webcrawl/APGTE/Book-5/out/Ch-072.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-48-swan-song-redux}{%
\chapter{Swan Song (Redux)}\label{chapter-48-swan-song-redux}}



\epigraph{``Beware of deep passions, for great love may turn in hatred just
as great.''}{Hesperos the Tepid, Atalantian preacher}



Less then an hour was left before the sky fell down on Iserre, and three
great armies were broken and buried. How many people were down there,
right now? I'd off-handedly said two hundred thousand, but with the
League's armies it had to be more than that. Three hundred? It didn't
matter, I thought. Their deaths were simply not the kind of blow
Calernia could recover from in less than fifty years, if even that. To
anchor this realm and wrest it out of the precipitous fall, Twilight
could have three outcomes'' a crown-bearer, one's corpse or a shattered
crown. If there was to be a crowning it'd have to be one of us, I
admitted to myself. None aside from the band of five I'd assembled and
our guide in Archer, the fateful sixth, had the required weight to bring
this to an end. We'd been the ones to storm the Dead King's holdfast, to
destroy the shard of him and to face against the clever fox who'd turned
it all around on us. It \emph{had} to be us, didn't it? I could feel the
current of the story and fighting against it too forcefully would only
lead to failure. If I tried to bring out Akua, whose ties to this place
and murderous legacy ran deeper than anyone else's, I suspected she
would simply not arrive in time. In a place like this, where the rules
of Creation ran so thin they could be twisted and snapped, having the
story going the other way was a stone around your neck. The flipping of
an hourglass would tell me near nothing about how far dawn was, while
the rising tension of the choice having to be made would be almost exact
a measure.

Crescendo awaited, climax, and cheating it would be tricky business.

``There is no choice to be made at all,'' the Rogue Sorcerer said with
forced calm. ``We must shatter the crown. Anything else would be
odious.''

There'd been a time I knew, where I would have agreed with him. But it'd
been a few years since I'd last had the luxury to think that way --
right and wrong, untouched by practicalities such as risk and
consequence. Which was the greater wickedness, I wondered: the killing
of one at the altar, or to gamble hundreds of thousands of lives on odds
unclear?

``I have heard it told in rumour,'' the Tyrant of Helike said, ``that
our friend the Peregrine can offer solace through resurrection. One
after each dawn, the rumour goes, forgiving the mistakes that came
before it.''

And there went Kairos, pivoting from pest to useful because he was
simply too clever to remain a distraction that all would agree on
throwing out when it was all coming to a close. I suspected he would act
the wise and sagacious ally, from now on, simply to ease everyone's
well-earned urge to toss him out on his ass and close the doors behind
him. Exhausted as the rest of us, Kairos Theodosian had a worsening
purple bruise where I'd \emph{very} satisfyingly decked him in the face,
but otherwise no real injuries. Still, from the way his limbs had taken
to twitching under the robes you'd think he was the worst off among us.
Whatever sickness it was he'd been born to, it was debilitating whenever
the protection of his Name waned. I followed the villain's gaze as it
turned to Tariq, adding my weight to the unspoken question: if someone
sat the throne and let themselves be slain, could the Pilgrim raise them
anew after dawn? The white-haired man cocked his head to the side, as if
listening to words only he could hear. He, too, had old monsters to ask
answer of.

``It is uncertain,'' the Peregrine admitted. ``There are some deaths not
even my prayers can forgive, and to die on the altar for the sake of
others might be one such.''

The old man glanced meaningfully at Indrani, who in deference to the
seriousness of the situation had been keeping her mouth shut.

``I cannot bring back those departed twice,'' he warned. ``No matter the
circumstances.''

I'd had absolutely no intention of letting anyone so much as shake a
knife in Archer's direction, but that was good to know. My friend had
already died one tonight so, as far as I was concerned, she'd more than
the paid the dues she hadn't even owed.

``Might be this is obvious to the rest of you,'' Indrani slowly said,
``yet why aren't we simply having someone put on the fancy hat and stay
alive? That ought to do the trick.''

I grimaced. The Saint spat to the side.

``There'll be no founding of a court in service to Below on my watch,
girl,'' Laurence de Montfort bluntly said. ``The terms of this truce
were that there would be a breaking, not a coronation.''

``It would be preferable to the cold-blooded murder of an ally,'' the
Rogue Sorcerer flatly said.

``Think beyond keeping your pretty hands clean, boy,'' the Saint harshly
said. ``Consider the centuries of blood and suffering that would come
from the birth of this Court of Twilight.''

``Ah, but the courts of Arcadia was so troublesome for they had many
stories, many titled among their number,'' Kairos idly said. ``It need
not be so for Twilight. A single brow bearing a crown, and nothing else.
Power held yet going without exercise.''

His tone had been idle, but there'd been something to it that had me
clenching my fingers. He was half in love with the notion already, I
could tell. And I could see how it'd appear to the Tyrant of Helike:
then moment of temptation forever continued, principled restraint that
might yet be broken by the right word or tragedy. And as for the rest of
us, none would get what they truly wanted save a life spared. Or, as
Kairos was likely to see it, yet another foe slighted and spared. To
him, it'd be the loveliest of endings. And Gods forgive me, but I was
more inclined to it than a killing. There was no one here that could
have their throat carved open without a bloody mess following, greater
good or not. If it was a hero and the Saint survived, she'd carry that
grudge like a blade pointed at my back until one of us died. If it was
the Saint herself, the lengths Tariq had gone to for the preservation of
her life would find themselves tossed in the mud before so much as the
first signature was put to the Liesse Accords. It was a thinning of
foundation where I needed it to be firm. There'd be no talk of Indrani
going through this, and while before the end I suspected I'd be put
before a choice like this I would not walk the altar path when there was
so much work left to be done. Martyrdom without groundwork was vanity,
nothing less and nothing more.

It was a possibility, I thought, to force that crown onto Kairos' head
and slit his throat. One I'd seriously consider, but the Tyrant had
bargained back his life from the Bard and the Pilgrim seemed set on
respecting this. Would it be worth it, I asked myself, to cross him on
this? It might be too much of a risk. The Rogue Sorcerer might come out
either way, given his scraps with the Tyrant, and Archer would be at my
side through Crown and Tower but the other two? The Saint was most
likely to see the practicality in bleeding Kairos, but she often
deferred to the Pilgrim over calls like these and she'd be just as eager
to take a swing at me. The Tyrant's reaction was arguably the most
predictable and least worrisome, for though he'd attempt escape he
wouldn't take it personally in the slightest. No, I finally decided. The
odds were too stiff and the cause too red. Even if I got away with it
I'd leave scars, the kind that'd come back to bite me down the line, and
our alliance was too young not to be mangled by something like this.
Gods, sometimes working with Above's people felt like shackles around my
wrists. They just had so many \emph{rules}. Even making a discreet
inquiry as to the nature of the truce agreed on by Bard could feasibly
do damage here, I reluctantly acknowledged, so it was best to set aside
the notion entirely. Unless the Tyrant betrayed us once more, at which
point the chops would be back on the damned plate.

He wouldn't though, I thought as I he offered me a bright and knowing
smile. Kairos had a finger on the pulse here, on the underlying
currents, and he had no intention of giving me an excuse. I smiled back,
and it did not reach my eyes.

``That's a pot forever on the edge of tipping,'' the Saint growled.
``I'll not have it.''

``If your issue is with a villain bearing the crown, then I will do so
myself,'' Roland said.

``That sounds lovely,'' the Tyrant grinned. ``Indeed, what is one more
elaborate lie when one is at the very heart of who you are, Sorcerer?
You've my seal of approval.''

The hero paled, to my surprise. What was it that Kairos had found out
about him? Pilgrim and Saint shared a weighty look and Tariq cleared his
throat.

``You are too young for such a burden,'' the Peregrine delicately said.

Ouch, I thought. That had \emph{had} to sting. Having the closest thing
to your side of the Game's communal wise grandfather essentially telling
you he didn't think you'd be able to take it if you stepped into the
fire. The Rogue Sorcerer tried to hide his flinch, but he was among the
least skilled of the liars here.

``If the Grey Pilgrim wants to take the crown, I'll make my peace with
it,'' I conceded.

``You sound like you're making a concession, Foundling,'' the Saint
harshly said. ``When what you're doing is giving Below a path to one of
the most powerful heroes alive. Shut your damned-''

``Tariq tossed his own crown into the bag, dearest friend,'' the Tyrant
idly interrupted. ``So if he takes one up now with the intent of ruling,
who knows what manners of wickedness may come of it? We must think of
the children, Catherine.''

Indrani choked at the last sentence, sending Kairos an admiring glance
that had the villain overtly preening. Aside from the theatrics, he'd
actually made sense. It might be that Tariq would be reclaiming the
right to rule he'd discarded, by putting on that crown. Or it might be
something else entirely, and a disaster in the making. We couldn't take
the risk.

``Even if I were willing to let that much power fall into the Saint's
hands, I doubt she would be willing to take it,'' I said.

``You won't be getting your hooks in any of us,'' Laurence de Montfort
bluntly said.

``It cannot be you, Queen Catherine,'' Tariq apologetically said. ``I
yet remember your\ldots{} brittle temperament as Queen of the Hunt. I
cannot in good conscience make bargains with such a creature.''

I grimaced. Well, he wasn't entirely wrong. I suspected I'd handle
apotheosis a lot better if the crystallization of it didn't come from
one of the worst days of my life, but there was no real way to know. And
it'd be a lie to pretend the notion of claiming that sort of mantle
again was anything but repulsive to me. I'd put power over the rest
before, and we'd none of us come out the better for it. Slow learner as
I was, I would not claim to be \emph{that} slow.

``I claim only one crown, and hardly forever,'' I said.

``While I would be delighted to lend a hand -'' the Tyrant of Helike
began.

``No,'' I said.

``No,'' Tariq said.

``Hah,'' Indrani snorted.

The Saint's hand simply went down to her sword.

``- yes, that,'' Kairos said, sounding a touch chagrined. ``Which leaves
only one among us.''

``Kairos,'' I mildly said, ``did we not once have a conversation on the
subject of you taking a swing at my people and the consequences of such
an act?''

``It is\ldots{} possible,'' the Grey Pilgrim said.

I nearly twitched in surprise, fixing the old man with a look.

``There would have to be oaths,'' the Peregrine said, dipping his head
in apology at Archer. ``Safeguards.''

``Well, would you look at that,'' Indrani mused. ``You do listen, after
all.''

``Abdication after ten years,'' Tariq said, eyes moving to me.
``Guaranteed of safe passage for those waging war on Keter. Abiding by
earthly treaties.''

I was genuinely taken aback by the turn, enough that it took me a moment
to get ahold of my thoughts.

``I won't force her to do it,'' I flatly said.

``Cat,'' Archer said. ``Look at me.''

I turned, eyes lingering on the traces of blood still on her forehead.
The reminder that she'd already died once tonight.

``It's just ten years,'' she said. ``And you didn't age while Duchess or
Queen, so I'm losing nothing there. I'm not enough of an asshole to
insist we murder someone over a decade.''

Except that she was, unkind as that thought was. Because Indrani was
lovely and generous to those few that she loved, but the rest? She was
not the kind to bleed for strangers, and I doubted the few months we'd
spent apart had changed that about her. Or maybe I just didn't want to.
What would it mean, if months away from the Woe was all it took to let
her compassion bloom? \emph{Or it might just be away from me}, I darkly
thought. What had I ever really asked of her, save for slaughter? And
though that thought remained, so did my gaze remain on the bloody marks
streaking across her forehead. That, too, might be a reason for seeking
crown. For all the other burdens of my time as Sovereign of Moonless
Nights, I'd been absurdly difficult to kill.

``I won't pretend it doesn't make things easier,'' I said, meeting her
eyes. ``Having that much power at your fingertips. But it blinds you to
other ways to die, Indrani. It takes from you as much as you'll gain --
perhaps even more.''

``I know,'' Archer said. ``I was there, remember? But I want to know
what the word looks like, from that vantage. That's reason enough.''

``Is that really who you want to be?'' I quietly asked.

``An entire world of secret paths, of unknown horizons,'' Indrani
smiled. ``Wouldn't be that something to tread?''

\emph{It'll change you}, I wanted to say. \emph{Even if you put down the
crown after ten years, and that is never as simple as you'd think, it
will still have changed you in ways you can scarce understand.} Gods, I
wanted to forbid her to go through with it. And the thing was, if I
pushed hard enough she just might withdraw her agreement. I knew that
sure as I knew my own breathing. Indrani trusted me enough for that. But
it would never be the same, afterward: we would no longer be partners or
friends -- a line would be drawn, and she'd be on the side of it that
meant servant. Merciless Gods. It was ugly and selfish of me, but I
would rather let her try the crucible of Twilight than knowingly destroy
what bound us to each other.

``We'll have to agree on the wording of the oaths,'' I finally croaked
out.

I met her gaze, and an understanding passed between us. It was not love
-- neither of us had been afflicted with that particular delusion
regarding the other, for all that we occasionally shared a bed -- or at
least not that kind of it. It was\ldots{} a recognition, maybe. That I
thought she was making a mistake, but that I respected her enough to
stand in the way of decisions she freely made. Had this, too, been a
pivot? A moment she'd look back to, in years to come, when wondering if
the ties binding her to the Woe were a lifeline or a leash. Perhaps
pivot was a conceited term to use, when matched to the unspoken
understanding of two mortals of no real import in the greater scheme of
things. Too grand for the two of us. But there was resonance to the
meaning of it, I thought. Whether this had been a fault or something
akin to wisdom I'd not know for years to come, but in time I would know.
I was unnaturally certain of that, in the beat that followed her
hazelnut eyes meeting my own. Indrani inclined her head towards me, not
speaking a word.

``No,'' the Saint of Swords said.

The Tyrant let out a pleased, breathless sigh.

``You told me if I still believed you wrong come morning light, we'd put
this to judgement,'' Laurence said, looking at Tariq. ``Dawn's around
the corner, old friend, and now I tell you this: I will not brook this
deal you would strike. It is an abomination in every way.''

Indrani casually took a half-step to the side, coming closer to me. In a
better position to buy me time to weave miracles, if it came to blades
bared. I wished I could say she was being unreasonably cynical by doing
so. I almost spoke up, but there was a reason Kairos was keeping his
mouth shut. He, too, suspected that anyone carrying Below's banner in
the Saint's eyes intervening now would be met with immediate assault.
Robber had told me a sapper's saying, once: no one has hands clever
enough to juggle munitions. Simply by speaking up here, I'd be cracking
a match in a warehouse full of goblinfire.

``Only ten years,'' Tariq told her. ``It is breathing room so that we
can arrange for a more agreeable ending, Laurence.''

``It's condoning the birth of a court hatched by servants of the
Hellgods,'' the Saint barked. ``There's no going back from that once we
unleash it, Tariq. And odds are we won't live to see that garden of ruin
come to bear fruit -- by what right do you pass on that woe to those
that come after us?''

``You would rather embrace murder than compromise?'' the Rogue Sorcerer
said.

``Shut your mouth, boy,'' Laurence hissed. ``You understand nothing. You
shy away from taking a life now, from takin a risk, and you think that
makes you virtuous? All it makes you is \emph{complicit}. Your scruples
will cost a hundred generations blood and fear simply because you
flinched when time for the hard choices came.''

``How hard a choice is it really for you?'' the Sorcerer replied, tone
ice cold. ``When did you last make another, Saint of Swords?''

Laurence's face shuttered closed. Hells, I had to admit that Roland was
starting to grow on me some.

``Peace, Roland,'' the Pilgrim said.

``Would that she'd hear of it, if only the once,'' the younger man
scathingly replied.

``No, Tariq, let him speak,'' the Saint said. ``Let him sing the praises
of compromising with the Enemy. You'' survive this, Sorcerer, for you
may yet bring some light into this world. But burn this moment into your
memory, child. Keep it close. There will come day when it burns like a
lash on your back.''

``What is made can be unmade, Laurence,'' the Pilgrim told her. ``Even
if this bargain were a mistake, and I do not believe it to be, it
remains impermanent.''

``Does it?'' she asked. ``You're letting them in, Tariq. You are setting
a precedent for us sitting across the table from the monstrous and the
mad, pretending they can be reasoned with. And Gods be good, perhaps
this once it might even be true.''

My brow rose.

``And yet it cannot be allowed to pass,'' Laurence said. ``Because once
the exception is made, the precedent is set, the ink touched the water
-- it's done. It's over. The poison is in and there's only sickness and
death ahead. How many times will this bargain you'd strike lead those
who come after us astray? How long will it take, before Twilight becomes
a murderous madness that can reach everywhere across Calernia?''

``We must first ensure there is a Calernia left to safeguard,
Laurence,'' Tariq quietly said.

``Compromising the soul to preserve the flesh,'' the Saint of Swords
said, ``is the first step into Below's service. There are things worth
facing ruin for, Tariq.''

``No compromise with the Enemy,'' the Grey Pilgrim echoed. ``That is
your principle. Yet you know mine, Laurence.''

``So I do,'' Laurence de Montfort softly agreed.

Light bloomed, but already the Saint of Swords was moving and she
struck.