they had increasingly turned to their fellow Star Gods for companionship. Nine years ago, growing ever more inclined to the ethereal and wanting to spend more time exploring the mysteries of the stars, Axis had handed over full control of Tencendor to Caelum in a magnificent ceremony on the shores of Grail Lake, where Axis had proclaimed Tencendor so many years ago. In the years since then Caelum had seen his parents only three or four times. They kept themselves remote, as befitted their status as gods, and left Caelum to manage the realm of mortals.
Even though he had steered Tencendor for nine years, and seen it successfully through several peaceful disputes, Caelum still felt slightly uncomfortable about his position as supreme ruler. Axis had won his right to rule through sheer courage, through years spent on the fighting trail, through heartache and loss and grief. Caelum had been given the realm, almost literally, on a golden platter. Oh, he’d been trained and guided and counselled for years beforehand. Axis had sent him for several six-month periods to the great southern empire of Coroleas, and once for seven months to the intriguing little kingdom of Escator. At the hands, not only of Axis himself, but other petty kings and grand emperors, Caelum had studied the art of governance in depth.
But still Caelum sometimes felt that he should have won his right to sit the Throne of the Stars as his father had. Was the sheer luck of birth order enough to guarantee that a son had the skills and wisdom needed to govern so large a realm? What did his people actually think of him?
“I should get out more often,” Caelum said to himself. “Actually see what’s going on and not rely on reports. How long is it since I’ve left Sigholt?”
“Too long,” a soft voice put in from the window, and Caelum turned about, unsurprised. He’d known who it was even before she spoke, for he’d felt her presence coalesce in the window as he’d muttered to himself.
“Zenith.” He grinned and held out his hands. “It’s been days! Where have you been?”
His youngest sister jumped lightly down from the windowsill and hugged her brother tight. Unlike Caelum, who remained bare-backed like their parents, Zenith had glossy wings, as raven-black as her hair. She was a beautiful birdwoman, even more stunning than her mother, Azhure. Mysterious, intriguing, and yet somehow sad, always apart from the life of Sigholt. Caelum held the hug, wondering why. Even as a child Zenith had seemed troubled. She had often slept badly, suffering formless nightmares, and on many days was withdrawn and uncommunicative. And sometimes … sometimes Caelum had caught her looking at him with an expression that was so unlike her that he’d wondered if …
“Why the frown?” Zenith leaned back and took her brother’s face briefly in her hands, kissing him lightly on the lips.
Caelum folded her wings against her back and stroked them softly. “I was thinking, loveliest of sisters, that it is high time you also thought about fleeing –”
Why had he used that word? Caelum stumbled slightly, but managed to carry on before Zenith could speak. “– leaving Sigholt. How many years since you left? No, don’t answer! Too many, that I know.”
Zenith quietened in that strange way she had, and Caelum sensed a slight withdrawal.
He stood back a little, but kept his hand lightly on her shoulders. “Zenith? StarDrifter would love to see you, I’m sure. You spent a great deal of time with him when you were a child, and the Island of Mist and Memory is a wondrous place.”
“Maybe.” She suddenly grinned, her dark blue eyes mischievous. “Should I take Drago with me, as I did when a child?” Zenith more than half suspected that Caelum’s suggestion was a roundabout way of ridding Sigholt of Drago’s presence for a while.
Caelum dropped his hands and walked away from her. “As you wish,” he said, his voice toneless. “But that wasn’t what I meant.”
Zenith instantly regretted trying to joke about Drago. He was a constant note of disharmony within Sigholt, although he never said or did anything that could be in any way construed as sinister or hurtful. It was just that he was so different from his brothers and sisters. Caelum, RiverStar and Zenith (as also Isfrael, their half-brother) were the children of gods. They were highly magical beings, and their enchanted lives would likely stretch into infinity before they ended. Once Drago had been like them. Briefly. Drago had been born the second child of Axis and Azhure, the elder twin of RiverStar, and potentially one of the most powerful Enchanters ever birthed. But even as a mewling infant he had abused that power, allying himself with his father’s foe, Gorgrael, and plotting to murder Caelum so that Drago might inherit his place.
As punishment Azhure had disinherited him of his Icarii powers. Now, forty years on, Drago wandered the corridors of Sigholt a dark and enigmatic mortal, ageing into useless thin-faced middle years as he watched his brothers and sisters glory in their youth and enchanted powers.
Caelum was never able to trust him, even knowing his powers had gone. It was Caelum who had been the object of Drago’s infant ambitions, who had been subject to the terror of kidnap and abuse by Gorgrael, and it was Caelum who was daily reminded of that horror every time he caught sight of Drago from the corner of his eyes. Zenith knew that Caelum made every effort to avoid Drago whenever he could, but even in a place as large as Sigholt the brothers constantly ran into each other.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly to Caelum’s back. “I did not mean to jest.”
He turned his head her way, and smiled slightly. “It does not matter, Zenith. Drago does not –”
There was a knock at the door, and it opened without waiting for Caelum’s word. WingRidge CurlClaw entered, stopped after precisely five paces, and saluted Caelum. “StarSon.”
“WingRidge. What is it?”
WingRidge glanced at Zenith, but made no comment on her presence. “StarSon, a courier bird has just arrived from Carlon with a message from Prince Askam.”
Caelum took the proffered parchment, unrolled it with a snap of his wrist, and ran his eyes over the text.
“Curse him to … to … oh, damn him!” he cried, and Zenith laid a concerned hand on his arm.
“Caelum? What is –”
“That cursed fool has just levied a third … a third … tax on all goods moved along the Nordra and along the roadways of the West. And slapped a tax on any and every man and family who wants to move north to live. Gods! Look at the amount! That figure must have come to him when he was suffering a nightmare caused by chronic constipation. Oh! I can’t believe this!”
He threw the parchment on the table and stalked away to the window, standing and staring out as he fought to regain his temper. Gods, but Askam and Zared gave him more trouble combined than Borneheld and Gorgrael had ever given his father, he was sure of it! How many times had he had to draw one or the other aside for some diplomatic advice? Between them they controlled half the territory of Tencendor – was it too much to ask of them to try and do that in something even vaguely resembling peace?
Zenith looked at WingRidge, who remained completely expressionless, then picked up the parchment and briefly scanned the contents herself. Her eyes widened as she slowly put it down – no wonder Caelum had reacted so strongly.
“Caelum?” she said, and waited for her brother to look at her.
“Caelum … this time something needs to be done to solve their problems. And Leagh, you must surely end her misery soon.” Although Zenith
