by Beth Alvarez
His thoughts scattered as he reached his door. The barracks were largely empty this early in the day, and he was grateful there were no messages in the box beneath the plaque that declared his name in bold letters.
Sighing and rubbing his forehead, Garam slipped inside and checked the lock behind him before he settled at his desk. While the nobles worked at forming rifts between themselves within the city, the provinces did much the same with each other. He still didn't understand how the king couldn't see the problem. The mages from the college were worse than the nobles, walking around with their heads tilted so far back in effort to peer down their noses that he wondered how they walked at all. The Aldaanan hadn't set foot in the Royal City in months, driven away by the spats he'd had to quell far too often. And the province of Roberian might as well not be a part of the Triad, given the lack of communication from the guard stations there.
There were times he wished the king had seen fit to give him a better title. Captain of the Royal City Guard seemed fine enough, but it barely brushed the surface of what was expected of him. Coordinating the guard posts across all three provinces was his duty, as was communication with and relations between the provinces' guard and the rest of the army. Then again, perhaps he'd been given the title he held simply because no one knew what else to call him. Either way, he was underpaid for the amount of work they piled on his desk and his shoulders.
Garam drummed his fingers against the edge of his desk and tried to ignore some of those piles of work now.
Things would have been easier if the provinces were united. Garam would never admit it, not out loud, but as unpopular as the suggestion had been among the council members, he still thought it best. But that suggestion had ended with Councilor Parthanus being stuffed in a cell to rot, and Garam would not risk sharing his opinion.
Ah, Redoram. The captain leaned back in his chair and rubbed his neatly trimmed beard. He should have remembered the man sooner. The councilor was clever, crafty, and educated by the Grand College. A good man, despite those questionable ties. Garam had forgotten Redoram was kept in the cell across the hallway from their new arena champion. No wonder the creature had picked up their language.
He grimaced. Man, not creature. He still had to stop and remind himself. Rune's words still lingered in his mind. Him part green and Garam the color of the earth, but both of them men.
And one of them a man who wouldn't eat without a knife.
Garam swore as he planted his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands. No commoner would speak the way that prisoner did. For that matter, a commoner would have eaten with his hands. Rune had picked up a fork and demanded a knife to go with it.
“Lifetree's mercy,” he breathed. “What have I gotten myself into?”
He scrubbed his face with both hands, suddenly weary. He started to rise, but paused when he caught the title of a book on his desk out of the corner of his eye. Weeks ago, he'd asked for a number of volumes to be pulled from the library and delivered to him. His fingers slid down the spine as he lifted it, wondering which of the nobles had given themselves the pleasure of delivering the titles to his private quarters.
“A History of Kings,” he read aloud as he settled back in his chair and opened the book. His thoughts turned to the kingsword still wrapped and hidden beneath his bed, and the very strange prisoner he'd taken it from.
“You're looking particularly not-beaten tonight.”
Rune startled awake and blinked a few times before he realized it was Redoram's voice that woke him. He stretched and rubbed his luminescent eyes before he turned toward the old man's cell. The lamp in the hallway had gone out in the night. He could just make out the mage's features. Rune rolled off the suspended plank that served as his bed and moved to the door of his cell, the quiet padding of his footsteps accented by the click of his claws against the cold stone floor. “I'm as surprised as you are.” He cast a glance toward the front of the prison and listened for any sign the guard might be awake. He heard nothing.
“Care to tell me what happened?”
Rune shrugged as he lowered himself to sit on the floor. He leaned against the bars and rubbed his eyes again. He hadn't meant to fall asleep; he'd grown used to their midnight conversations. Then again, he was tired from his fight and less bruised than usual. The plank was almost comfortable. “I spoke with Captain Kaith after the match. I guess he decided I didn't need a good beating tonight.”
Redoram snorted. “Don't skirt the truth with me, boy. I can't help you if you do.”
Rune hesitated for a time before he convinced the words to leave his tongue. “I fought a boy today. Not a knight. The captain said the boy's name was Vicamros II.”
“Dear Lifetree!” the mage gasped, clutching at the bars. “Tell me you didn't!”
“I don't kill children,” Rune said, scowling. “Scared him to death, but I let him go. Still, from the way he looked at me, I wouldn't be surprised if he wet his trousers in terror.”
Redoram heaved a sigh of relief and rubbed his brow. “Thank heavens. I can't imagine the sort of chaos that would take the city if the heir was killed in the arena.” He shook his head and his shoulders slumped. “And what did the captain have to say about that?”
Rune shrugged again. “He asked me to join the guard.”
“Well now.” The old mage tugged his beard, looking amused. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing, yet. He's coming back in the morning to hear my answer.” Not that he'd given the answer much thought. He didn't want to stay in prison, that was for certain. But he didn't want to serve beneath anyone, either. It seemed people were always trying to use him to their advantage. He was tired of it.
“You'd best think of your answer soon, then, given that it's not long until sunrise now.” Redoram turned away as a grim smile wreathed itself on his face. “I'm glad you've found your way out and I'm glad I was able to assist. Lifetree knows I've been useless as a caged canary in here.”
Rune bowed his head. “Thank you. Your help won't be forgotten.”
The old man waved a hand and let silence fall.
It felt like hours before a guard appeared in the hall to re-light the lamp in the hall. It seemed like longer still before the clatter of armor heralded the arrival of Captain Kaith and a pair of his men.
Garam knocked a tray against the bars of Rune's cell. “Breakfast.”
Rune pushed himself up from the plank again. He hadn't slept any more, but he felt rested enough. The food smelled good; he walked to the door of his cell to look at it. And the cutlery. “You brought me a knife,” he laughed, flashing the captain a grin. “Good man.”
“Do you have an answer for me?” Garam stepped back to let the guards unlock the door. Once it swung open, he pushed the tray into Rune's clawed hands.
“I will join you,” Rune said. He speared a grape with the tip of the knife and popped it into his mouth. “On the condition my mentor comes with me.”
Garam's expression tightened and he turned to glare into Redoram's cell. “I knew you were involved, you wretched old man!”
Redoram didn't stir from the back of his cell. “I never did pass up the opportunity to teach a man to survive in this city.”
Garam rolled his eyes and turned away from the mage. “You're asking for something larger than you realize.”
Rune tilted his knife in hand, studying its shape. “And my speech in your language is not best. Is there another who knows my mother tongue?”
“Lord Survas,” the captain replied, flinching even as he said the name.
Redoram chuckled. “Good to see we all feel the same way about him.”
Garam shot him a warning look. “Listen,” he started. His eyes slid back to Rune. “I can't promise that will happen. This man has got a lot of enemies, and they had him put here for treason. If he wasn't a mage, he probably would have been executed, but we can't afford to offend the Grand College. I'll do what I can. But I make no promises.”
Rune nodded and set the tray of food aside, putting the meal out of his mind. “You are a good man. So be it, then. I am yours to command.” He bent at the shoulders in the slightest bow of respect, though his eyes never left the captain and his men. They stepped back and he moved forward, straightening his back and holding his head high as he strode out of the cell and into the hallway.
“How does it feel to be free?” Garam asked.
“I walk without chains, Captain.” Rune shook his head with a wry smile. He hooked his clawed thumbs in the pockets of his tattered trousers and made his way to the front of the prison alongside the other guards. “That does not make me free.”
But it was, at least, one step closer to it.
6
Discord and Debate
Vahn sidestepped to avoid the wad of spittle a merchant sent into the street. He shot the man a glare that went unnoticed, then righted himself and adjusted his cape before continuing on his way.
He'd never seen the streets of Ilmenhith so crowded. Peasants and farmers had come in from the countryside to be away from the Underlings. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen a single Underling in the city. He didn't doubt when Davan said the merchants wouldn't deal with them, but if they'd run them out of the city altogether, that was another issue. Yet another thing to add to the list, he supposed.
Though he tried to stop thinking of his ever-growing collection of problems, his eyes drifted over the wilted and damaged produce for sale in a merchant's bins and concern crept to the surface again. How had Kifel ever managed to run the city on his own? Vahn couldn't fathom. Even splitting tasks between Firal and himself, they continued to fall behind.
The first of the new fishing ships had joined the fleets. Citizens had been offered the chance to petition for ownership of the vessels, a groundbreaking decision that turned the tides for a number of struggling families. Vahn had ventured into the city in hopes of finding people in better spirits, but with the Underlings camped right outside the city's limits, moods seemed more dismal than ever. There had to be a better solution, one that didn't involve waiting months for food to grow. The weather had righted itself after the former Archmage's exile, but Davan's travels across the island brought troubling reports of failing farms. The long and heavy rains had washed away good soil and left bare rock where there used to be fields.
Still, Vahn wasn't sure he wanted to rely on the Underlings for information. Regardless of what Firal said, regardless of the convoluted history those people had with Ran, he couldn't make himself trust them. It hadn't quite been a year since they'd marched against Ilmenhith—at the behest of a different leader, perhaps, but they'd done it. Davan claimed they were loyal to Firal now. Vahn didn't trust him, either.
Trust aside, though, he knew the Underlings had value to offer. Many of them were skilled with agriculture, having grown enough food within the limitations of the Kirban Ruins to survive for centuries. They had other skills, too; methods of mining and forging the smiths in Ilmenhith had never learned. He didn't doubt they could be useful, but until they made themselves useful, they were still a burden.
His very thoughts reached his ears as words and Vahn stopped short, startled to hear the sentiment from the mouth of a merchant. A handful of grumbles at Vahn's back made him cast an apologetic glance over his shoulder to his guards. He never went anywhere without an entourage anymore. Half a dozen men walked at his heels, all of them armed to the teeth. He couldn't be too careful. He wasn't Kifel.
A second merchant harrumphed and shook his head. “The queen says they're here to ally with us. I'll believe it when I see it.”
The first barked a laugh and spat at the ground. “There's to the queen!”
Vahn bristled and his hand settled on the hilt of his sword before he caught himself. “You'd be wise to mind the way you speak.” Though his fingers twitched, he didn't pull his weapon from its sheath. The men that fell in formation behind him stood ready to draw steel. Unnecessary show of force would only serve to damage what reputation he had.
Both merchants startled. They bowed and scraped and called apologies over the top of one another.
Forcing himself to relax, Vahn released his sword and gave the two of them a scowl. “Her Majesty wouldn't allow them near the city if she wasn't certain of their allegiance. She has met with their leader and they carry her colors with pride. Is that not enough?”
“Yes, King-regent,” one replied in a hurry. He backed away as he bowed. “Of course, King-regent.”
The title made his hackles rise, but Vahn nodded and turned away. “Be mindful of your tongues, lest they spill such treasonous speech in the street again.”
His half-dozen men fell in step behind him as he moved on. The clank of their armor was familiar and soothing, and the noise helped draw his mind back into focus. He couldn't let such things distract him. He'd made his patrol; there was little else he could do in the city. Vahn turned his company back toward the palace and resisted the want to hold on to his sword. He'd seen enough troubles for the day and was desperate for a moment to clear his head, perhaps mull his thoughts over during a hot bath.
He'd only just stepped into the palace courtyard when he saw a familiar crest on a familiar cape disappear past the palace doors, and his stomach dropped to his knees.
The worst troubles, it seemed, were just ahead.
Firal rolled the single lotus seed between her fingers and held it up against the light. She and Vahn hadn't exchanged seeds after their wedding. They hadn't exchanged anything. Then again, she couldn't blame him. No doubt it would have been strange, swapping symbolism with a woman who carried another man's child in her womb.
Her hand drifted over her stomach absently. So much had changed in the course of a year; her body bore permanent marks to show at least part of her struggles. Perhaps it was best for things to be the way they were with Vahn. She couldn't imagine a man wanting her now, not with her sagging skin and the purple stripes that decorated her abdomen and hips. Medreal assured her they would turn silver as they aged. As if silver was any better.
Unsettled, Firal put the lone seed away in its pouch and moved to the window to gaze at the gardens below her office. She was still at a loss. She didn't know what she was meant to do, how she was supposed to fix her problems. The Underling camp had moved closer to the city under Vahn's direction. Banners proudly displaying the kingdom's colors—her colors—flew above the encampment. It was strange to look across the whole city and realize her best supporters were just beyond its edge. Stranger still to think of them as her people, and herself as their queen. She shuddered at the thought, rubbing her arms and turning away from the window just as the door to her office opened.
“My lady, a visitor to see you.” Medreal nudged the door closed with a hip and carried a fresh tea tray to Firal's desk.
“See them in.” Firal forced a smile. The words no more than left her tongue before the door opened again and a tall man in red-and-gilt finery let himself inside. Her eyebrows lifted, but she managed to keep her expression pleasant.
He was a fine-looking older gentleman, fair of hair and paler than most islanders. His squared jaw and blunted ear-tips marked his diluted bloodline, though from his state of dress he didn't seem to suffer socially for his lack of mage blood. “My lady.” He swept back his cape to bend in a graceful bow with his fingers pressed over his heart. There was a familiarity about him, one she couldn't quite place.
“Do I know you?” she asked as she made her way to her desk. It certainly seemed she ought. He hadn't addressed her as a queen.
“I was at your wedding,” he replied, a hint of humor in his voice. “Along with a hundred thousand others, I suppose. I apologize. I should have come to visit sooner, but it was—”
“Firal!” Vahn burst in the door, a look of wide-eyed panic on his face. “My father is—” He stopped short, words escaping when he saw the occupants of the room before him.
“—awkward for me,” the older man finished, giving Vahn an amu
sed look.
“Is he, now?” Firal struggled to keep from laughing, in spite of the miserable look on Vahn's face. She schooled her expression to a cheerful neutrality and looked back to their guest. “Forgive me. I'm afraid I've not been afforded the chance to know you.”
“Of course.” He brushed his cape over his shoulders and moved forward when Firal gestured for him to seat himself. “Ennil Tanrys, my lady. I suppose I'm the closest thing to a father you've got.”
She pursed her lips, the only outward sign of the way his words made her bristle.
“Don't make that face at me. I knew Kifelethelas much better than you did.” Ennil leaned forward to take the first teacup Medreal filled. She offered honey and cream, but he waved her away. “He was a close friend of mine, yet he never so much as mentioned you until the day he brought you back to the palace. But I don't doubt you're his. I know how the mages are. How his wife was. She'd cut off her nose to spite her face. Hid his blood child away from him and gave him something else to raise.” He arched a brow as a mirthless smile twisted his mouth. “But here you are.”
Firal struggled to keep her wits as every inch of her prickled with displeasure. This man made her skin crawl. How could he be Vahn's father? The two were nothing alike. “I'm the only choice the mages had.”
“Oh, of course.” Ennil leaned back in his chair and scratched the hint of stubble on his chin. “Now that our uncrowned prince is missing, hmm? Not that that's of any concern to you. I'm sure one of you even has an idea how he got out of that prison cell.”
Vahn shifted on his feet and turned his face away. Firal watched him from the corner of her eye. They'd never spoken of the matter. What reason did he have to be uncomfortable? “It seems the royal family's secrets are not so secret as I thought.” She couldn't help the ice that crept into her tone.
As if sensing she needed something to occupy her hands, Medreal pressed a warm cup into her grasp. Firal murmured a thank-you as she wrapped her fingers around it.
