The Search for Terror (ONC 2021)

Chapter 14

      Rightfully so, all Amaia's men who'd travelled with her froze in place.

      'His Majesty.' 

      Ruling from her throne under no crown. 

      Stood waiting for his permission to enter, Amaia felt like a fool. She'd underestimated him. But she wasn't too proud to admit as much. 

      "He'll see you now," the messenger announced upon arrival at the gates. Amaia nodded, perhaps a little too stiffly, and followed immediately, summoning Saqat to her side and signalling for everyone else to stay behind. Just like last time. She nearly invited Warrior Abadi in with them but stopped herself, remembering he was the only commander left outside.

      She wished she could say otherwise, but the hallways were just as magnificent as the first time, stealing her breath away all over again. If only she could feign disinterest. Instead, her face must have been a picture, lit from within at the beauty of the arches and plinths and windows and flowers that hugged her. 

      Beside her, Saqat showed nothing. There was none of his earlier sweetness, nor the coldness of battle. His face was blank of all expression. 

      Jealousy was a sin, she'd been told. So why was it something you couldn't say no to?

      The throne room doors opened dreadfully slowly, one guard on each door walking them round. The moments stretched on as they were held where they were by the presence of their armed escorts, even once there was enough of a gap for Amaia and Taavetti to make unbreakable eye contact. 

      Finally, the doors hit home, and the guards either side of both her and Saqat stepped forward, leading them over the threshold of the room where she'd misinterpreted so much. 

      "Queen Amaia Goldmorn," the man smiled, "Warrior Saqat Ayad, how wonderful to see you both again." There was genuineness in neither his smile nor his voice. 

      A cold shiver ran down her spine, jerking her body straighter. Shoulders rolled back, Amaia replied, "Taavetti Faizan, I underestimated you." 

      "No, Amaia," he said, surprising her further, "You brought over three hundred armed men to take down one alone. You did not underestimate anything. What you did was overestimate the power of the crown." 

      "I don't understand," she said, feeling like a little girl. 

      He leaned forward in the throne the way a grandparent would to let a child in on a secret everyone else already knew. "It is not he who wears the crown who controls the population, but he who controls the population who wears the crown." 

      Still not quite understanding, Amaia stared back blankly. Sighing, Taavetti gestured to Saqat, "Warrior Ayad. If Amaia was without her crown, would you remain loyal to her?"

      "Always," Saqat answered—zero hesitation. 

      Like a switch had been flipped, she realised what he meant. It clicked. She hadn't taken control of his people when she'd asked him to step down. She hadn't assured her control over them, only the throne—with the only witnesses as people most loyal to him. And she'd left it open for him to take back just hours later. 

      "I understand now, King," Amaia said, "Tell your people they belong to me now and we shall say no more." She ignored Saqat's look of disapproval, the shock that was only visible to someone who knew him so well. 

      Taavetti was not impressed. "I shall say it bluntly if I must, Miss Goldmorn," he said, his voice a mockery, "But I am not resigning my position, and I am certainly not giving control over my people to one as headstrong as you." He leaned back in the throne, arms folded neatly in his lap, neck tall as though there were still a crown atop his head. 

      "You already resigned your position, you already agreed to hand over the title. Standing in my way now is treason," she rattled off, doing her best to ignore his comment. But something was still eating away at her. "But first, where are my forty men?"

      He shrugged. He just shrugged. 

      "Where are they?" Amaia asked again.

      "To go against the king is treason," he started, "So where better to put them than in imprisonment?" Before she could rage that he had not been king when she had left them here, he shocked her to silence, "Oh, and they were most helpful, too. Fun little plan you concocted. Get everyone to bow to you and you alone so you never need to deal with contradiction. How clever of you."

      She didn't give him the satisfaction of answering. He was trying to get inside her head, obviously—she'd planned what she had to save the people from misery, not to make them submit to all her own beliefs and only hers. 

      "Did you," he asked, "Consider that taking all your men with you may have been a mistake? That perhaps-"

      Amaia didn't hear the rest. Fog rolled through her mind faster than a landslide down the steepest mountain. Racing from the throne room, she forgot about orders and just dragged Saqat along with her, tearing up the halls as if she hadn't just hiked a day and a half with little rest. 

      Taavetti Faizan had taken her soldiers prisoner and they had, likely never having been in that position before, told him all about her plan. Where she would be. 

      Where she wouldn't be. 

      Saqat had clearly put the pieces together as well, though he limited his pace to match hers, guarding her even when it was not her in the greatest danger. They'd moved against a king and, however passive, he'd returned that with a movement of his own against her unguarded people. There had been half as many guards stationed outside the castle this time compared to last, and she hadn't even taken note of that. 

      Worse still, she couldn't break her men out of the king's hold. Besides not having time, she neither had the location nor the power. She'd simply be imprisoned herself—Saqat, if not. 

      Once outside, she let go of Saqat's arm and gestured for the remainder of her army to follow her home. "Warrior Abadi," she called, her voice bouncing with her quick steps, "Send your runner to retrieve Third Platoon. Call off the takeover." Luckily, he seemed to sense the urgency and carried out her instruction immediately. 

      Amaia couldn't take her eyes off the setting sun, burning the flames of retreat into her vision. 

      Hopefully, they weren't too late.