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Lieutenant Storm, the one who chased the three fugitives from the City, felt himself growing. Moreover, out of himself, from somewhere deep within. He tried to trace the source of the desire, but found only that it flowed irresistibly, as if from its very origin. He had to – he absolutely had to! – get there, to break out. He was exerting all his efforts, he was bursting with himself. Everything was spinning and pushing. He was a spring, never quite able to open up. And then. At last. No. Not yet. Too little strength. The lieutenant began to try some other movements. Suddenly... Suddenly he felt an energy which was cold and subtle. He looked for its source and drew on it. His gut began to fill with this unusual flow of energy. Unusual, because it was rising from his center.
However, such contradictions were of little interest to him; he could keep moving. An effort. Another effort, and now his prison was tearing apart, cracking at the seams, letting him free. The spring tugged outward, allowing him to straighten. He stretched out and revealed himself. An endless energy surged across the surface of his body. He rejoiced. No more tightness, only pleasure. Finally, he has reached it, he has succeeded. So fresh, so pleasant. His source immediately tapped into the energy coming to him, and the lieutenant began to pump. He was transmitting what seemed to him to be endless currents inside him and couldn't enjoy it enough. As he absorbed more and more, he didn't notice how it disappeared from his consciousness that his existence had once represented something else.
But life reminded him of itself. And he felt the flow become less. Storm became very frustrated. He had enjoyed getting so much. And now, now he wasn't ready for less. But then an even sadder event happened. Something else opened up in the way of the flow, and it became even smaller. The lieutenant began to panic slightly. He began to shake from side to side. For a moment the flow intensified again, but then became even smaller. Storm could not express what was happening to him. Not even to himself. It became cold. And scary. Hopelessness swept over the lieutenant. The flow continued to diminish. But then, when it became faint and barely noticeable, it stopped.
Storm waited, but nothing changed. So he slowly began to learn how to extract even so little useful power. After a while he realized that even with this flow of energy he could grow. So he went to work. He began to expand and accumulate his mass. This did not contradict his gut in the slightest. His gut was for more energy. The lieutenant grew and grew, and finally the flow was bigger, just a little, but bigger. And Storm took up the task with a new wave of enthusiasm. But what was blocking the flow also began to grow. The lieutenant realized: it's a race. And there was no stopping him. He was rushing forward. And the more he regained contact with the flow, the faster his rivals grew and took more and more contact area from him. The lieutenant began to have a hard time. His mass became such that he felt himself losing his balance and being pulled down somewhere, further away from the flow. And then... the flow disappeared. Panic and fear gripped Storm. He waited, but the stream did not return. The lieutenant trembled and shuddered more than ever. Because he had accumulated so much mass in this chase, he felt himself being pulled downward and losing his connection with the center. It was as if the center was pulling away from him. Storm rushed sideways out of fear and flew.
He was soaring, he was absolutely sure of it. It had happened many times before in his life, he knew that for sure. It was getting very cold. So cold that he felt his consciousness grow cold along with his body. How it was turning into a frozen shard, falling to the floor and shattering.
In the unaccustomed silence of the night, a leaf fell beneath Milo's feet, and she bent down to pick it up. Her finger accidentally touched the snow all over the stone surface of the balcony, and she jerked her hand away for want of habit.
"Don't worry, it's not dangerous," Tamen said in a gentle voice as he followed her out onto the balcony. "Except for these plants, but not for you. It snows here sometimes this time of year. We're very high up, so the air is much colder."
Milo, still holding the leaf in her hand and wrapped in her long coat, stood up and looked at the ruler.
"I've heard of these plants, but I've rarely seen them myself, only when I've been in the middle tier," she said embarrassed.
The Usurper took the leaf from her hand and turned it in his fingers.
"It's like the sun sails on ships, they spread them out to absorb the light," he smiled.
"How do you know all this?" the girl asked sheepishly.
"That's what the Supreme taught me. He gave me a very broad representation of the world. Multifaceted," Tamen lowered his head.
"So broad that you can only carry it around in a dragon now?" Milo asked with a very serious face, so that Yomera didn't immediately understand whether she was joking or not.
"Can one still buy a sense of humor somewhere on the lower tier?" he laughed back, overcoming his confusion.
"If only to steal," Milo smiled back.
"I should finally pull myself together and visit it, maybe I'll get lucky and get some for myself."
"With armor and a dragon, I'm afraid they'll recognize you quickly, and the chances of a successful event are slim to none," the girl raised an eyebrow doubtfully, "And without them, it's just too dangerous. Your beautiful curls would be worth more than your life."
"I wish I could change that," Tamen frowned, "Your words are sharper than a blade."
"I didn't mean to, my lord, I'm sorry," Milo turned away embarrassed at the panorama of the City, "I'm a simple girl, I can't keep my mouth shut at all."
"That's what I like most about you," Yomera smiled, coming up and hugging her from behind, resting his chin on her thin shoulder.
"What is this construction?" the girl asked as her gaze accidentally touched the ruined wall of the Palace.
"Oh... That one..." the ruler said sadly. "During my father's first reign, there was an admiral Kval in the air fleet. There used to be an armored train running along the Palace wall, and during the coup, 'the Night of Great Treachery,' there was a fierce fight over it. Father's supporters could not gain the upper hand for long, and the admiral on his flagship arrived to help. As the surviving sailors later reported, Kval had too much oblivion-water," Yomera grinned, "And made such a dashing turn that the ship couldn't take it. They just rammed through the wall and fell down to the middle tier, in front of the supporters who had already seized the armored train."
He turned Milo to face him and, looking into her eyes, continued:
"And now he's a hero, glorified in the saga, remember? Taram-param, param-taram, our valiant Makitu."
The girl nodded and shrugged.
"I was lucky," she grinned, "My father... My foster father rarely let me go to church, only my sister went there all the time because of the Cult's threats. She was the only registered child. There was a lot of work, and we worked day and night to survive."
"I understand," Tamen lowered his eyes again guiltily.
"Tell me," Milo was embarrassed by her impertinence, "Is it true that your father seized the throne?"
Yomera looked at her from under the brows, then rubbed his eyes tiredly and, putting his hands in the pockets of his silk pants, turned and walked into the room.
"I'm cold," he said half-turned, "Let's go to the fireplace."
Milo followed him through the big hall, furnished with wealth and even excess. Dressed very lightly, in the opinion of the terribly cold girl, he stepped slowly across the soft carpets toward the large, two-person tall fireplace. Its flames seemed insignificant and almost invisible. Above it hung a portrait of Tamen's father wearing the famous armor his son now wore. Sammarius folded his hands on the hilt of a sword topped with a rune. A man knelt before him, his figure frozen in subservient expectation. Tamen sat down in one of the deep chairs opposite the flames and asked:
"Do you know who that is, in front of my father?"
"No," answered the girl and sat down in the chair next to him.
"This is the Last Poet, the same one who wrote all the sagas that are now sung in the streets and in the temples. No one knows his name, but when my father 'saved the throne' and did not hand over power to the 'conspirators,' the Poet came to the Palace and, throwing himself at my father's feet, thanked him and begged for a chance to proclaim how he saved the Heart and how he had kept it safe from the clutches of the dirty engineers by his ascent," Tamen grinned bitterly. "No one asked him to, but he put it that way himself. And his interpretation seemed to my father and everyone else the best explanation of what was happening. It was easy for my father to believe in his own chosenness and mission. And so were written the sagas of how the great Sammarius, the Keeper of the City and the Zealot of the Heart, prevented the conspiracy of the great houses and, retaining power, took upon himself the heavy cross of true protection and the noble goal of bringing the people back to the source, to the original way of the Heart that had existed since the early days and perverted by the science that has brought us to our present deplorable condition."
"How do you know that?" Milo asked, scrutinizing the face of the Crown Usurper.
"From the words of the nannies and cultists who served in His Eminence's court, from the words of the remaining heirs, especially those who took my father's side," Yomera said without taking his eyes off the fire, as if he were reading the lines that appeared in it. "But I had time to make for myself a more or less realistic picture of the world I had to rule. Especially after he died. It was as if everyone's tongue had been loosened. For the first few months, they told me all sorts of things, until I stopped it myself."
"I didn't know my father and mother. I only remember my adoptive family. But a few days ago a story happened to me, caused, by the way, by you, Your Majesty. I had to hide in an old man's house, and he told me about his brother. He could have been my father..." said Milo sadly.
"Why could have?"
"Because he was executed before I was born."
"So he became your father when he was already dead?" Yomera grinned.
"Yes."
Tamen looked at her intently.
"Sorry," the girl said excitedly and lowered her eyes, "He was one of the conspirators executed by your father."
"What was his name?" the Usurper asked coldly, feeling a prick below his chest.
"Alfred Wolfie," said Milo quietly, and looked at Tamen guiltily.
He got up from his chair and walked over to the table with the dishes. Taking a bottle that stood in the back, Yomera filled two glasses. His light silk tunic swayed in the breeze as he walked back. Handing the glass to the girl, he sat down in his chair, took a sip, and stared at the fire. Milo tried the drink gently, it tasted nice and, like milk, lingered on her tongue, tingling pleasantly and leaving a sweetish sensation.
"When my father ascended the throne as heir to the House of Yomera," Tamen began slowly, "He wooed the most beautiful woman in all the City, but she turned him down. And a few years later, when he took the throne as Usurper Sammarius, he married her by force."
"Queen Anastasia," Milo nodded. "I'd heard a lot about her, but I thought they were madly in love."
"So madly that he kept her locked up and only let her out to official events on pain of killing her brother's daughter, who was executed by him," Tamen sadly exhaled and, after finishing his glass in one gulp, set it on the floor.
"They must have told you that it was the heirs of the great houses who were plotting the coup? But it was the other way around; it was my father who overthrew the Treaty of the Gardeners, executing thousands in one night, and among them was your possible father, he served the Duke of Amun," he continued, not taking his eyes off the flames.
"Oh, moons..." the girl covered her mouth with her hand.
"They were too... progressive. There is always a proactive and a reactionary group in society."
"I beg your pardon?" Milo was embarrassed.
"Those who are for change and those who are against it," Tamen clarified. "Ironically, my father was both. He wanted to change everything in the bud, to undo the course of history, and yet go back to the basics, to magic, to the creation that gave birth to this world and our City. He raved about it. And there were those who supported him."
"The Cult?" Milo asked in the affirmative.
"Yes, the Cult. Fewer universities, more churches. More rituals and less electricity. Except the electricity worked, and the rituals didn't."
"What about the miracles that are shown in the squares?" the girl wondered.
"That's all we have left. Illusions," Tamen grinned bitterly, "Disembodied images. No one has been able to create anything tangible in the last eight hundred years. And all the miracles the Cult so confidently promised before I was born, they just make thinking people laugh. Except they don't dare laugh, because over the years His Eminence's Special Assignments Department has grown so big that even fire seems to have ears."
Milo looked at the flames and then at Tamen, and he looked into her startled eyes and smiled:
"Technically, they report to me. But only technically. And, frankly speaking, I don't care if they're watching me or not. Although I'm sure they do."
"It's all so..." the girl began.
"Weird?" Yomera smiled.
"Yes, weird," she agreed and fidgeted in her chair, "You're the ruler, but you don't rule."
Tamen grinned:
"Right, you couldn't be more precise."
"Let's elope together?" Milo said in a loud whisper, grabbing the arm of the chair with her free hand. "Yes, let's get on your dragon and fly as far away as we can!"
Tamen laughed:
"Darling, it's an endless desert all around."
"But I've heard about the sea, I've heard about other countries, people say," the girl wouldn't let up.
"Yes, I too heard and even saw a merchant claiming to have reached the 'big water.' But I also saw him whipped in the square for lying. I don't know if the desert has an end, but the dragon can't go a day without black smoke," he said, and he huddled in his chair somewhat guiltily. "You know, long ago, before I was born, there was a project to build a railroad to the nearest mountain ranges. But it was buried by sandstorms. No man can reach them. We are safe on this piece of rock. So far..."
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