revealed all.
The coronation was only a few days away and Seel was in Pell’s dressing room, keeping him company while a gang of costumiers fussed over his coronation regalia. At some point in the conversation, Pellaz asked Seel why he hadn’t brought Flick to Immanion with him.
Seel knew then that the time for prevarication had past. Just tell him, he thought. Once it’s out, it’s out. Tell him everything.
So he did. He told it as succinctly as possible, all the time watching Pellaz sink into a terrible despair. He couldn’t tell it quickly enough. By the end of the story Pellaz was slumped in a chair, his head in his hands. ‘I did that,’ he said, over and over. ‘I did that.’
Seel knew that Pellaz perceived no distance or awkwardness between them, because up until this moment he’d been so enmeshed in the heady experience of being alive in a wonderful new body, about to become Tigron of all Wraeththu. A fairy tale ending to a marvellous story. Now, Seel knew he had shattered it. The first bits of Pell’s childlike wonder and innocence had been chipped away. Perhaps it would have been better to keep him in ignorance, but how could he be a true Tigron if he remained that way? Seel thought that if he was to conspire in Thiede’s plans at all, it must include teaching Pellaz some autonomy, guiding him to wisdom. He could not embrace Pellaz spontaneously, because of all that had happened, but now he forced himself to cross the room and take the shuddering slender body in his arms. He murmured words of consolation. Pellaz couldn’t blame himself for this. If anyhar was responsible, it was Thiede and Cal’s insane stupidity or stupid insanity.
‘You hate him, don’t you,’ Pellaz mumbled, against Seel’s chest. ‘You hate Cal now.’
Seel only tightened his arms around him. It’s more than hate, he thought. So much more.
Two days later, the whole of Immanion turned out to line the streets for the Tigron’s coronation. The holiday would last two days, with continual feasting and parties in all corners of the city. It should have been the best day of Pell’s life. He rode through the streets to the High Nayati in a carriage decked with garlands, surrounded by cheering hara. Ashmael’s select guard, mounted on glossy sedim, led the procession. Hara threw olive sprigs and flowers into the carriage. They touched their brows in gestures of respect. Some, as they gazed upon Pellaz, wept openly. Pellaz kept a smile upon his face, but even so Seel knew the whole experience was now blighted for him by the bitter knowledge he held in his heart. When he swore allegiance to Wraeththukind in the High Nayati, his voice rang clear and true and perhaps only Seel heard the note of sadness that lay deep within it. At least Pellaz had a cause to which he could devote himself. As Tigron, there would be little time for him to dwell upon the past.
A private feast for the Tigron was held after the coronation in Phaonica. The salons of the palace were crammed with Gelaming dignitaries as well as representatives from many foreign tribes. In the main room, where Pellaz held court, tirelessly being nice to an endless procession of faces, Ashmael took Seel aside. They hadn’t met since Seel had returned to Immanion. ‘Well?’ Ashmael said. ‘What do you think?’
Seel shrugged. ‘He’ll do the job. Anyhar can see that.’
‘He’s as green as a lettuce,’ Ashmael said and took a long drink of wine. He had already consumed quite a lot.
Ashmael had never condemned Seel for not being able to kill Pellaz when he’d had the chance, because he respected Seel’s judgement, but he was still not at all happy about Thiede’s protégé becoming Tigron. Mainly, Seel thought, this was because Ashmael had fancied the role for himself. Thiede was right not have chosen him though. Ashmael had a tendency to be hotheaded and he could easily have become a dictator rather than a Tigron, who deferred to the Hegemony in all matters.
‘Give him a chance,’ Seel said. ‘He didn’t ask for this.’
‘Oh, I will,’ Ashmael said darkly. ‘But the minute he starts trying to throw his weight around, he’s carrion.’
Seel snorted. ‘Oh, for the Aghama’s sake, Ash, that’s not going to happen. Look at him.’
Ashmael glanced over to where Pellaz sat, a picture of regal splendour. They could hear the Tigron’s laughter: spontaneous, warm and genuine. ‘Power does things to hara,’ Ashmael