by John Marco
“My lord,” he said with a slight bow. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you. Shouldn’t you be in the council chamber with the others?”
“Yes, my lord, but actually I wanted to speak to you first.” Trager looked around, his voice dipping to a whisper. “It’s important.”
“I have business with the chancellors, Will. I really can’t dally.”
“I know, my lord, but this will interest you,” Trager insisted. He continued blocking Akeela’s path. “I have news for you.”
“Can’t it wait? Really, you should be going through Lukien with news. This is improper.”
Trager’s eyes seemed to laugh. “Improper, hmm . . .” He thought for a moment. “No, I think I’d better tell you this directly, my lord.”
“Very well,” Akeela relented. “After the meeting, then. Now, do you mind?” He shooed Trager out of his way. “Is Lukien already there?”
“Yes,” replied Trager, following after him. “So is Baron Glass and Chancellor Hogon.”
“And Nils? I sent for him as well.”
“He’s there with D’marak,” said Trager.
Akeela nodded, bracing himself. Nils was a reasonable man, and he would need his goodwill against Glass and Hogon. Hogon was also a reasonable man, but he had a temper and was an old ally of Baron Glass. The two had soldiered together, and almost always took the same side in arguments. As Chancellor of War, it was Hogon’s responsibility to oversee the Liirian military, including the Royal Chargers. Akeela was suddenly glad he’d invited Lukien to the meeting. They would listen to Lukien, he knew. It was valuable just having the Bronze Knight by his side.
Trager followed Akeela like a dutiful dog, pulling ahead of him only when the reached the council chamber. The door to the chamber was already open. Akeela could smell Glass’ pipe. Muted voices issued over the threshold. Trager entered first, announcing the king.
“King Akeela,” he said simply.
The men all rose from around the oval table, all except for Baron Glass, who was already standing, pacing around the room. The baron stopped and turned to Akeela, neither a smile nor a scowl on his face. Determined not to be intimidated, Akeela hardened his expression. The chancellors and their underlings all bowed in greeting, welcoming him home. Akeela shook outstretched hands as he made his way to the opposite end of the chamber, where a chair awaited him, slightly larger than the rest. The air was already stale from overcrowding and the obnoxious smoke from Baron Glass’ pipe filling the room. Glass was the last to greet Akeela. He did not put out his hand as the others had, but merely nodded deferentially. Lukien, however, greeted his king with a warm embrace.
“Akeela,” he said, kissing both his cheeks. “It’s good to see you. Welcome home.”
Akeela smiled, loving the attention. “Lukien, I missed you.” He patted the man’s back then whispered, “Thank you for coming.”
As always, the Bronze Knight had a chair at Akeela’s right side. He dropped into it just as Akeela sat down. The chancellors and ministers did the same. And just as he was first to stand, Baron Glass was last to take his seat, doing so noisily only when all the others were seated. As expected, Glass sat next to Hogon. The War Chancellor’s expression was anxious, as if he’d already heard Akeela’s news. Nils and D’Marak sat at the far end of the table, both dressed in their usual drab robes, while Chancellor Sark sat apart from the others, surrounded by three silent ministers of the Treasury. Trager, along with Breck and Lukien, sat near Akeela. The closeness of the chamber made the young king queasy. Servants had set the table with pitchers and goblets. Akeela took a long drink before beginning.
“Thank you for the welcome,” he said finally. “I know it was short notice, and I appreciate you coming to see me. I have news of my trip, you see, and I thought you should all hear it at once.”
“Bad news, no doubt,” said Baron Glass. “Or you would have waited until tomorrow.”
Akeela stiffened. “I’m afraid you’re right. My news is dire. My goodwill tour wasn’t all that I’d hoped it would be. It caused some . . . trouble.”
Chancellor Hogon leaned forward. “What kind of trouble, my lord?” His watery eyes filled with concern.
“Norvor,” said Akeela. “King Mor took some offense at my peace initiative with Reec. He thinks the Kryss belongs to Norvor as well as Reec, and he wasn’t happy about us giving control of our side to the Reecians.”
“Wasn’t happy?” said Glass. “You mean he was angry, don’t you?”
Akeela nodded. “That’s right.”
“How angry?” asked Hogon.
“Angry enough to threaten war,” replied Akeela.
“I knew it!” erupted Glass. He slammed a fist down on the table. “King Akeela, didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I warn you not to go so quickly?”
“I’m not a little boy,” hissed Akeela. “Yes, you did warn me. And I’m not a damn bit sorry about the Reecian peace. Are you?”
Smouldering, Glass looked down at his wine goblet, refusing to answer.
“Now listen,” said Akeela, “I don’t want to argue. I called this meeting because you have to know of Mor’s threat. He told me that he won’t let our peace bargain with Reec stand, that he plans on taking the Kryss back from Reec, with or without our help.”
“Did he threaten Liiria?” Hogon asked.
Akeela hesitated. So far, he hadn’t told this part to anyone, not even Cassandra. “Yes,” he admitted. “He said that he’d be stationing troops on the Norvor side of the river, and that if we tried to cross or help the Reecians maintain the river, he would attack us.”
“That snake,” sneered Hogon. “How dare he speak to you like that. You’re the King of Liiria!”
“And he’s the King of Norvor,” Akeela countered. “To be honest, I don’t think my title impressed him. I expected to be greeted like a friend, not like a ruler. Instead I got a cold, stiff breeze.” The memory hardened Akeela. “Well, it won’t stand. We can’t let Norvor move against Reec, and we can’t have our treaty threatened, or our rights to use the Kryss.”
Baron Glass shook his head, muttering, “I told you.”
“We have to plan, Baron Glass,” Akeela insisted.
Glass looked up at him. “You are willful, King Akeela.”
The insult stunned Akeela. Lukien rose to Akeela’s defense.
“Baron Glass, forgive me, but you’re out of order,” he said. “Remember—you’re talking to your king.”
“No, Lukien,” said Akeela. “Let him speak his mind. Go on, Baron. Get the poison out of your blood.”
“Very well.” Glass sat up straight. “I warned you against the Reecian peace, King Akeela. I told you that you were going too quickly, and that you should at least tell King Mor of your plans. But you didn’t listen to me. Then I warned you against going on this goodwill tour, and again you refused my counsel.” He tried to smile, but it came out crooked. “You think of me as a bitter old man. You think I resent you for having the throne at so young an age . . .”
“I don’t,” Akeela protested.
“You do. But I don’t resent you, my lord. You’re my king, and I serve you the best I can. But you won’t listen to any of us. You always do what you want, and I think that serves you poorly.” Baron Glass looked around at the other councilors. “We are not bitter old men, my lord. We are experienced, and we should be heeded. Your father listened to us.”
Akeela sat back in his chair, feeling insufferably small. The invocation of his father shattered the defensive wall he’d erected, and he suddenly felt naked, exposed and weakened by these men who pledged to serve him. He did not appreciate the baron’s honesty.
“All right,” sighed Akeela. “You’ve had your say, Baron. Now, give me your counsel. We have to deal with King Mor. What do you suggest?”
“It’s obvious,” said Glass. “He’s planning to mass troops across the Kryss? Then we must do the same. We must match his force, show him we cannot be intimidated.”
Akeela’s expression soured. He glanced at Lukien, but the knight’s face was unreadable.
“Chancellor Hogon?” he asked. “Do you agree with Baron Glass?”
The old man frowned. “If what you say is true, my lord, then Mor is not to be trusted. Given cause, he will move against the river. Will you give him cause?”
“He wants the treaty with Reec rescinded,” said Akeela bleakly. “And that’s something I will never do.”
“Then he will have his cause,” said Hogon. “I agree with Baron Glass. We must act.”
“But I don’t want to provoke a war,” said Akeela.
“You already have,” said Glass sharply. “Face it, King Akeela. And if I may say so, I think it’s time to halt construction of your library. It’s too expensive. We can’t afford to bleed our treasury with war on the cusp.”
“The library?” Akeela was aghast. “Oh, no. That’s out of the question.”
“Please, King Akeela,” Glass implored. “War may be coming. Don’t continue with this folly—”
“It isn’t folly!” sneered Akeela. He felt Lukien’s hidden hand on his leg, coaxing him down, but he stood up anyway. “I won’t let you use this trouble with Norvor as an excuse to stop the library. The monies have already been allocated. Isn’t that right, Sark?”
Chancellor Sark, who had been listening with varied interest, now froze under the king’s glare. “My lord?”
“The money for the library, man,” said Akeela. “It’s all been allocated, right?”
Sark grimaced. “Well, yes and no.”
“What does that mean?”
“Akeela, be easy,” whispered Lukien. Akeela ignored him.
“Chancellor, does the Treasury have the money or not?”
“Not if war comes, my lord, no,” said Sark. “I’m sorry, but your library is very expensive.”
Glass smiled. “And so is paying for a war. King Akeela, I beg you to listen to reason.”
But Akeela couldn’t listen. All around him were enemies.
“We will build the library,” he declared. “And we will not provoke a war with Mor. I didn’t make peace with Reec just so we can battle Norvor.”
“So?” pressed Glass. “What’s your plan, then?”
“We wait,” said Akeela. “Mor may be bluffing, and I don’t want bloodshed if it can be avoided.”
Baron Glass sighed with disgust. “You’re just protecting your library.”
“No,” Akeela shot back. “I’m trying to protect lives. Apparently that means nothing to war-mongers like you, Baron.”
Rising from his seat, Glass said, “That is a terrible thing to say to me, King Akeela.”
“If you’re standing for an apology you’ll have a long wait,” said Akeela. “Sit down, Baron. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
Glass’ eyes shifted around the room, now engulfed in charged silence. Chancellor Hogon reached out and grabbed Glass’ sleeve, gently drawing him back into his chair. It was not going at all as Akeela had hoped, but suddenly he didn’t care any more. He was king, and he demanded respect.
“Now listen to me, all of you,” he said. “We’re not going to match Mor’s troop movements, and we’re not going to break the treaty with Reec.” His eyes widened dramatically. “And we’re absolutely not going to stop building my library. Do you understand?”
The chancellors and their underlings gave non-committal nods—all except for Glass.
“And what of Norvor?” asked the baron. “Will you just ignore them?”
“I will deal with Norvor if and when the time comes.” Akeela pushed back his chair and started out of the council chamber. “That is all.”
Out in the fresh air of the hall, Akeela caught his breath. His hands were shaking and his mouth was dry and he could hear the disparate voices of the chancellors still in the chamber. Akeela licked his lips, suffocated with panic. He stalked off without thinking, not waiting for Lukien or the others. Lukien caught up to him within a few strides.
“Akeela,” he called. “Are you all right?”
Akeela paused, his head swimming. “They oppose me, Lukien. Everything I do, they question!”
“They’re just concerned,” Lukien said. He smiled warmly. “We all are.”
Akeela returned his comrade’s grin. Good Lukien, the only one Akeela knew he could trust. He put a hand on the knight’s shoulder. “It’s wonderful to see you,” he said. “The only friendly face in this whole damn city.”
By the next morning, Akeela’s temper had quieted. He had spent the night with Cassandra and had breakfasted with Graig, going over small matters that required his attention. Since they were easily dealt with, Akeela felt accomplished after the meal. He was refreshed from a good night’s sleep and his anger at Baron Glass had subsided, at least temporarily. Because he had been gone from Lionkeep so long, he decided to visit with Beith and see how her new baby was faring. Little Gilwyn was now almost three months old, and Akeela had heard from Gwena that he was growing well, showing no signs of the mind damage they all had feared. His hand and foot were still clubbed, but according to Gwena he was a happy child, and that pleased Akeela.
Beith’s room was in the servants’ area, so Akeela left Graig after breakfast and headed for her chambers. But he hadn’t gone far before he saw Trager, patiently waiting for him at the end of the hall. Suddenly he remembered his promise to the lieutenant, one that he’d forgotten in yesterday’s rage. Trager smiled at him from across the hall. Like yesterday, the hall was empty. Akeela realized with discomfort that Trager had planned it that way.
“Will, I’m sorry,” he offered. “I forgot you wanted to speak to me.”
“No matter, my lord, it could keep until today.” Trager glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“Private?” asked Akeela. “Is it so important?”
“Oh, it is,” Trager assured him. “I’m sorry to say so, but I think it will trouble you.”
“Why am I not surprised? Very well; we can talk in my study.”
Akeela led Trager in the opposite direction of Beith’s rooms, promising himself he’d check on her and the baby later. Trager’s expression was earnest enough to worry Akeela. The lieutenant said nothing as they walked through the halls, but he scanned every face they passed, apparently worried about being seen. Finally, when they reached Akeela’s small study, Trager spoke.
“Thank you for seeing me, Akeela,” he said as he entered the room.
Akeela bristled the way he always did when Trager addressed him in the familiar. They went back a long way, but they had never really been friends. Akeela wondered if Trager considered him one now. Or was he trying to become a friend?
“It’s all right,” he said. He directed Trager to a well-worn leather chair. “Sit down.”
“Thank you.” Trager took the chair and sighed. He shook his head as if not knowing where to begin. Akeela sat down on the edge of his desk, facing Trager. There was something insincere about the man’s expression.
“You’re troubled?” Akeela asked.
Trager nodded. “My news is heavy.”
“Tell me,” Akeela insisted.
“It’s about . . . the queen.”
“Cassandra?” Akeela stood up. “What about her?”
“My lord, it pains me to tell you this . . .”
“Tell me!”
“She has been . . .” Trager grimaced. “. . . unfaithful to you.”
It was as if Akeela hadn’t heard the word. It hung in the air, out of reach and understanding.
“What?”
Trager looked heartbroken. “I’m sorry, Akeela, but it’s true. While you were gone she was with another man. I saw them.”
“That’s impossible!” Akeela cried. “She wouldn’t dare betray me like that. Tell me what you saw!”
“It was in the apple orchard, not even a week ago,” said Trager. “It was very early and I was in the orchard, practicing my jousting. That’s when I saw her.”
He looked away. “With her paramour.”
“What paramour?” asked Akeela. “Did you see him?”
“Yes,” said Trager. “Akeela, it was Lukien.”
The name fell on Akeela like a hammer. He staggered back against his desk, strangled with disbelief.
“No,” he said desperately. “No, I don’t believe it. You lie!”
“I saw them, Akeela. They were making love right before my eyes.”
Akeela shot forward and grabbed Trager’s lapels, pulling him from the chair. “How dare you speak of Lukien like that. And the queen!”
“It’s the truth!” Trager spat. “Akeela, I swear it . . .”
“Do not address me in the familiar, you rat! I am your king!”
“Forgive me,” cried Trager. He took Akeela’s hands, prying them from his clothes. “But you had to know the truth.”
Akeela shook his head wildly. “It’s not the truth. You’ve always hated Lukien. You’d do anything to ruin him!” He released Trager, shoving him backward. Trager fell over his chair and sprawled onto the floor. Akeela stalked after him. “I won’t believe your lies. And don’t you ever speak them again. If you do, I’ll kill you.”
Trager’s eyes were wide. “It’s the truth,” he insisted. “I swear, I saw them!”
Enraged, Akeela kicked the writhing man. “Quiet!”
“Stop!” Trager pleaded. He crawled away, clutching at the chair for support as he struggled to get upright. “King Akeela—my lord—listen to me!”
“Your lies sicken me,” said Akeela. “Now get out of here. And don’t you ever speak such filth again. If I hear the smallest rumor about Cassandra, you’ll hang for it, I promise.”
Trager paused halfway to the door, his eyes fixed on Akeela. “You’re mad,” he hissed. “Truly mad.”
Akeela grabbed a book from his desk and flung it at Trager. “Out!”
Trager left, slamming the door after him. Akeela fell against his desk, nearly collapsing. He felt sick suddenly, about to retch, but he swallowed it down and caught his breath. His heartbeat exploded in his temples, and all around him the room seemed to swim with color, until he could no longer stand. Clumsily he reached for the chair Trager had toppled and sat down. Everything was happening too fast—the battles with Glass, the coming war with Norvor, everything. And now this horrible accusation. Akeela closed his eyes, fearing he might weep. Trager’s charges were . . .
