Thanks to the notes in the Paragon’s journal, I’d learned the truth: that Stephen Dorminikos’s broken soul and unending rule had had nothing to do with the Angels. The sole reason he’d been able keep coming back was that he’d tasked his magicians-his Paragons-with finding the secret to immortality. Unable to figure it out, they’d instead come up with the best solution they could manage: cyclical regeneration.
The whole thing-the Angels, being chosen as the Perpetual Emperor, the resulting Imperial Cult-had been a con. And what was worse, it was slowly falling apart. Not in terms of the magic-that appeared to working fine, at least from the outside-but rather in terms of the man, or by now the men, being reincarnated.
It was no great secret that the various incarnations had been slipping into madness over the last century or so. As each emperor aged, they tended to become paranoid about various things, especially one another. Over time, that had translated to more and more hostility. Right now it was minor, but as Solitude had pointed out, the eventual path was easy enough to see: Sooner or later, one incarnation would challenge the other openly, and the empire would end up at war with itself. Forever, because if the emperor you believed in never died, neither would his cause. But I couldn’t say the same for the empire itself, and that had bothered me. No Empire meant no Kin, and I wasn’t about to see the closest thing to a family, and the only legacy I had, go down the sewer someday because of a religious con job. Hunting us down because we were criminals was one thing, but to be destroyed as an afterthought of history gone bad? No, thank you.
And that’s where the problem had come in. Degan had stood with the part of his Order that believed preserving the empire meant preserving the emperor. If I’d let him follow his conscience and turn that journal over, there would have been no stopping the downward spiral towards civil war. I’d needed the information the journal held to try and topple the man Degan was sworn to preserve. Which was why I’d coldcocked my best friend the moment he’d turned his back to me and run off with the Paragon’s notes, even though I knew it meant I was destroying his life.
But just because I’d betrayed Degan that one time didn’t mean I was willing to do it again. If Wolf stood on the opposite side of the Order from Degan, I’d be damn if I helped him do anything.
For his part, Wolf waved the question off with a dismissive hand. “The Order’s issues with the emperor aren’t your concern.”
“You made it my concern when you set me up. So either you come clean or I take a walk and see just how well me and my people do against your lies.”
He shifted his weight back on his heels, but otherwise didn’t move. “You like dramatic threats, don’t you? To use your knowledge like a blade. Very welclass="underline" I concede the point. I stand with the Order. No,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall my argument. “Don’t interrupt me. By that, I mean I wish to see the degans come together under one purpose, like it used to be in the days after our founding. I wish to see us do the things we are capable of, if only we didn’t have this thorn constantly worrying at our side. It festers and drives us apart.
“You wonder how I know Bronze and Iron fought? Because it was inevitable. If not them, then it would have been two others. I have no proof, no witnesses as you would say, but that isn’t important. One degan has spilled the blood of another over what it means to serve the Empire. If that deed stands unanswered, then the Order will fall upon itself. I need Bronze to prevent this.”
“How, by making an example of him?” I said. “By dragging him before your brothers for some kind of mock trial?”
“You understand nothing.”
“And whose fault would that be, do you think?”
Wolf sighed. “How do you make an example of someone who’s already an exemplar? Where the rest of us have argued and debated and even changed our minds, Bronze has stood unmoving, like a boulder in a gale. For him, it’s not about reasons or intentions-it’s about conviction.
“Bronze holds a special place in the eyes of my Order. By standing apart, he’s gained a certain degree of moral authority among us. In a roomful of yelling, headstrong swordsmen, it’s no small feat for everyone to fall silent when you speak. Bronze had that power among the degans before Iron fell, and I think he might have it still. That’s why I need him: I need his authority to help settle this before it becomes worse. Before we fully turn on one another.”
“But if they didn’t listen to him before, what makes you think they’ll listen now? You said yourself he did the unthinkable: He dusted another degan.”
“Which is exactly why they may listen.”
I reached up and ran my hands through my hair. “I’m sure that makes some kind of wonderful sense,” I said, “but let’s pretend I’m not a degan, that I don’t think like a degan, and that I don’t know an entire Flock or Oath or Misery or whatever the hell you call a bunch of degans, all right? Just explain it to me.”
Wolf leaned forward, his left hand on his sword, and pointed over my shoulder at Degan’s blade with his right. “Understand this: No degan has raised steel-not seriously-against another member of the Order in ages, and no degan has killed another since near the founding. Bronze’s action is no small thing. For two of us to come to blows over something so fundamental strikes at the very core of our purpose. That it was someone as respected as Bronze makes it even worse.” Wolf shook his head, something close to disbelief on his face. “No, if there’s anyone who might be able to sway the Order, it would be him: the man who bloodied his blade on his brother, and then had the presence of mind to cast it away.”
“And they’re just going to let him stroll back in and change their minds?”
“Well, no, not exactly.”
“How ‘not exactly’?”
“I’m not sure he’ll be allowed back into the Barracks Hall.”
“And why is that?”
“Why do you think?”
Yeah, that’s what I’d thought.
“Go to hell.” I stood up.
A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. “Listen to me. This could work.”
“Like hell it could. If you think I’m going to-”
“What I think,” said Wolf, “is that Bronze is the best hope the Order has right now, and that I, in turn, am his. If any of my brothers or sisters find him first, it will most likely end in blood. We are not a forgiving family. But win or lose, it will be too late for him then: The Order might be willing to look past one degan’s body if I can make a case for Bronze, but two? More?” He shook his head. “No. If you wish to save Bronze, and if I wish to save the Order, then I have to find him before the others.”
“How does coming back with you help?” I said. “I thought you just said you weren’t even sure they’d let him back into, what’d you call it, the Barracks Hall?”
“It’s the closest thing we have to a council chamber. And you’re right: Walking in on his own could be the same as falling on his sword. But I have this.” Wolf slapped the hilt at his side. “And, with your and his permission, I’ll have that, too.” He pointed at Degan’s blade. “Between the two, I can petition to speak for him. I can invoke the old traditions of the Order and try to shield him from their judgment until he’s had a chance to speak.”
“And what will he say?” I thought back to Copper, and the cold steel in her eyes when she’d been asking me about Degan. “What can he possibly tell them that will excuse his dusting Iron?”
Wolf shook his head. “I don’t know. But I think he should be able to have the option to stand before the Order and give his side of the story. I think he should be able to ask for atonement and receive the judgment of his fellows face-to-face. I think he should know, once and for all, whether his name is to remain on our roles, of if it’s to be struck through in shame. But mostly, I think he deserves the opportunity to choose to seek out his own redemption or damnation.” Wolf looked down at me. “Don’t you?”
My mouth was too dry to answer. To argue that Degan had left Ildrecca of his own free will, that he’d known what he was doing from the moment he’d walked out of that burning warehouse after saving my life. To yell that the one thing the man wanted was to be left alone.