“Very well,” said Jaysynn. He stepped down again from the window and sat on the stone ledge. “But I think you’ll be disappointed in me. I don’t know much. About what caused the Cataclysm. About what Dracon is planning. About what I’m going to do about it. But I know that I want to go back to Thyrion and try to set things right.”
“Respectfully, Mr. Kyzer, I don’t see how you’re going to do that. My impression is that you’ve got more enemies in that city than friends.”
“Respectfully, sir, there are many loyal Thyrians who will follow me. I am the rightful leader of that city.”
“You were,” said Vac. “That was in another time. See—you’re not a leader unless there are people who are willing to do what you say. And you can’t overthrow a leader unless you’ve got some very fervent friends in high places. I may be wrong about you—I’ve only really met you on paper—but I don’t think you have that command over people. I don’t think anyone will give their lives for you. I don’t think anyone will commit treason for you.”
“The streets are full of people who will follow me,” said Jaysynn. “As far as I know, Dracon thinks I’m dead—or he suspects it. But if word reached you that I’m still alive, it will reach him soon enough.”
Vac approached Jaysynn and pulled his desk chair around so he could face him, but he didn’t sit—he rested his hands on the back and leaned on them, looming toward Jaysynn.
“I’m afraid they already know,” he said. “Thyrian operatives broke into Tarc’s refugee camp last night. They killed a few guards and carved up my brother. Chances are good they were looking for you.”
“So I want those guards that just walked out and everyone else in this city to believe that I’m dead—that you killed me.”
“That’s certainly a believable story,” Coonhil added from across the room. Vac shot him a cold glance, but Jaysynn went on.
“Word will reach Dracon, and when it does, I’ll be able to move around much more freely when I get to Thyrion.”
Vac nodded. “Is there a war coming?”
“Dracon wants a war. Whether or not he can mobilize, I don’t know. I want to do whatever I can to stop him.”
“I don’t think you’re worth more than a bag of dirt, Mr. Kyzer,” said Vac. “I’m sure I’ve made it clear that the only thing I think you’re good for is a decoration on capital street—something I can hang from a lamppost. What you’re proposing to me—whether you realize it or not—is that I help you defeat Dracon and put you on the throne, restoring the Kyzer Dynasty. And though I’m sure you will promise to be a friend, and though you may be an absolute man of your word, still your descendants will draw inspiration from the heritage of Thyrion. And from the dust I will rebuild my ancient enemy.”
“Or you can do nothing,” Jaysynn said, “and let Dracon build a new empire founded on your ultimate destruction. Or, better yet, let’s forget about the ancient past and the distant future. Right now, in our own time: would you rather have war than peace? Would you rather have your people live and rebuild, or die by their swords?”
“Did you not listen to me earlier?” Vac said angrily. “I’ve played the game very carefully, and I’ve put this city in a position to come out on top if this Cataclysm leads to an age of wars. If Dracon wants to fight me, he will drive his empire—your empire—into oblivion. Even if he kills some of the people that I’m trying to save, I’ll be rid of Thyrion forever, and I’ll be rid of the Kyzers.”
“So that’s it, isn’t it?” said Jaysynn. He nodded slightly, but kept his eyes trained on the governor. “It’s about hatred. It’s not about whose lives you can save. It’s not about protecting your city or your people. It’s not about building a better future. It’s about your hatred of my city, and my father, and my brother.”
“I hate three hundred years of Thyrian history, since first the Kyzers reigned by force of might.”
“Well,” said Jaysynn, “what I know of you—what I’ve seen in the news—made you look like such a statue of a man. Now I see you’re just as whipped around by emotion as any of us.”
Vac had been glaring coldly at Jaysynn, and his hand gripped the handle of the knife as rigidly as he had held the rail on the balcony when he faced the mob. He had turned himself to stone, and now that Jaysynn called him a statue, he continued to stand like one and continued to lean forward like a boulder about to break loose and crush whoever stood below.
And he recalled coming in from the balcony trying to get down to business but then asking for a glass of water—trying to conquer his fear and his nerves but realizing at last that he was a man. And, in his own way, he was a slightly ridiculous man. He almost smiled, then relaxed his shoulders.
“No, I don’t have that deep well of emotion that you think I do,” he said. “Take you, for example. You’re coming here to save a girl. You’re listening to your heart and risking your life for it. Me, I don’t have that. I’m divorced. And whether my ex-wife and my kid are still alive after everything that’s happened, I haven’t bothered to check. I talk like I care about the people out there, but really all I care about is doing my job.”
“And your job is to keep them safe?”
“It is,” said Vac.
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