The King Must Fall by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Grimdark Magazine
Published: 2022-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

The Conspiracy Against the Twenty-third Canton

Alex Marshall

The history of the Star is written in the blood of queens and kings. From the greatest empire to the humblest fiefdom, the fortunes of every realm are inseparable from the fate of its rulers. This is the way of all worlds. Even the devils had their king, before he abdicated his throne, plunging the First Dark into a deeper shade of chaos … or so the old song goes. To know the story of a people, whether one’s own or another, is to know who led them, by right of birth or strength of arm or wits; for as long as there are mortals there will be those who command, those who heed, and those who rebel. Learn their names, trace their struggles, memorize their deeds, and you will know the song of all days.

The only thing Vhumi Bensi found more tedious than ancient history was her future as Tapai of the Twenty-third Canton of Ugrakar. Ever since her sixth birthday—when her father had spoiled a perfectly frivolous tea party with a lecture on how she should treat her dolls as peons instead of peers—the shadow of responsibility had loomed on the horizon, darkening what should have been the bright days of her youth. Trying to enjoy one’s life knowing it will inexorably lead to a somber throne room is like attempting to savor a homecoming feast knowing your dessert will be fishhook soufflé.

According to Vhumi’s father, her antipathy toward her role was definitive proof of her worthiness for it. When the Living Saint had decreed his thirty-six disciples should divide their country equally and then adhere to dynastic succession at all costs, he had intended to foster this very sentiment. To be born to the burden was the only way of ensuring that tapais ruled from a place of duty, not ambition.

Not that any system is foolproof. Vhumi’s father felt the same reluctance, at first, only to fall deeper in love with his liabilities with each passing year. Now as he lay on his deathbed, stricken with a wasting disease that would render the ritual consumption of his flesh by his family a sparse repast, Vhumi tried one last time to pawn her title off on her Aunt Agaja.

“She knows our land and people better than anyone, maybe even better than you,” said Vhumi, spooning buttered chai into her father’s trembling mouth.

The dying tapai slurped the thick tea. “True, true. And if some tragedy were to befall both you and Krish, I have no doubt my sister would make as worthy a tapai as I—but she is not next in line. You were born to be Twenty-third Tapai, Vhumi.”

“You thought I was born a boy, too,” said Vhumi. “You believed me when I told you I was a girl, so believe me now when I tell you I am not a tapai.”

His wizened face creased into one of those infuriatingly condescending parental smiles. “Sweet Vhumi, to rule well you must learn that some things are fixed at birth.

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