The Last [Mage] King - Chapter 36: - To Die For (Patreon)

Note:

Hello everybody, Ian B. Urns here, this chapter and the last were unfortunately posted out of order (thus the numbering), sorry about that. Hope you're enjoying the book!

***

“Those limp dicked pieces of shit have got another thing coming if they think I’m just going to roll over and take this bullshit!” Sasha growled, fists clenching, body shuddering with adrenaline and rage. She wanted to throw something, into someone, repeatedly. 

“Calm down, Osin,” Captain Vlasenko told her gently, and that seemed to elicit the exact opposite reaction to what he had requested.

“Fuckkkk!” Sasha roared, pacing back and forth in his small office, and hoping desperately something or someone worth punching suddenly walked in.

The Captain inhaled, sympathy coating his eyes. “There are still a lot of great opportunities for a girl like you. Especially these days, lassies are breaking into all sorts of fields—who cares that you failed one exam?”

She’d failed the Mage Academy’s exam. She’d worked an entire year, busted her arse, pushed herself through all the physical and mental tests laid out before her, and then finally, when it came to simply putting pen to paper—she’d failed. No, she hadn’t failed—those bastards under the Senate had failed her. She couldn’t have failed, she was smarter than all the boys in her class by half and more. It was the academy—the academy and the Senate and its shitty fucking idiot slimy, slug Mages had sabotaged her dream.

“I want to see my exam sheet,” Sasha demanded.

The Captain tensed at that, jaw tightening. “Getting exam scripts is a bit harder than it seems. The record keepers require a lot of bureaucracy and…” he went on and on, explaining all the internal policies, politics, and economics of the Academy and how it inadvertently meant that Sasha could not access the one thing she needed to prove that she was in fact fit to become a Mage. Fuming, seething, and boiling with rage, Sasha waited patiently for the Captain to finish. Only when he was done did she speak.

“That’s a nice load of bullshit, Captain, care to follow it up with the truth?” she asked, voice tight with rage. 

The man tensed, clearly considered lying, remembered who he was talking to, and then sighed. “As bright as the red hair atop your scalp, you are, Osin.”

Sasha was as unmoved by the flattery as a girl who was pissed the fuck off about being cheated out of a years worth of work.

“Fine!” the man acquiesced. “Osin, you passed. You got a nearly perfect score—highest in your class, highest I’ve seen in three years. There—are you happy?”

“No!” Sasha snapped. “I already knew I fucking passed. I want to know why I didn’t get in? Did they reject your candidate pick when you revealed it was me—they can’t even do that can they?”

“No…not officially,” Captain Vlasenko said, voice gentle, hesitant. “I… picked you. But the board found the idea of a girl Mage obscene,” he said.

“Who cares what they think, you’re the one who gets to decide who you take to the next phase. Did you police the incompetents they picked as candidates?” Sasha shot at him, and then saw the man’s eyes flee away from hers, shame coating his gaze.

“These people aren’t just Mages, Osin, they’re some of the most powerful in the country. Half of them have mentors on the Senate, the other half have family there. They… said I might lose my post if I didn’t change my pick…” Captain Vlasenko told her, voice soft, hesitant, and anticipatory.

Sasha found herself at a loss for words. She just stared—stared at the one man who stood by her in a field of vermin and scum, in a crowd of predators and carrion-feeders. And now he had turned his back on her, turned his back for the favour of those very same wolves. “You fucking coward!” Sasha screamed. “They threatened you, and you just rolled over, belly up, like some fucking spineless snake. I worked—I worked so fucking hard for all of this, every fucking bit of it, and you told me you were here for me. That you saw me not as a girl, but as a future Mage, that you would stand by me, but the moment you get a breeze of pushback you cast me away to save your own skin? You, you fucking—”

“That’s enough!” The Captain cut in, glare slamming into her, face like a storm now, all trace of sympathy burned away. “Y—”

“No it’s not!” Sasha cut back, slamming her fist into his desk. “It will never be enough!”

The Captain sighed and once again his eyes were cast downwards. “You’re dismissed, Cadet.”

Sasha tasted acid in her tongue, felt a boiling against the skin of her stomach, a thumping in the side of her head. She was angry, enraged, mad, so fucking mad. A whole year, a whole fucking year and it had amounted to nothing. And there was nothing she could do.

Nothing but turn around and leave.

###

Treason.

The crime of betraying one’s country.

Walking through the streets of Tsaryovohrad with a King who shouldn’t be here, pursuing an investigation into one Twin Consul against the orders of the other—

Sasha reckoned that sounded about right for what she was doing.

It would be days before General Volkov knew for a fact that something was amiss, and the King was not where he should be, but still what was done was done. Even if they turned around right now and hopped on the first train to Lyubov, they would still arrive a day later than they should, and that would invite questions—questions Sasha did not have the right answers to. 

What would be done to her when it was revealed she disobeyed a direct order? Nothing good, nothing good at all. Just disgraced if she was lucky, much, much worse if she wasn’t. It burned a pit in her stomach just to think about. But Sasha was not even in the least uncertain about the decision she’d made.

She’d become a Mage to do good. Something was happening underneath her country, the one she cherished, fought and might one day die for. If turning her back to it was good, then she did not know what good was.

Still. There would be consequences, and Sasha would be a liar if she claimed to be ready for them. All she had known was to soldier, all she had known was to follow orders, and even then she had been judged, scrutinised to maddening lengths. What would become of her when all those who had doubted her were finally proven right?

“Tsaryovohrad!” King Exia boomed into the afternoon sky beside her, jolting her from her thoughts with a cadence that was entirely at odds with the treason they were both committing. “Lyubov’s younger, far more incompetent, far more inferior sister!”

Sasha didn’t appreciate the hateful stares and muttered curses his words drew from the Tsaryovos around them—clearly displeased with their city being insulted. But she did, at least, appreciate the distraction.

She humoured the idea that the King did it to specifically draw her out of her thoughts, and then quickly dismissed it. Even broken clocks are right twice a day aren’t they?

Sasha leaned into the distraction regardless. “Ah, yes, you have been here before haven’t you.” She chose not to mention that this was the location of his fable about Twin Consul Leonid Dragomirov punching him in the stomach. Although, now that they were actively investigating the man, Sasha found the idea of the Consul performing such an act that much less ridiculous. No, stop, you’re letting the King get in your head. To allow such a thing was probably the first step to madness, she thought.

“Yes, one of my favourite memories was made here! There’s a lovely ice cream place just to the right. Their chocolate honey mix is absolutely to die for.” The King pointed down the street, in the exact opposite direction of where they were heading.

Sasha clenched her teeth. “Your Majesty, we are investigating a conspiracy within the highest echelon of the Republic. If you think we are going to stop for ice cream then you are seriously underestimating the import with which I hold this mission.”

###

“Ow, ow, ow!”

The King laughed as Sasha clenched her head. “You have to eat it slowly, Captain,” he informed her, smug grin written across his ice cream stained lips.

Sasha huffed. “I know how to eat ice cream,” she told him. “I just got a bit…hasty,” Sasha added, eyes downwards, glaring at the impossibly tasty cone in her hand.

“Told you it was to die for!” The King chimed proudly.

They were in the Magnificent Estate of Myrodvor. It was the most expensive hotel in all of Tsaryovohrad and by far the most expensive that Sasha had set foot in.

Sasha was sitting by the window, the King was laying with his back against a bed that seemed to swallow him up entirely. He groaned like a man achieving climax. “Fuckkk yess! You have no idea how good this feels after an eternity of hard beds and rickety trains.”

“You mean the hard beds and rickety trains that I shared with you?” Sasha asked.

“Mmmhmm!” The King shut his eyes and nodded, barely even hearing her, just sinking his soul into the fabric beneath him. 

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I didn’t pick this place for you to sleep. We have a job to do, remember?” No response. “Your Majesty!”

The King’s eyes jolted open, he groaned, glared at Sasha like she’d just kicked him in the balls, and rolled his way to his feet. “Fine, fine, fine.” King Exia grabbed a chair, made his way over to the window, and sat in it. Sasha handed him a spyglass and used hers to peer beyond.

Outside was Dvoryaninovo Palace—the reason why they had splurged on the hotel in the first place. It offered the best vantage point to observe the building: who came in and out, what was going on around it, and if there really was something to this whole Navtej-Dragomirov theory. It wasn’t like they could just walk up to the Consul and ask if he was planning anything suspicious.

So far she had not seen anything particularly damning. There was high foot traffic in and out of the palace, but they had not been in Tsaryovohrad long enough to know if this was typical of the place or not. If she had to guess, it would seem more normal than not, as Consul Dragomirov was famously far more sociable than his counterpart. If Sasha had to pick something of actual note, it would be the variety of the people flowing in and out of the building.

While most looked like typical Tsaryovos—wearing the collarless tops and more muted colours than were common in the north, she saw more than a few people entering the palace that were dressed in colours and styles that were more abundant elsewhere. In the upper classes and nobility of various other regions, some of the north but others of the south and a few of both. Sasha thanked her extensive service in perhaps all regions of the country for that insight.

“That’s Marquis Stepan Ilyich Chervonet,” The King hummed, pointing at a short man dressed in the old styles that the nobility of the Republic tended to favour.

“And who is that?” Sasha asked as the man made his way up the palace stairs.

“A noble from the north. And one with the ear of a senator.” The King replied.

“Ah, and you know him how?” Sasha asked.

The King shrugged. “ I know of him. Glanced at a page about him once in the paper, I think. Ah…yes, I recall now, I was snorting cocaine off a whore’s buttocks when I did, yes. He was hosting a party celebrating his firstborn’s engagement.”

“And you remembered enough to recognise him through a spyglass from several feet above?” Sasha lowered the spyglass to look at him now.

The King kept his eyes on the spyglass, and just frowned as if annoyed at the question. “Of course, I’m not simple. He has gained a few pounds though…”

Sasha grit her teeth. It annoyed her just how much of a mind the arsehole had on him. Stupid, big brained idiot. She inhaled and exhaled the frustration. “Tell me if you see anyone else you recognise,” she said, looking through the glass once again.

And so the King did. There were quite a number of them—many who, based upon his brief descriptions and accounts of their backgrounds, ought to be here. But there were just as many who, by their job titles alone, should have been in completely different parts of the country. None were truly powerful in their own right, but they all hovered close to power. Nobles were a common sight. Though barred from holding significant official titles in the Republic, those willing to compromise often secured positions as secretaries or deputies to influential officials. The truly cunning ones ended up pulling the strings behind a puppet Governor or Senator.

“Oh, look it’s Duke Pavel Krutoyarov,” the King chimed as if speaking of someone Sasha should somehow be familiar with.

Sasha angled her spyglass toward the King’s indicated direction, found the tall, wiry man he was referring to—and, to her surprise, recognized him. Not by name—she had never caught that—but she hadn’t forgotten her first and only encounter with Governor Belavkin’s sycophant—the late Governor Belavkin, as later investigations had confirmed.

“He’s rather far away from home…”  Sasha noted, feeling a twisting in her gut that screamed that something was wrong. “Why do you think that is?”

“Can’t say for certain,” The King shrugged once more, though as he leaned back from the spyglass, Sasha saw that his eyes held a steady focus on the Duke. “Guess we’ll just have to ask him.”