Page 79 of The Moon Blessed King
A man who has been watching them approach holds up his hand as they draw near. He eyes them, and the army behind them. ‘There’s an illness here,’ he announces apologetically.
‘I know there is,’ Cat says gently. He steps forward, back straight, chin up. Other members of the public are milling about farther into the village, looking their way, curious and uncertain. ‘We are here to help; we know how to heal it.’
‘Our physicians have tried their best already,’ the man says, shaking his head.
‘This…this is different. My name is Stello Alest and—’
‘That’s a wicked lie,’ somebody shouts: another man, one who has been sitting on a barrel not far away. He throws himself from the barrel and marches towards them. ‘Stello Alest is dead!’ His yell draws attention. More faces are turning, eyes and ears shifting their way.
Cat raises his voice. ‘I am a Reaper.’ His chest expands and contracts in huge bursts as he forces himself to breathe.
‘Youblasphemer!’ The same man lunges forward, but Partho steps between them, sheathed sword held up in warning. The Blue Guard step into line.
‘Stop,’ Cat snaps, an echo of the night before. ‘All of youstop. Partho, we arenotgoing to attack them.Stop.’ He steps around Partho, then holds his gloved hands to his sides. He repeats his plea. ‘My name is Stello Alest of Alelune. First son of Queen Alenée, may her change be a blessing.’ His voice projects loud enough to echo between buildings, and yet it does not sound like a shout. He casts it into the wind, and he draws himself up as tall as he can be. More faces are at the windows, more people are in the street. ‘This…this is King Elician of Soleb. He has come here to help me. We saw this plague in Altas, and we know how to fix it. If you will let us.’
Elician’s eyes flick from face to face. Some of them are ill, their faces splotchy, their postures crooked, their gaits wobbly. Others cover their mouths and noses with cloth and hold their children and loved ones nervously. But the longer they all stay standing still, the more the sick approach, their bodies bloated and swollen and black with blood.
A woman is coming towards them. She is mature in her bearing, her body wide and her steps carefully measured. She has bruises on her skin and red striations tearing along her limbs. She leans hard on a stick to keep her moving. The growing crowd parts for her.
She stands only an arm’s reach away from them, and Alest bows his head to her. ‘You say you’re a stello and yet you bow?’ she scoffs.
‘Are you not deserving of the respect, madame?’ he asks her when he rises. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. She coughs loudly. ‘They respect you,’ he goes on. ‘Should not I?’
‘You do not know me,’ she tells him.
‘I would like to,’ he says in turn.
The woman looks at him, truly looks at him. She inspects himlike one might a prized stallion. She examines his face, his limbs, his features, the way he holds and composes himself, perhaps even the way he breathes deeply in an effort to remain calm and in control. ‘I saw you once,’ the woman says at long last. ‘On parade. With this one’ – she pokes her stick towards Partho, quickly lowering it back to the ground as her balance falters – ‘at the front of the line.’
Cat frowns, lips parting as he glances off to the right as if he could summon the memory by sheer force of will. But then he huffs. ‘I held a flag,’ he murmurs, as if sharing a secret not often told. ‘I asked my mother to let me walk, she agreed, and I…I must have made that parade last so much longer, making them all walk at my pace.’
‘I’d never seen a more perfect stello,’ the woman tells him.
Someone in the crowd steps closer, starts to speak. ‘Madame Le—’
‘He is the stello,’ she cuts them off. ‘Just as that girl said.’ Cieli. Her rumours. Elician’s heart pounds. He waits. Hehopes. ‘No Blue Guard would form for anyone less. Are you…really a Reaper?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ Cat agrees. ‘But this is why we can help you, if you will let us.’
‘All things must die,’ the woman reminds him. ‘Perhaps it is our time.’
‘But…’ Cat smiles, glances at Elician. He reaches out and takes Elician’s hand there for all to see. ‘All life is sacred too,’ he says. ‘And if the gods did not want us to be here, now, before you, then wouldn’t they have prevented us from coming?’
‘You come with our enemy,’ she says. Her tone is sharp, bitter.
‘Soleb is not our enemy. Not anymore,’ he replies.
Voices clatter into dissent. Coughs and gags mix in with shouts and yells. Elician waits, forces himself to wait. He wants to talk, wants to argue, wants to bitterly make his plea. But that is not his place, not his purpose. He is meant to be here forCat. He cannot do that if he is undermining the first opportunity Cat has to be his people’s king.
‘I married King Elician of Soleb to end this war,’ Cat says. ‘Thispointlesswar that has led to so much death and bloodshed onbothsides of a border no one agrees on. I’m going to challenge Gillage for the throne of Alelune, and when I win, Soleb and Alelune will be at peace. The war isover.’
‘We have fought that war forthousandsof years!’ someone yells.
Another, closer, missing an arm and bloated from plague, croaks out, ‘Why should they be allowed to win it?’
‘They’re not winning. No side is winning,’ Cat says. ‘Instead,the peoplewin. Your children, your grandchildren, none of them deserve to fight a war without end. They deserve to live their lives and hold their loved ones and follow their dreams and their pursuits without being sent to fight for land they may never get the chance to live on.’
The woman from before raises her hand, forestalling another volley of shouts and screams. ‘You’re a Reaper. What do you know of war?’
