webcrawl/APGTE/Book-3/tex/Ch-010.md.tex

\hypertarget{usurpation}{%
\section{Usurpation}\label{usurpation}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``One hundred and forty-three: do not try to avert prophecy,
fulfil prophecy or in any way tinker with prophecy. Swallowing poison
will lead to a quicker death and less ironic horror inflicted upon
Creation.''}

-- ``Two Hundred Heroic Axioms'', author unknown
\end{quote}

Kairos was twelve years old and he had less than a year to live.

That was what he'd learned today, going down to the crypt even though he
had been forbidden to by the king. The\ldots{} thing in the tomb had
spoken its prophecy in a croaky whisper, that he would not make it to
his thirteenth nameday. He wished he could say he was surprised, but had
anything ever been more obvious? He'd been born frail, with a dead eye
and limbs that shook. Ripped from his mother's womb too early when her
pregnancy had turned sour and she'd begun withering like grapes on the
vine. The priests and the mages had said he wouldn't survive his first
winter and his father had washed his hands of the matter, putting him in
a distant wing of the palace and drinking all thought of the matter
away. But Kairos was still dragging his crippled hide around the city to
this day, a prince of the blood no one would look in the eye. Royal or
not, he was a pariah. Misfortune had touched him young and never let go,
they said. \emph{Bad seed}. That was what happened when kings wed
commoners, even for love.

The odd-eyed child closed the door after dismissing the servant,
kneeling with shaking legs by the bowl. Dipping a cloth in the warm
water, he wiped away the dust and dirt from his face before resting his
head on the table. Kairos exhaled, his breath unsteady. His lungs had
not been entirely formed when he'd been born, the priests told him. It
was why sometimes he choked on his own spit, clawing at his throat until
a God as cruel as it was merciful returned his breath to him. Those same
priests urged him to entrust his life to the Gods Above, to seek relief
in the life after this one. Until then, he should find solace in prayer
and good deeds: those would not soothe his body, but they would wash
away his sins. They never said exactly what sin he \emph{had} committed.
Presumably being born was bad enough there was no need to belabour the
matter. The cripple laughed quietly, though a rasping cough killed the
mirth halfway through. His knees felt like they were swelling already,
but he stayed kneeling.

He clasped his hands and tried to clear his mind, to let the words of
the House of Light fill it. Nothing came. Staring down into the bowl,
Kairos sighed.

``I am trying,'' he told the Heavens,'' to find a reason to worship you.
Any reason at all.''

His distorted reflection stared back, the blood-filled dead eye made
even more monstrous by the water.

``There's a place beyond the Heavens where righteous souls go, your
people tell me,'' he said. ``A paradise of sorts, from which no one has
ever returned. A reward for those who embrace the seventeen cardinal
virtues while living out their allotted time on Creation.''

Idly, he flicked the side of the bowl. His kneecaps throbbed painfully
but Kairos was no stranger to pain. It was an old friend, the teacher
that had reared him from the cradle and followed him in every misshapen
step he took. The water rippled, turning his reflection from ugly to
abstract.

``It has tempted me, on occasion,'' he said. ``The thought of a place
without suffering. I have to wonder, though -- what would I even do
there?''

He chuckled.

``Sing your praises, rejoice with all the other worthy souls?'' he said.
``Tell me, o Gods Above -- what should I praise you for?''

Silence answered him. It always did. Even in the heart of the House of
Light, where Dorian said he could almost hear the singing of the Choirs,
he was given only silence. Even the Heavens played favourites. Hesitant
knocks at the door roused him from his thoughts.

``Enter,'' the child said.

A servant, head shaved as was tradition and in white robes that hid
their gender, knelt by the open door.

``Prince Kairos,'' they said. ``The king sends for you.''

The cripple shakily rose to his feet, leaning heavily against the table.

``I am feeling ill,'' he replied. ``Tell my father I am unable to attend
him.''

Two men came by the doorway, decked in the ornate bronze armour of the
palace guard. Had their swords ever seen any use, Kairos wondered?
Doubtful. All the real soldiers went into the army.

``The king insists, my prince,'' one of them said.

``Does he, now?'' the cripple said. ``I'll spare all of us the indignity
of you getting me there slung over your shoulder.''

Knees throbbing, Kairos followed them into the corridors. The servant
stayed kneeling until he was gone. The walk was long, by his standards,
and made worse by his exertions of the day. His chambers were in the
oldest part of the palace, the one that had once been the heart of the
fortress when Helike was little more than a castle with huts around it,
but this section was all marble and gold. Frescoes of kings and Tyrants
spread colourfully along the walls, all depicting the many victories of
the city's warlike rulers. That never ceased to amuse him. His father
had never wielded a sword in his life, or even ridden a horse. The few
skirmishes with Stygia and Atalante that had taken place in his lifetime
had been overseen by one of the many generals cluttering the palace,
which while blatant parasites at least knew their way around a
battlefield. The line of Theodosius was sinking further down the wine
barrel every year.

They did not head for the Great Hall. While it was the place where
audiences such as this should take place, the king rarely left his
parlour unless he had to. The place had grown when the adjoining
chambers had seen their walls knocked down to make room for more seats
and a direct route to both the cellars and the palace kitchen. What
little business was still conducted by Helike's royal line instead of
being tossed into the hands of councillors happened there, more often
than not. Kairos had only ever stepped foot into the room a handful of
times. He was not invited to the courtly games and drinking binges that
took place behind those doors. He would not have attended even if he had
been: there were few things fouler to look at than a man deep in his
cups. The obnoxious laughter always made him think thoughts the Heavens
would frown upon.

The guards were still flanking him when he limped into the parlour. The
room was half-full, which still meant almost a hundred people. The King
of Helike was on a long couch full of cushions and courtesans, a cup of
wine in hand and chuckling as he fed one a piece of honeyed plum. The
sexagenarian had kept a full head of hair, though gone white, and his
face still kept the remains of the handsomeness of his youth. For a man
who spent most of his time feasting, he was not all that fat. His face
was red, though. Wine took its toll. The rest of the parlour was
arranged in a half-circle of couches all turned towards the free space
in the centre. Usually, it was filled with dancers, musicians and other
performers but today all it had to offer was Kairos' crippled form. A
disappointment, no doubt. The couches closest to the king were filled
with sycophants and nobles, but the wings of the half-circle on both
sides effectively made up the heart of Helike's ruling class. To the
left, the most powerful nobles and the most influential generals formed
a sober and uncomfortable cluster. All of them were looking at him.

To the right were Dorian and his cronies. Many were sons and daughters
to the very same people across them, but there were others. Priests,
even a member of the Order of the Righteous Spear. The heir to Helike
himself looked like a living statue. Perfect pale skin unmarred by his
hours in the sun, long flowing golden locks that cascaded down his
shoulders. Kairos' nephew had that peculiar sort of vanity where he
refused to style himself, preferring to awe people with his natural good
looks. The other prince was tall and perfectly proportioned, talented
with a sword and lance. A famed horseman and promising commander,
fair-handed in all things and an orator of talent. That hadn't stopped
Dorian's father from drunkenly slipping in the baths and breaking his
neck, of course. \emph{It used to take half a continent to put us down},
Kairos thought with disgust. \emph{Now all it takes is a wet tile.} The
golden-haired prince smiled encouragingly in his uncle's direction. The
cripple looked away, limping his way to the couch where the king was
finally deigning to notice his presence.

``Kairos,'' King Amyntas Theodosian greeted him flatly. ``You made me
wait.''

``The shaking of my legs does not bow to decrees,'' the prince said.

He did not manage to thread as much apology in that as he should have.

``Neither does your head, boy,'' the king barked. ``I forbade you to go
into the crypt. Do you deny you disobeyed me?''

``Grandfather,'' Dorian spoke up. ``My uncle is obviously feeling
ill.~Perhaps this matter could be settled another day?''

Kairos eyed his hand, which was shaking like a leaf. Not, though, out of
fear. How strange. When he'd woken this morning, he had been already
flinching at the thought of his father's displeasure. Now, looking at
the fury painted over the king's face, he could think of only one thing:
\emph{what are you going to do, Father? Kill me before I die?} The
prince closed his hand, tucked it under his tunic where it could not be
seen trembling.

``I do not,'' he said. ``Deny it, that is.''

Some part of him wondered if he should have thought this through. Found
an excuse, cooked up a scheme to shield him from the king's anger. He
hadn't though. He didn't even have a reason for admitting to this. Just
morbid curiosity.

``You disobeyed a royal decree,'' King Amyntas growled. ``That is
\emph{treason}.''

``I suppose it is,'' Kairos mused. ``How tawdry of me, if you'll forgive
my language. Still, I'm surprised you only sent for me now. I left the
crypt before dawn came. Were you too drunk until now to hear the
report?''

The silence in the room was deafening. Not a single person even dared to
breathe.

``Are you \emph{mocking} me, cripple?'' his father spat.

``Obviously,'' the prince replied. ``I did try to make it blatant, for
your sake.''

``I could have you killed for this,'' the king said, looking almost
sober now.

Though no less furious, evidently.

``It will spare me the walk back to my chambers, at least,'' Kairos
said. ``By all means, get on with it.''

The was a ripple in the parlour, though his words were not the cause of
it. Dorian made his way to his side, graceful even in haste, and knelt
as a supplicant.

``Grandfather,'' he said. ``My uncle is delirious with pain, that is the
only explication for his words. I implore you, do not make this decision
in anger.''

The king looked at his precious golden grandson humbling himself against
marble and hesitated. \emph{How proud you are, nephew, even on your
knees}, Kairos thought. The cripple limped to the closest table and
snatched a cup of wine, pouring it out before casually tossing it at the
other prince. The bronze made a delightful little bonk as it hit the
back of his head before rolling on the floor.

``Get up, Dorian,'' Kairos said. ``Your wretched pity is the worst
indignity I've been subjected to today.''

Surprise and irritation flickered across that perfect face and Dorian
turned towards him. The odd-eyed child drank in the sight of it. It as
like finally drinking cool water after years of being parched.

``Uncle-`` he began.

``You are more platitude than man,'' Kairos said. ``I want no part of
what you peddle.''

``You've gone mad, boy,'' the king said, sounding horrified.

Slowly, the odd-eyed child took out the hand he'd slipped into his
tunic. It was, he saw, no longer shaking. He wondered if there was a
meaning in that.

``Guards, take him to his quarters,'' King Amyntas ordered. ``Prince
Kairos is under house arrest until I decree otherwise.''

The men pulled him away roughly under the stares of the entire court, as
he continued thoughtfully looking at his hand.

--

His sleep was dreamless and his hours empty. The apothecaries tried to
shove half a dozen different remedies down his throat, but he flatly
refused to have anything to do with them. He was going to die, soon
enough. What little time he had left would not be spent moving from one
daze to another. His first visitor was, naturally, Dorian. It was
midmorning after he was first put under arrest that the heir to Helike
came, followed by that androgynous fanatic of his. The daughter of a
fairly prominent noble, he remembered, though he could not recall her
name. Slender and short-haired, and the way she could have been either a
boy or a girl branded her a servant in his eyes. In Helike it was only
they who made a point of surrendering the more obvious trappings of
gender. Still, it hardly mattered since she herself hardly mattered. The
girl hovered by the entrance when her master entered, leaving only
reluctantly when he dismissed her and closed the door. Kairos would give
it decent odds she was waiting outside in the corridor.

``Good morning, Uncle,'' Dorian greeted him, taking the seat across his.
``Has your health improved?''

The odd-eyed child put down the cup of water he'd been drinking on the
table, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

``I am twelve years old, and I can tell that girl is in love with you,''
Kairos said, wrinkling his nose as he ignored the greeting.

``Semia is a dear friend,'' Dorian replied. ``Put no stock in rumours.''

``Your kindness is worse than cruelty, nephew,'' the cripple said.

The golden prince flinched, then mastered himself.

``I've been talking to grandfather,'' he said. ``Your arrest will be
revoked soon.''

The odd-eyed child raised an eyebrow.

``Why?'' he asked.

``Traditionally, all of royal blood are allowed-`` Dorian began.

``I mean why did you talk to Father?'' Kairos interrupted.

The man looked surprised.

``You are my uncle,'' he said. ``I would not see you punished this
way.''

``You don't love me, Dorian,'' the cripple said.

``We're \emph{family},'' the prince replied, almost offended.

``So you feel guilt, and go through the motions regardless,'' Kairos
said. ``I must admit I find that rather disgusting, if you'll forgive my
language.''

The heir to Helike looked irritated, then his face softened.

``I understand you're in pain, Kairos,'' he said. ``And frustrated.
You've been mistreated ever since you could walk. Grandfather is not the
man he used to be, and how you've been treated was\ldots{} ill-done. It
will be different, when I rule. You will not have to be alone anymore.''

``No one has ever \emph{disliked} you before, have they Dorian?'' the
child said, cocking his head to the side. ``Not to your face, at
least.''

``I want to help you, uncle,'' the golden-haired man said earnestly.

``It's not because you're beautiful, you know,'' Kairos said. ``Or even
because so many people love you while they despise the sight of me. It's
because you're hollow.''

``Pardon?'' the other prince said.

``You're not a person, Dorian,'' the child said. ``All you are is an
object, moving according to rules not your own. You don't want anything
for yourself.''

``It is the duty of a ruler to sublimate their selfish desires for the
good of his people,'' the prince replied quietly.

``I am going to die,'' Kairos smiled. ``Sometime soon, I am told. And
yet, just with the few moments yesterday in that parlour, I'll have been
alive longer than you will be throughout your entire life.''

``I made a choice, uncle,'' Dorian said. ``I've been given so many
gifts, I owe it to Creation to use them for the sake of others.''

``We don't owe anyone anything,'' Kairos said.

And in that moment, the words coming out of his mouth without thought,
he finally understood it all. There was a trap and there was bait. Live
according to our rules, the Heavens said. Toil and struggle and die,
fritter away your days and you will be rewarded after death. \emph{It
doesn't matter what comes after. Only now. All we are is what we do}.
\emph{And if you let Gods decided that for you, you're not anyone at
all.}

``I always admired it, you know,'' his nephew said. ``The way you kept
going to the House of Light even if you never got anything from it. Not
like I do. It doesn't matter if they say you were born bad, Kairos.
You're \emph{trying}, that's what matters.''

Dorian leaned forward.

``We are what we do.''

``Yes,'' the boy who would be the Tyrant smiled. ``I couldn't agree
more.''

When the nobles and the generals came that night, cloaked and bearing
treason in their eyes, he was still smiling.