Chapter 50 Proof and Consequence
Warden Voss
I left the Academy right after dawn and
by the time I stood before Emperor Aurelion Kade in the throne hall of Aetheria, it was midday. I had traveled directly from the Academy without pause. There had been no time for courtesy or preparation. Magnus Ironside had issued an Imperial Decree demanding that all boys between the ages of thirteen and sixteen be surrendered from Dust for labor in Aetheria. I already knew the true purpose behind it. Magnus was searching for Lio, Sera’s brother. The decree was not about labor. It was a wide order meant to conceal a targeted hunt. I had come to stop it.
Although I did not send notice ahead, I knew the Emperor would grant me audience. As Warden of Dust, I was afforded that courtesy.
The throne hall doors opened at my approach, and I walked the length of the chamber in silence. Emperor Aurelion Kade sat upon the raised dais, robed in blue and gold, a crown resting atop his dark curls. At his right stood Cyrus Vyra, his steward—a middle-aged man with light brown hair and steady brown eyes. Cyrus had served Aurelion’s father before him and had remained in position after the late Emperor’s death.
I bent the knee and bowed my head before rising to my full height. When I looked at Aurelion directly, I was reminded again of his age. He was nineteen. A faint mustache shadowed his upper lip, an obvious attempt to lend him gravity, but the smoothness of his skin and the slenderness of his hands betrayed how young he still was.
“Warden Voss,” he said. His voice carried clearly through the chamber, though it retained the higher register of youth. “What brings you to Aetheria?”
“Your Imperial Majesty,” I began, keeping my tone formal, “I am here to discuss the Imperial Decree I received ordering the transfer of young boys between the ages of thirteen and sixteen from Dust to Aetheria.”
The Emperor’s expression shifted to open confusion. He leaned forward slightly in his seat. “What do you mean, Warden?”
I withdrew the parchment from the inner pocket of my coat and stepped toward the dais. “Your Imperial Majesty, this decree was delivered by the Imperial Advisor’s Enforcers. It bears his signature and authority.”
Cyrus Vyra descended the steps, accepted the parchment from me with a bow, and handed it to the Emperor. Aurelion read it carefully. His brow tightened as he reached the final line.
“I am not aware we require young boys for labor,” he said. He looked toward Cyrus. “Is there an order or initiative that has been issued without my knowledge?”
Cyrus answered without hesitation. “None, Your Majesty. All vessels are repaired and prepared for Lunara. There have been no additional labor requisitions authorized by the Crown.”
Aurelion folded the parchment carefully and turned his attention back to me. “So, Warden, what do you ask?”
“I request that the order be halted,” I said plainly. “If labor is required, then the decree should not single out one specific age and sex.”
He released a quiet breath, almost amused. “I will do you one better. Cyrus, send word to the High Commander of the Emperor’s Guard. Halt all slave routes from Dust immediately.”
Cyrus bowed. “At once, Your Majesty.” He stepped aside and murmured instructions to one of the Emperor’s guards. The guard inclined his head and exited the throne room without delay.
Relief did not come. Words spoken from the throne could be withdrawn. Orders could be amended. Magnus Ironside was not a man who abandoned his objective because he encountered resistance. The Emperor’s command halted the transports for now, but it did not resolve the conflict. It bought time, nothing more.
Aurelion then pressed the insignia at his breast—a golden crown set with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. The gems caught the light as his fingers lingered against them. He waited. His hand settled on the armrest of his throne, and he began tapping his fingers against it in a quiet, restless rhythm. His lips thinned with impatience.
“He does not come,” the Emperor said at last.
He straightened and spoke more sharply. “Send for the Imperial Advisor. I want him here.”
Cyrus departed at once. I remained standing in the center of the chamber, my hands clasped behind my back.
Several minutes passed before Cyrus returned. He bowed low.
“Your Majesty, the Imperial Advisor is not within palace grounds.”
Aurelion’s gaze sharpened. “Not within palace grounds?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Cyrus replied. “His steward reports that Lord Ironside is at the Academy.”
The Emperor drew in a slow breath and pressed his lips together before speaking. “Very well then. Cyrus, you will wait for him in his chamber,” he ordered, his tone edged with irritation. “He will not avoid me indefinitely.”
Cyrus bowed once. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. He stepped down the dais, moving toward the hall floor, but instead of leaving, he fell in step just behind me, silent and watchful.
Aurelion’s attention returned to me. His expression had shifted; the earlier confusion was gone. What remained was calculation.
“As for you, Warden,” he said, “you are aware that if you are mistaken, you have publicly accused my Imperial Advisor of misconduct.”
“I am aware. And—lest you forget, Your Majesty—I have presented proof,” I said, letting the weight of what the Emperor had already seen speak for itself. I did not flinch. I was not mistaken.
Aurelion rose from his throne and descended a single step from the dais, enough to change the atmosphere in the room without closing the distance. “You understand the consequences of such an accusation?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“I do, Your Majesty," I replied.
His gaze did not leave mine. “Explain them to me.”
I did not hesitate. “If I am wrong, then I have challenged the authority of the Imperial Advisor without cause. That would warrant censure at best and removal at worst. But I am not wrong. The people of Dust are restless, Your Majesty. They watch every action taken against them. If they perceive injustice, their anger will not turn toward Aetheria first. It will turn toward me.”
Aurelion’s brow lifted slightly, the faintest acknowledgment of my conviction. “And you are prepared to bear that?”
“I am responsible for Dust,” I said. “If punishment must be carried, I will carry it. But I will not ignore an order that endangers my district.”
The hall fell silent. The Emperor studied me for a long moment, weighing whether my resolve was loyalty or defiance—and whether the proof he had just seen confirmed a threat or a reassurance.
Before he could speak, the doors burst open and a lady-in-waiting hurried inside. She dropped into a deep, urgent bow. “Your Majesty, the Empress requests your presence. She is unwell.”
Aurelion’s jaw tightened for a heartbeat, irritation flashing before his expression smoothed. He nodded his head and descended the dias.
I stepped aside, lowering my eyes, and let him pass. His attendants fell into place behind him, their polished shoes echoing across the marble.
“I will send word of my conversation with Ironside via raven. You are dismissed, Warden Voss.”
I bent the knee once more. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
He paused in front of me, his gaze lingering just long enough to make the warning sharp. “Be cautious. The Empire does not reward interference lightly.”
I met his eyes steadily and rose. “I serve the Empire.”
“For now,” he said, his tone carrying both a warning and impatience, before stepping through the eastern archway. Attendants fell into place on either side, their polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor.
I rolled my eyes, letting a faint smirk touch my lips. Royals were predictable. They draped every threat in ceremony and expected you to tremble. I didn’t.
Cyrus walked beside me, his steps quiet on the polished floor. “His Majesty will handle this,” he assured me.
“I expect he will,” I answered. Whether he would handle it in Magnus’s favor was another matter entirely.
The palace doors swung open, and the afternoon light spilled across the marble steps. I descended quietly, letting the air outside brush against my face, though the tension in my shoulders did not ease.
Halfway across the courtyard, a prickle ran down my spine. I did not turn. Instead, I adjusted my gloves and scanned the reflective surfaces around me—glass windows, polished stone, the burnished metal of a guard’s breastplate.
In the distortion of a windowpane, I caught movement near one of the columns along the western corridor. A shadow shifted, then withdrew.
Someone was watching.
I kept walking as if nothing had happened. The observer did not approach, which meant they were cautious, or following orders to remain hidden. Neither possibility reassured me.
Once I was beyond the palace gates, I touched the orb hanging at my neck. The air stiffened, the world folding in on itself as Aetheria vanished, swallowed by light and shadow.
I had one last stop before returning to Dust. There was a man who held the answers I needed, and I would find him—no matter how well he thought he was hidden.