the one he admired most.

“What’s on your mind?” Lana Rose had asked him a week before. They were still in class together at Fallryn Academy, just the two of them after the rest had cleared out, eager to get home and away from everyone else. Yes, the silence of his classmates unnerved him, but for some reason, the charm of this girl who wouldn’t shut up unnerved him even more. He was Crown Prince, for heaven’s sake. And she spoke to him like he was a little plaything, like a wad of dough to be kneaded with her words. When he realized his threats of violence would do nothing, he tried then to best her in conversation, again to no avail. And that smile. Like she always had something up her sleeve, perhaps evil, perhaps kind. He could never tell. But now, her eyes showed concern, real concern the likes of which he had never seen, even from his parents. The closest came from his uncle, who he hated in return. But he didn’t like Lana either, so what was the difference? Because she was pretty?

“I need to choose a new High Lejindir once I become king,” Claude admitted. “But I can’t seem to find anyone worthy.”

“Worthy of you?” Lana guffawed. “Half my neighbors with sticks are worth your lejindir whats-it.”

“I could kill half your neighbors armed with guns just by breathing.”

Lana sat back and smiled. The evening light made her auburn hair glow like fire. “True. But think about it, Claude. If you’re the strongest guy in the world, why go looking for someone who’s not nearly as strong as you to be your bodyguard? That’s not what you need. They may call you the Kid King now, but sooner or later, they’ll call you by a name that not even Finryd the Old was worth: Claude the Immortal. How’s that?”

“I think you’ve been reading too many books,” he scoffed.

“And you, not enough. Keep your wits up, little prince. The moment you’re outwitted is the moment you lose, immortal or not.”

“Then who would you have me name?”

“A girl,” Lana said.

“Not you.”

“Not me,” she agreed. “No, someone like an enemy, but too good to really be an enemy. Someone clever, too. You don’t need physical power, Claude. Your uncle made certain of that. You need political power. Choose a girl. A girl someone cares about.”

The memory ended there, and Claude sat back in his throne again, a knuckle to his lip in consideration. His eyes swept the room, one by one until they found the girl he was looking for. Nearly every royal and noble worth anything sat or stood in the Throne Hall that day, so he knew she would be there. And she was, standing right beside her father with perfect posture, curly black hair cut so short, one could mistake her for a boy if it weren’t for her figure and her dress. Her eyelashes were so long, they shimmered like lines of ink yet to dry. He continued to stare until she finally met his gaze. “I name Lady Lilya Caecilius,” he muttered. The court quieted then, to hear the king whose voice barely grew above a whisper. “To be the first lady knight of Purily, I hereby name the Lady Lilya as High Lejindir to the Second Order of the King’s RINGKNIGHTs.”

The court exploded in uproar, and Claude simply sat and basked in it, wondering if he’d made the right decision. Lilya stared at her king, bewildered and bright-eyed, but it was Lana he looked at now. The lucky wore an inscrutable expression where she would usually put on a smile, and he couldn’t help but wonder why as the clamoring voices drowned out everything else around him, and she turned her back to him and left the hall.