#author’s note is on ao3 if you want some rambles about ancient sumer and 17th century poland

[flowers-of-io]

#7

Things you said where the water was loud | Read on Ao3

Once Taox’s ships leave through the wormhole in desperate pursuit of Auryx’s frigate, there isn’t much left of the Osmium Court. A few fires still hold up, weak flames licking the walls of tall, hollowed-out buildings, but most have already been extinguished by rainfall, leaving behind only billows of smoke, rank and choking in the damp air. Hardly a soul can be seen sneaking through the streets—whoever remained stays tucked under the roof of their still-standing house or is camping in the palace's great hall, trembling shapes huddling close and looking up to the ceiling, as if they could see the moons despite the several layers of stone and metal.

The courtiers are mostly dead or gone, but there is still a small gathering in the ruined throne room, lingering between the tactical map and a column all smouldered and cracked from a blast of strange green fire. They, too, huddle close; the diplomatic distance bridged in the face of death, hands curl around hands and heads lean on trembling shoulders. Royal-blue robes, dirty and in tatters, flutter in the draught whistling through bullet holes peppering the walls.

The rumbling of the approaching wave can be heard from the harbour now.

“Do you think the Monoliths are still standing?” The High Admiral asks, his arm arched around the Minister of Seaware who shakes and sniffles.

The Court Deputy Engineer eyes the tactical map—a burnt piece of parchment, now, granite pawns all tipped and strewn across the floor. “Star-Surgery is first,” she says, “and their engines will combust should water get into them. I haven’t heard any explosions yet.”

“You expect to hear anything over this damned squall?” The Sejm’s Highmost Speaker sneers at her from under a half-tipped pillar. She is still holding her buława, squeezing it like a lifeline against her bandaged chest.

The Second Crown Judge wedges a claw between two halves of a clam he found washed in by the tide, takes a bite, and offers the rest to the Deputy Engineer.

“It’s not that far,” he reminds, leaving it unspoken that the troubled sea could have very well pushed the Star-Surgery hundreds of danas away.

“What difference does it make if we hear it or not?” the Highmost Speaker grumbles, “It’s not like we can do anything about it either way.”

“Well, I myself prefer to know what’s coming my way before it does.”

The Minister of Seaware breaks into another wave of ragged sobs.

“I don’t want to die!” Her voice echoes in the chamber, earning her a number glances of glances from those huddled under other walls, some frightened and some expressing only weary annoyance.

“Hush,” the Second Crown Judge fishes out another clam from the deep pockets of his robe and pushes it into her hands, “have a snack.”

“I don’t want a snack! I w-want to go home!”

“Great Leviathan in the deep, is the last thing I’ll ever hear really gonna be your wailing?” Someone from a distant corner calls. The Minister only starts crying louder.

“If the wind hasn’t picked up, we could approximate the distance,” the High Admiral says over her sobs, “after the explosion, I mean.”

“Suit yourself. It could’ve very well gone off hours ago and we didn’t hear it.” The Highmost Speaker huffs, and reaches to pry the clam from the Minister’s claws without much resistance. “Give me that, if you’re not eating it. I’m hungry.”