📖 The Celestial Codex (6/7) 📖

The Confrontation

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It had rained the night before. The road to the western quarter was still soft with mud, and Moses hadn’t ventured out in days—not since he bought three firkins of ale with his earnings from the queen’s service.

He had never been so rich in his life, and yet he had never felt poorer. He had gold in his satchel, something he'd never even touched before. But there was a bitter silence in his chest.

On the table beside his mug were three folded scraps of parchment. One had been started and abandoned ten times. Another was just a list of truths he didn’t know how to speak aloud. The third began, “Your Highness—” but never got farther than a single ink blot.

He had written them for no one. For Leona. For Alyse. For himself.

Leona had betrayed him.

He’d stewed on it for three weeks, turning it over again and again, until the bitterness soured into understanding. She must have felt the same. They had been allies once. He had betrayed her first—and she had simply returned the favor.

It didn’t justify what she’d done. He still believed she was wrong.

But maybe—just maybe—he could have handled it better.

So he drank.

And he replayed every moment, every word, every hesitation that might have tipped things another way.

And then the knock came.

"I'm closed," he shouted, pouring himself another ale.

His life had changed so much. Turning away a potential client was not something he had done before.

There wasn't a second knock.

Instead, someone simply opened the door.

"I beg your pardon!" Moses said, standing up and grabbing a fireplace poker. "I said I'm closed."

It was a man dressed in brigandine armor, a greatsword strapped to his back and a long dagger at his waist.

He stepped aside and a woman in a hooded cloak stepped in.

She shut the door, leaving her guard outside.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She dropped her hood, revealing raven hair.

"Your Highness!" he said, dropping to a knee. "Forgive me."

"Stand up, Moses," she said.

He did.

He really wanted to sit, but he couldn't do that as long as she stood, so he cleaned off a second chair and offered it to her.

When she sat, he did.

"Is that ale?" she asked.

"Yes, your highness," he said.

"Rather early for ale," she said.

"Depends on your point of view," he said. "My lady."

He found a clean, though dusty mug. He wiped it off, filled it.

"Want one?"

"No, thank you," she said.

He handed it to her anyway, and she tentatively accepted it. Then she smiled and took a long draught. "Oh, it has been a long time," she said.

Moses raised an eyebrow. They considered each other for a moment, and then spoke at the same time.

"To what do I owe—"

"You left," she said.

“I was removed.” His voice was even.

“Why?”

Moses didn’t answer at first.

“The queen hasn’t spoken clearly in days,” she said. “Not since that night. And Leona won’t say where you went. She says you chose to leave.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then tell me what is true.”

Moses looked at her. "It's a long story," he said.

"I came here hoping for a story," she replied. She sat forward, removed her cloak and set it to the side on an ink-stained table before relaxing into the chair.

Moses suddenly felt out of place, ink-stained and small beside someone born to carry legacy like a crown.

A strange expression came over her face.

"What is it?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. "Do you know…," he asked. "Do you know why I was there?"

She tilted her head. “At the castle?”

“Yes.”

“I assumed the queen called for you,” she said. “That she needed a scribe.”

Moses gave a faint, humorless laugh.

“That’s what I thought too. For about ten minutes.”

He took a drink, swirled the ale in his cup.

“But it wasn’t the queen who summoned me, Princess. It was Leona.”

Alyse stiffened. Slowly, she set the mug down.

“Go on.”

"Before I do, I want you to understand that I hold Leona in high regard, even though we had a disagreement."

"I do too," the princess said. "More than you know."

"Yes, I was afraid you might say that, your highness."

"Why would you say such a thing?"

"I felt that she was imposing her will over and above the queen's wishes. I called her out for it, and she had me removed from the castle."

"That doesn't sound like Leona," Alyse said.

"Nevertheless, it is true," Moses said.

"Explain."

He did. He told her the whole story. The origin of the Celestial Codex. The way it was carried as a burden by her line of ancestors. How she was to be next in line to withhold magic from the world. What she would need to bear to do so. What the alternative was, and lastly, the risks.

"So, Leona believed she was saving the world?"

"She does believe that. Whether its true is unclear."

"What do you think?"

"It makes some sense. I figure, what's the worst thing that can happen if you just complete the rite with the queen?"

"That I bear some burden that cannot be understood until I have shouldered it."

"It's not nothing," he said. "But the alternative is worse."

"And you think the queen intends and wants to pass it on to me?"

"There's no question of that. That's what she wants," he insisted. "She told me one time that she had wanted to spare your father of the burden until it was absolutely necessary, but she put it off for so long that he—I'm sorry if this is a hard subject—but she waited too long and then he passed and it was too late."

"So your job was to record her words?"

“I was recording more than her words,” he said. “I was recording her memory. The Codex isn’t just history—it’s magic. It was being rewritten through her voice… and through my hand.”

Alyse’s brow furrowed. “I saw it. The ink… shimmered.”

He nodded. “The ink was awake.”

She sank into the chair across from him.

“Leona feared the Codex would be lost and with it all of creation. She thought she was saving it. She had me thrown out before I could speak to you.”

Silence.

Then Alyse whispered, “She lied to me.”

Moses didn’t respond.

“The queen chose me to bear the burden,” Alyse said. “But now I don’t even know what the burden is. But if she chose me, I will do it. Come back with me. We’ll finish it together with the queen."

He hesitated.

“She’ll try to stop me again.”

“Let her try,” Alyse said, rising. “I’m not a girl waiting to be chosen anymore. I am the heir. And I say the Codex will be completed, either through the rite, or through your words."

"Didn't she hire a different scribe?"

"She did," Alyse said. "Someone named Chenguer."

"Oh, that just won't do," Moses said.

"So you'll come back with me?"

Moses looked down at the table. His eyes lingered on the parchment—the one that began Your Highness.

“You really think they’ll let me in?”

“I'm not asking permission. They’ll do what I say,” she replied. “I’m not the girl I was.”

He gave a bitter smile and pushed the letter aside.

“Then lead the way,” he said.

"Lead the way," he said. He waited for her to stand.

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When Leona returned to the queen’s antechamber, she was surprised to hear voices in the working chamber—multiple voices.

She stepped inside cautiously.

The queen and the princess stood together, flanked by two guards.

Chenguer was gone.

In his place sat Moses.

“What is going on?” she asked.

“Stand before me,” the queen commanded.

Leona hesitated. This wasn’t good.

She looked to Moses, then to Alyse, but neither met her eyes.

Cowards, she thought.

Still, she stood tall and stepped forward, defiant. She had done what was necessary.

“You are accused of treason against the crown,” the queen said. The queen’s voice was firm, but her eyes wandered—just for a moment—toward a window that wasn’t there.

“Your Majesty—”

“You were not invited to speak,” the queen snapped. “You shall have a trial. There, you may offer your defense.”

Leona lowered her eyes, contrite now.

“Look at me,” the queen demanded.

Leona raised her gaze.

“You are to be taken to the Stoneward until your trial. If found guilty, you will be hanged by the neck until dead. May the gods judge what we cannot.”

“Finish the Codex, I beg—”

A guard struck her with the back of his hand.

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"Grandmother," Alyse said. "I beg that you do not hang her."

"It is treason," the queen said.

"Barely," Alyse said. "And if you knew what she has done for us—for me."

"What are you saying?" the queen asked.

At that moment a third guard entered the chamber, bringing Kane, the young page into the room, grasping hold of his ear.

"What have you done to my mother?" he demanded.

The guard directed him in front of the queen. Kane's eyes went wide when he saw her, and he dropped to both knees, placing his head on the floor.

"My queen," he said.

"What is the manner of this?" the queen asked.

"I need to confess something," Alyse said. "To all of you. Especially you, Kane."

"My lady?" he asked.

“Leona’s been imprisoned for treason,” Alyse said.

“She’d never!” Kane burst out—then, remembering where he stood, added quietly, “My lady.”

"There'll be a trial to determine the truth of it," the queen said.

Kane, head still lowered, sneered, but kept quiet.

"My queen," Alyse said. "This boy was raised as Leona's child. She cared for him, hovered over him really. Took care of him when I couldn't."

"What do you mean?" the queen asked.

"Kane is my son," Alyse said.

"What?"

"I became pregnant at seventeen," she said. "To a boy I loved, who was lost months later in the Battle of Moonblood."

Kane, looked up at her and sat on his haunches.

"What?" he asked.

"Kane is my child. Leona took care of him. He never knew. My father never knew. You never knew. Only my mother (gods rest her soul), Leona, and I have known."

The queen stood on shaky legs. "This is why you went to the Temple of Isen your seventeenth summer?"

"It is, my queen," she said. "I could not let the scandal break the family, so I bore him alone. Only Leona helped me, and she kept the child as her own."

“She’s not my mother?” Kane asked.

“In so many ways, she was,” Alyse said. “I’m so sorry.”

“And now you’ve thrown her in prison?” Rage danced across the boy’s face.

“As we have said,” the queen replied. “She will have a trial.”

“Trials in this kingdom don’t tell the truth,” Kane snapped. “They tell the story the crown wants heard.”

“You forget your place, young man,” the queen said sharply.

“My place?” he said, stepping forward. “If I’m right, that makes you my great-grandmother.”

"So it would seem," the queen said.

“You can't keep her in chains! Not after what she's done for me,” Kane said.

“Kane,” Alyse said firmly. “We do not demand things of the queen.”

"She's my mother."

He turned on her, raw and shaking.

“And, now you want to be my mother? Now?” His voice cracked. “Now that I’m eleven? Now that it’s convenient?”

“I have loved you all along,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I made sure you had everything. Made sure you were cared for. Believe me—it’s not what I wanted.”

“You didn’t give me the truth,” Kane said quietly.

Alyse stepped closer.

“Kane,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was six years older than you are now. I was a child myself. I’m not making excuses. But I’m giving you the truth now.”

"This explains your strange attachment to the boy," the queen said. She blinked once, twice, as though trying to recall which chamber she stood in.

"What?" Alyse asked.

"I thought you were just fond of him. But he's your son."

"Yes, grandmother. He is."

"We should tell Alric—he'll be proud," the queen said. "Is he still nestled in his down comforter?"

They all exchanged looks as the queen slipped away.

Moses wrote her orders.

Kane turned from them all, the weight of two titles—mother and traitor—crushing the boy beneath.

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Stephen B. Anthony is the author of Transmigrant, an epic science fiction thriller, available on both Amazon and Audible. The first seven chapters are available on this website for free.

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