The Zalkyrian Ultimatum

[Pharaoh]

"The Zalkyrian Ultimatum"
1 Frost 123
The Presence Chamber
Palatium Umbrarum

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It was not long after the calamitous Mascerata Regia that the Luxian Prince Regent and his entire Regium Consilium were delivered an imperative from the Zalkyrian Crown. They were commanded to appear before the Umbrian throne on the first of Frost. So it was that the acting head of the Luxium and the head of every cadet house of Gens Sol’Aværys came to stand in the presence chamber of the Palatium Umbrarum.

The room had been modified since most of those present had last seen it. A wider daïs was set up to house seven thrones, rather than the singular Argent Throne, which was situated at the centre of this configuration, looming higher than all others. Upon the Argent Throne sat His Exalted Majesty Zalkyriax Zalkyrialis: Rex Draconum, Vigilæ Vulcani et Pater Atraxiæ. His elven seeming was that of a platinum elf with reptilian wings ostensibly forged of pure platinum. At his right hand sat Arvælyn Princeps Coronam and at his left sat Cithæra Princeps Sibylla. On either side of their triad sat the other four dragons of the dynasty in their winged, demi-elven forms. On the steps below that top tier stood Valæra, Phocion, Raithen and, perhaps most surprising to the Luxian contingent: Finn Viator, betrothed to the Princeps Coronam.

Before the whole of the Zalkyrian dynasty, the Luxians lowered themselves to one knee. Only Arkænyn hesitated to make such a gesture until, at a nudge from Prince Drævyn, he succumbed as well, albeit with a snarl.

“I will not waste time with pleasantries,” The Crownwyrm thundered, “I have commanded you here in answer to the attempt that was made upon the life of my son and heir by your derelict sovereign. Thalya has seen fit to abandon you all, only returning in a botched attempt to destabilise the realm by assassinating her son and, more to the point, mine.”

Arkænyn glanced up with a sharp frown, parting his lips to speak, before Drævyn grabbed his arm in a sharp warning which was heeded reluctantly by the Platinum Prince.

“This aggression cannot go unanswered and, for her complicity in this vile conspiracy, I do hereby declare Thalya of House Vlahos-Sol’Aværys an enemy of the Umbrian Crown.”

There were gasps among the assembled Luxians and even Phocion seemed taken aback, glancing furtively over his shoulder toward the austere presence of his dragon liege.

“This leaves the reigning House of Sol’Aværys with two options: 1. You uphold tradition and hold fast to your fealty oaths to your renegade queen or: 2. You renounce the apostate, call a Conclave of Electors and proclaim a new Luxian sovereign.” The tension was palpable as several of the Luxian royals shifted where they knelt, casting sidelong glances of alarm to their kinfolk.

“Should ye choose the former, know ye this: I will consider you to be willing accomplices to a brazen act of war. As your ancestors annihilated the Cælian Kings in the purifying starfire of my breath, so shall I cull House Sol’Aværys of all who retain their allegiance to this pariah. If we war, my dynasty shall personally see to the eradication of all offending abettors to the queen and in the still smouldering ashes of your storied dynasty shall I claim all of Solunarium for mine own. You have until the end of this year to render a decision. Choose wisely.” Zalkyriax snarled,

“Or burn.”

[Finn]

If something was going to derail his wedding plans, he supposed an assassination attempt on two crown princes was a valid excuse. The medici and Assessors had done their work well, and his mind was largely whole after Thalya's attack. There remained an occasional echo, of course, and those would remain for a while, opportunities for him to exert his rational will over his less rational emotional responses.

Finn was going to have to petition for training to strengthen his mind against psychic attacks and, he supposed, other terrible things like torture. He didn't like to think of such things, but now he lived in a world where his beloved had a target painted between his eyes, between his shoulders. Just as Aoren had been used as a lever against Talon, Finn knew he could be used as a lever against Arvælyn, and now that his family seemed keen to abide near him, they might be used as a lever against him.

But he couldn't let that bother him. The Umbrian throne and the Silver Sentinels would protect them just as they protected him. Safety was an illusion; one simply did the best one could.

And Finn was going to do the best he could to be the red right hand of Zalkyriax Zalkyrialis. It would surprise those who knew him even passing well that a desire for mortal revenge had burned in him, then cooled into something almost reptilian. There were those who deemed him too soft for the Vigilia, too soft for Solunarian politics, and perhaps he had been. If so, they had hardened him, tempered him with training, and Thalya's assassination attempt had finally plunged the white hot steel of him into the water.

He wanted to slit her throat and offer her hearts-blood to the Divine Twins. He wanted to use the same bloody dagger to excise her name from monuments. A little part of him admired her ambition, but that little part was drowned in the depths of his own. Arvælyn was the centerpiece of his own hunger, and he would be sated.

All this went on within him, roiling like Mount Sorokyn's magma. Those outside who deigned to look upon him while His Exalted Majesty held court would see a face as still as stone, limpid blue eyes gone opaque. He didn't judge; it wasn't his place. Whether the attack on Arkænyn had been ruse or real, he didn't know, but he wondered if they wouldn't be better off under the sole leadership of the platinum dragon, god-emperor of the dunes.

[Raithen]

Raithen had not been informed of what the coerced audience was about. Not that he had been coerced; his mother's message telling him he was required was more than enough to assure his attendance. It wasn't as though this were the first function he'd been told to be at in support of his family, nor was it the most onerous. Standing between his elder brother and his soon-to-be brother-in-law was something he might have chosen for himself, even if they all faced outward and did not speak.

He waited, placid and calm, as the 'guests' filed in. There was no herald to perform grand announcements, but he knew them all, of course. If there were any he did not know by personal name he at least knew their family names. That they gathered in little knots along lines of blood and alliances didn't hurt. They were all of them nervous, uncomfortable, some were angry, others afraid. Raithen was no Mesmer, nor even a Sembler, but he knew how to read a crowd. He kept an eye out with his kinetics for anything unexpected, making note of the way weapons whispered through the slip space and who carried them. He was no as skilled as Phocion and the chance that his skills would be required was more or less laughable considering those that stood above and around him, but that was no reason not to keep a health watch.

The arrival of the Regent's and his entourage was a little bit of a surprise, and it spoke volumes of the relative power that the Luxium had lost in the disaster that had ended the Mascarata. It had been the last time Raithen had seen Arkænyn, though, he supposed, he had not seen him then. The thought threatened to twist his mouth but he kept his face still. Seeing the arrogant Princeps sink reluctantly to his knees might have excited another man, whetted his already piqued interest, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Raithen. There was only a moment to consider this before his Zalkyriax was speaking and His voice took up all the attention available.

Even not knowing what was coming, Raithen didn't have to try and hide his surprise when he heard them. There was little else such an assembly could have been called about and this had always been where they were headed. No one who knew his mother and failed to realize that this had been the inevitable outcome was a fool and worse.

The die was not cast, because Cithaera did not play games of chance. This was chess, or chess was as close an analogy to the centuries old game they were all pieces in as he could think of. If Raithen was not a pawn he was a knight, and barely so, awaiting instructions was the safest and wisest choice he'd ever had. War was coming, one way or another. Either the Luxian nobility would submit to Zalkyriax's demand and overthrow their sovereign, plunging themselves into a faction war that would only end when one family had crushed the others, or they would reject it and Umbra would war with Lux. More likely, it would be both. The chances of all the sunlit nobles turning on their Queen was slim, but the chances that all of them would refuse Zalkyriax was even slimmer.

The Luxian balance, as it stood, was over.

Raithen's eyes fell back to Arkænyn. It wasn't his fault. He might not be a pawn either, but he wasn't a Queen, and he never would have been. While he could hope that his sometimes paramour survived, he would not be troubled if he did not, only a little sad.

[Pharaoh]

Arvælyn looked on in stony, stoic stillness but for a faint sneer painted upon his lips as he looked down upon his Luxian counterpart kneeling before the base of the daïs.

With jaw set and teeth firmly clenched, Arkænyn slowly rose. Though Drævyn grasped his upper arm, he brushed it off with an angry snarl and regarded the rival king.

“As a subject of this attempt, Exalted Majesty, allow me to say that we are in accord. My heart was turned from Thalya and steeled against her the moment I realised what she was up to. She thinks herself clever… she thinks me dim, and yet her agents who griped my face and would gripe my throne assailed the wrong mark. In failing to slay me, they have made of me a zealous nemesis. As I have proclaimed before all in my Consilium, I shall before Your Exalted Majesty renounce my fealty to my mother.” He turned his back on the daïs to address his closer cousins of the Luxium:

“Since Her Divine Radiance abandoned our realm, it has been my hand at the rudder. I urge you all to join me in renouncing fealty to Thalya and embrace me, no more as Prince Regent, but as your gods-anointed Starlit Sovereign, fated to be the first in centuries to assume that title. Though she be a feckless renegade, hers is the blood of the Founders and mine is the pure pedigree of our unbroken line. The portents are clear. The era of the Deiori is upon us, and I shall harbinge the coming of the Supreme Elven Race.”

A pregnant pause pursued Arkænyn’s proclamation as looks were exchanged. By and by, Everyl Princeps Prætor, Master of Laws, raised his gaze to the foot of the Argent Throne.

“With Your Exalted Majesty’s leave, I shall call the Conclave of Electors into session to discuss these grave and lofty affairs.”

“Splendid.” It was Cithæra who replied, “I shall look forward to it.”

“…Your Serene Highness?” Everyl arched a brow.

“Am I not Princeps Sibylla of House Sol’Aværys?”

“You are whatever the Umbrium deems you to be, since Gens Phædryn swore fealty to the Zalkyrian Crown. You have renounced your place in the conclave.”

“On the contrary, Serene Highness. I remain the Materfamilias of House Phædryn Sol'Aværys and thus a voting member of the conclave. If you look to the letter of the law, you will find that my allegiance does not come into it so long as I remain a citizen of Solunarium, which I very much am.”

“With all due respect, if that is so it is merely due to a lack of foresight on the part of our predecessors who could not have anticipated the Exalted Dynasty might assert a claim that would split the realm…”

“Are you not the Keeper of the Laws, cousin? The law is written. I will expect your invitation to participate in the coming conclave in the role blood and duty demand.”

“So be it.” Everyl inclined his head, then glanced to Arkænyn who stalked close to him to growl.

“Consider well what I have said and remember the precedents that favour me as you recall those that favour her.”

“Enough.” Bellowed Zalkyriax, “You may fill your own halls with discord. I dismiss you hence from mine.”

Arkænyn and Everyl turned to offer bows to the Crownwyrm, before turning on their heels to march hastily toward the rear exit, as the others in their party rushed to follow them out.

[Finn]

It was not Finn's place to speak here, merely to quietly observe and play the part of His Exalted Highness' betrothed. The calm, unified front of the Umbrium made the Luxian bustle seem almost piteous as they tried to maintain their aplomb. Finn hadn't a dragon's blood, nor even a Founder's, and so he found himself trying to mimic Phocion's stoicism. His superior in the Vigilia Argenti and Custodes Deorum had a standard poker face that was as difficult to read as if his veil was up. Finn admired that.

While most eyes were upon His Starlit Highness, his work as a Sentinel had trained him to look for the less obvious details. As such, he found himself looking upon the Keeper of Coin as Arkænyn proclaimed himself some sort of Messiah. Finn had studied, but was more focused on Aværys than the so-called elven master race. Aværys had transcended his elven birth and didn't seem as sold on their supremacy anymore.

In any case, the paterfamilias of gens Danaan was too keen a politico to reveal his true thoughts, but Finn knew he had a platinum son, young and undergoing certain trials to finish his education. He wondered whether he had any plans for his son that would counter Arkænyn's bid. Certainly, he must—contingency plans, at the very least. Were his platinum child a daughter, she would likely already be wed to the Regent.

But what did Finn know...?

When the last of the Luxians had fled the room, he waited a few beats, and then allowed himself a slow inhale through the nose and exhale through his lips before he glanced up to gauge Arvælyn's reactions. Not for the first time, he was glad that he was on the good side of Cithæra and her draconic partner.

He didn't truly wish ill upon Arkænyn, but from what he had seen, the elf wouldn't make the most stable of monarchs, superficial markers aside. It didn't seem meet to climb up to Arvælyn's level without permission, especially not with the Crownwyrm present, but he took the few steps to Raithen's side.

"What do you reckon?"

[Raithen]

Raithen, unexpectedly even to himself, found himself deep in thoughts that he couldn't quite keep track of as he watched the elite of the Sun make the way out. The group was muted, some fighting to keep in their words until they were somewhere more private, some looking as though they never intended to speak again, at least, not where the Crownwyrm might hear them.

While his mind was occupied his eyes did as they had been trained to do from the time he'd first pulled himself up on his own two feet; watching and cataloging without judgment. Others could decide what was important, but if his mother or brother came to him later and asked where a specific person had been, or who they had been with, and he didn't have the answer, he would be ashamed.

Thus doubly occupied it took Raithen a moment to realize that someone was speaking to him. In other circumstances, he would have left some of his mind to keep an eye out for danger but if anything could do him harm in his current company then there would be nothing he himself could do about it. Turning to Finn without really realizing to whom he spoke the Avialea said,

"Phaedryn Regnans."

Then he blinked, realized it was Finn, and pushed away whatever deep thinking had been sucking up his processing power.

"Cithæra always wins." It wasn't a cheer, any more than the first words had been. They were both simply a fact in his world. There might be setbacks, and plans always needed adjusting after the moment of contact, but in the end, there was no web wider than that of Princeps Sibylla, and there never would be.

A little half-smile accompanied the statement, however, inviting Finn to stay and keep talking if he wished.

"Or did you mean them?" A subtle nod of his head toward the departed Sun Court showed his meaning. Blowing out his breath a bit he stared after them and then shook his head a little. "Thalya is good," Already he used no honorific, "was good, but captum dracones errare."

He could expound upon his thoughts but had learned as a child that his assessment was always dozens of steps behind those of the rest of his family so he didn't speak up unless someone asked for specifics. Glancing to the side he could already see that Phocion would be in no mood to be interrupted for the foreseeable future so instead, Raithen cast his eyes upwards, to his golden brother.

"Do you think your beloved might be in the mood to share a drink or two?" Politics were not where Raithen was needed and, though he was sure both were learning, in a situation this complex and delicate he doubted that Arvælyn or Finn would be required for consultation and, to be honest, he rather wanted the company.

[Arvælyn]

As the Solar Court departed, the Zalkyrians rose from their seats in unison to converge upon their eldest kinsman at his Argent Throne. Arvælyn stood a beat after they, and Cithæra stepped up to their level of the daïs as her Moonborn children moved just the step below their betters.

"They will yield unto our ultimatum. That much is passing plain." Cithæra observed in quiet candour.

"They would be mad to do otherwise." Arvælyn offered.

"And that is almost a pity. I would not have been loath to expand your inheritance, had they given me just cause." Zalkyriax snarled.

"The question now is who will sit the Radiant Throne at the end of the deliberations?" Valæra mused, "The Regium Consilium is clearly ill at ease with Arkænyn, but he is not wrong to play up the Platinum precedent. Sanguinists are nothing if not reverent of tradition, and his position is portentous as the Starborn son of a sitting Solar Sovereign."

"...A queen gone rogue." Phocion interjected, "That takes a bit of wind out of those particular sails, I should think."

"Supposition. There is no more to be gleaned this day. Our Princeps Sibylla will report regularly on the goings on at the Conclave of Electors. Phocion, Valæra... I hereby create you members of the Consilium Draconum. You will attend our sessions henceforth to advise on these and other affairs."

Phocion seemed visibly taken aback, whereas Valæra's ætherite eyes displayed no signs of surprise or gratitude, as both elves bowed in acknowledgement and acceptance of their new assignments.

"Dismissed." Zalkyriax declared, rising from his throne and stalking down the steps of the daïs with no further ceremony, promptly pursued by a procession of his draconic siblings.

"Valæra, to me." Cithæra commanded as they, too, descended the daïs, leaving Phocion and Arvælyn at the top tier with Finn and Raithen positioned a few steps down and off to one side. The honour guard surrounding the platform remained in place.

"What a way to start the season." Phocion offered, cracking a smirk. "And your wedding mere days away..."

"Indeed..." Arvælyn's eyes trailed to Finn, where he was in conversation with Raithen. "And for a few moments there, this gathering was nerve-wracking enough to overtake my anxiety over that... But thank you for reminding me, frater."

"Happy to help."

[Finn]

"We could certainly invite him," he said, then fell silent as he listened to the powers that be discuss what had occurred and what was yet to come. Whatever happened, Finn quietly celebrated that he was on the side that would be victorious. Zalkyriax Invictus, he murmured near inaudibly to himself. He had never anticipated a father-in-law who would be quite so intimidating, even though they continued to develop a sort of rapport.

When the greater powers had departed, he caught Arvælyn's eyes and smiled.

To Phocion, "Salve, Consiliarius," by way of congratulation. "Would you and my beautiful beloved like to join Raithen and me for a drink?"

Finn assumed Phocion would decline per usual, but he always made the offer lest the least readable of Cithæra's sons want for socialization. And Arvælyn was always invited; he was so busy with princedom that Finn was ever eager for whatever time he could secure with the man. Of course, soon they would have their nuptial holiday, but that was a once in a lifetime situation. He intended to make the most of it.

They hadn't exactly decided on a locale. Anything their palates might desire was likely available at the palace, and while he knew Raithen enjoyed the night life, Finn would have been equally content sharing a pot of tea with the brothers.

[Raithen]

Raithen offered his own congratulations, though a part of him wondered if his elder brother wanted to add such an important addition to his already full plate of duties. Sadly, Raithen was not in a position to relieve any of those duties, perhaps, had he been made differently, the stress could have been spread around more. Not that Phocion would either shirk or complain. Ever.

The feathered brother's eyes lit up when his soon-to-be brother-in-law included the eldest of the brothers in the invitation. Raithen tried not to trouble Phocion with invitations too often, even if he knew any that were unwanted would be declined without hesitation, for fear that rejecting them might grow into a habit. If he thought that all four of them would have time before the wedding he might have put together a stag night, sans any sexual additions, for all those who were, or would seen be fraternally bound. Finding entertainments that would interest each of the disparate men without offending any of them would have been a challenge but that, at least, was the sort of challenge Raithen could rise to.

His current intention was to bring everyone back to one of the private dining rooms so they could drink whatever they fancied and eat if they wanted. Raithen could always eat now and seemingly with no fear of losing his girlish figure. A gift of Avaerys was also often a curse but this particular one, while at times uncomfortable, was really no issue to one who never need worry where his next meal would come from. The servants seemed to have adapted to his new appetite by always including some form of feed whenever he called for drinks, and often he found trays of tidbits just left around his rooms. So used was the Dux to such automatic interventions among the servi of his mother's residences that finding the responsible party to either thank or reward them never entered his head.

He didn't add his own plea to Finn's request but he did look up at both of his brothers with an expression that said, quite clearly, that he would particularly appreciate and enjoy their company.

[Arvælyn]

Phocion parted his lips, but it was Arvælyn’s voice that pierced the silence pursuant to Finn’s invitation.

“We’d love to.” He accepted with a smile. Phocion’s jaw snapped shut and he pursed his lips as he executed a stiff, perhaps reluctant nod. It was rare that this particular cohort found themselves in the same place with free time to exploit, and Phocion was content to push past his initial hesitation to fraternise with his brothers and impending brother-in-law. Phocion was also keenly aware that their mother would chide him if he failed to facilitate and encourage new bridges being forged between the two winged ones.

“What did you have in mind?” Phocion inquired, the answer to which would certainly impact his level of enthusiasm about what was to come. Or, if not enthusiasm, at least how uncomfortable he was like to be.

Arvælyn began to descend the steps of the daïs, with Phocion following close behind.

“That was all very exciting.” Arvælyn began, making conversation. “Though I do wish Thalya would have done us the boon of waiting until after our honeymoon to make an attempt on my life. As if wedding planning wasn’t stressful enough, she has to go a throw assassination into the mix.” He managed to sound more inconvenienced than confounded, for the sake of gallows humour.

“I suspect she might say the same about your father’s interruption of her centennial jubiliee…” Phocion observed, “In light of that, it seems rather more of a quid pro quo, I should think.”

“Heh…” Arry pursed his lips, “Fair enough.” As they reached the archway leading out of the presence chamber, Arvælyn stepped aside and gestured for Raithen to lead their little procession as their uncontested impromptu event planner.