Nilanis observed him seriously, and yet could not mask his discomfort in the king’s response. “Of course not, Your Majesty,” he replied calmly.
“Gods, put that proposition away,” Hairem ordered, smile vanishing. What in the realm of the gods were they thinking?!
Nilanis remained calm, his eye contact steady. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I understand that the council is a new position for you to partake in, but the proposition can only be ‘put away’ when a vote has been finalized.”
“Who speaks for the centaurs?”
Nilanis raised a brow. “I do not understand what you mean. One of us? None of us speak for the centaurs…”
Hairem threw a hand up in the air. “No one here speaks for the centaurs? Are you proposing you move them without any representation on their part?”
“Why don’t you represent them, Your Majesty,” Fildor suggested. He twisted a murky strand of hair about his claw-like finger and sneered wryly. Challengingly.
Hairem turned his head toward the Galwen, regarding his polite, thin-lipped smile as a challenge. “…I shall,” Hairem replied, standing. “First off, we are fighting a war right now. A war. Seeing as how you have all been voting on the money being sent out to fight it, you should all have some concept of just how much this is costing us. And the last thing I am supporting is sending our much needed and limited supply of money to some asinine celestial phoenix conservation when we have a damn brilliant warlord on our doorstep! PUT THE DAMN PROPOSITION AWAY.”
Nilanis did not lose his calm stance. In fact, his apathetic expression did not change. “Is there anything else you would like to say on behalf of the centaurs?”
Hairem raised both of his hands in frustration, trying to keep his temper from flaring further. “They are ancient burial grounds. It is their tradition. The celestial phoenix is, I am well aware, a symbol of Sel’ari and I respect that as much as any of you. But if we uphold our tradition so highly, what gives us the right to spit on theirs? Leave the phoenix. Leave the centaurs.”
“What if,” Mikanum began thoughtfully, running a thumb down across his icy face to pause on the sharp point of his chin, “we simply send Jikun down that way. Saebellus just lost a decisive battle—he won’t be ready to lose another one immediately. Jikun’s army is large enough to simply scare the centaurs west or east—wherever they wish to go. Extinction is permanent. The centaurs refuse to be concerned with their effects on the creature of our goddess. Our religion versus theirs. Hardly an extreme to push them to move their burial grounds another direction. Just order the general to not use lethal force. The phoenix is saved. The centaurs have their burial grounds somewhere else. For but a little discomfort, everyone will ultimately be satisfied.”
Heshellon was shaking his head, his sandy blond hair shifting back and forth across his narrow shoulders. “This is simply mad. Jikun should be nearby, not in the southern wastelands moving horses for the sake of some blue pigeon—which, for the council’s record, does not return the protection in kind. Gods know Leisum was saved from this idiotic discussion!”
Nilanis’ eyes widened slightly. “Heshellon! Sel’ari may not be the goddess of your people but she is ours. That is reason enough to ‘deserve’ our assistance! Watch your tongue!” He straightened himself, patting down the silk of his shirt once more. “Jikun is not here now. And if he is off romping about in the northern tundras, clearly we can spare him.”
“Him, yes. But we cannot spare his soldiers,” Hairem replied angrily.
“By the gods, just vote,” Fildor groaned, leaning back in his chair. He gave the twist of muddy hair a jerk in release and threw his hand into the air. “Just move the fucking horses already. Then this whole cursed issue is at a rest. We have to talk about this every damn month. Get it over with.”
Nilanis turned to Hairem questioningly.
Hairem hesitated. It was truly mad to even consider sending Jikun down south to deal with the centaurs—Saebellus wounded or not. If Saebellus found the strength to strike while Jikun was away, the repercussions would be devastating. Could he take the city…? Perhaps not Elvorium, but the capital was hardly the only city on Sevrigel.
He looked from one council member to the next, trying to think of something else to say. What else was there to say? The entire proposition was so poorly timed that words escaped him! “If you want the centaurs to move, I will make it happen… just wait until the war is over. Wait until the war is over, and I will comply. Take the vote,” Hairem sighed. He watched the parchment make its rounds, growing increasingly concerned at each signature added. When it reached him, his jaw slacked. “The vote passes? You have voted to use our general to move the centaurs now?! ARE YOU MAD?!”
There came a soft, gurgled chuckle as the elf that had omitted it had been unable to swallow first. “There are, you will understand, issues at home that must be dealt with, even in times of war. The centaurs are not going to store their rotting dead while waiting for us to move them,” Ilrae spoke softly. “As a matter of fact, My Lord, as unfortunate a fact as it may be, the people overall will profit from the sale of military equipment and goods to do this bloodless operation. A war like this will certainly help to refill our coffers.”
“I know who will profit,” Hairem spoke harshly. Nilanis would—his ships would take to port a large number of necessary goods. Cahsari would—his people were the primary suppliers of weapons. Fildor’s people—they controlled the ports Nilanis would ultimately have to pass through at the coast near Elarium. Mikanum would—his reputation increased every time General Jikun gained another victory. And Ilrae’s people had primary control of the river and ground trade from shore to shore. And every one of their signatures was on the proposition.
“Last, but not least, there is a matter here right at home that we must address,” Nilanis began slowly, as though giving Hairem the opportunity to contend further. The king held his tongue. He was furious to realize that he had no power on matters where the council was concerned—even on something as grave as the war for Sevrigel herself. They needed but five votes to pass—or not pass—what they saw fit. His vote worth two was nothing more than a mockery of how little power he truly had.
He had once asked for assurance in Jikun’s military support… His chest tightened at the thoughts wiggling free from the deepest crevices of his mind… He could… refuse… to order Jikun to move the centaurs…
The thought frightened him suddenly. He had few allies and Jikun was as far north as one could go. He had all the appearances of wealth and power, but these males… the males that voted against him held the true wealth and power in the country. He was nothing more than a pawn.
Their pawn.
“Your Majesty?”
Hairem snapped back, regarding the tanned face of the Eph’ven before him blankly.
“About the cotton, Your Majesty,” Heshellon nudged.
Hairem tried to recall what he had gathered subconsciously from Nilanis’ most recent statements. “…I apologize. Will you repeat the last thing you said?”
“…About the silk or the cotton or the tax…?” Nilanis asked.
Hairem sat up straighter, trying to look authoritative. He would not be their pawn. “All of it.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. This is a proposition by some of our people. Some would like to see an increase of imported cotton from Ryekarayn as well as a lowering of its tax. The argument, of course, is against silk’s relatively expensive cost.”
“Continue.”
“…And that is a summary of what I said last.”
Hairem nodded matter-of-factly. “And what are the consequences of this proposition?” ‘Aside from your personal income,’ he added to himself wryly.
“Sevrigel is known for her silk. We hurt our people at home by bringing in—”
“Competition?”
“…Cotton, Your Majesty. Cotton is a cheap, simple fabric. The price of silk simply cannot compete with it. If we bring in cotton, every maker and seller of s
ilk will financially suffer.”
“But the majority of people shall benefit from the option of a cheaper fabric?” It was a rhetorical question, but he liked to see the council squirm a little. Every one of them, with the exception of Heshellon, Mikanum, and Yulairm—whose people did not wear silk—were heavily invested in the silk market. “How would you suffer, Nilanis? You control the majority of trade for this city. If you were bringing in more cotton, would that not benefit your market? Why would other merchants not benefit the same?”
“…I do not have connections in the cotton trade, Your Majesty. As it is hardly a fabric of high demand, there are not many of our merchants that do.”
“So get connections.”
Ilrae leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing to become mere slits from the tightness of his hair. “Sevrigel is the largest center for silk in the world. If the demand in our nation decreases, our creators suffer. They have to cut the number of workers they employ. The people suffer.”
“Then they can make cotton instead. I do not see how this will negatively—especially since cotton, as you stated, is so cheap to make and buy—affect anyone except those who are personally invested in the silk market.”
“Hear hear,” Yulairm spoke half-heartedly. He appeared quite worn out, slouched slightly in his chair. His eyes met with Hairem’s and his unspoken words were very clear:
You are fighting a losing battle.
“…Let us take the vote.”
*
Fury and hopelessness accompanied Hairem like newfound friends as he left the Council’s Hall. ‘No wonder the True Bloods didn’t establish another council when they got to Ryekarayn!’ His perception of the difficulty that lay ahead of him had grown infinitely.
In his distress, he did not perceive the female standing beside the first column of the stairway, nor did he notice her hurry after him until she had caught his arm and tugged him to a halt.
“I apologize, Your Majesty,” she said quickly, dropping her hand. “I just—you could not hear me so I—”
Hairem regarded her blankly for a moment, staring at her face as his mind struggled to return from its thoughts. “Ah, Lady Ilsevel. I’m afraid I was distracted.” He raised his hands at the guards on either side of him whose hands rested at their weapons’ sides. “It is alright. Give us some space.” He had not immediately recognized her, so far from his thoughts had she fallen. He attempted to force a smile.
“The meeting went quite poorly, didn’t it?”
Hairem could see her eyes searching his face for his own emotion. She was already aware of his failure in the meeting. He could tell by her tone—apologetic and… sympathetic? His emotions, no doubt, were written plainly across his face. “Poorly?! There are hardly enough negative words in the elven tongue to describe just how ‘poorly’ it went. I’ll have three new propositions on my desk in a few days, none of which I think are in the best interest of the people as a whole!” He found himself continuing, pouring his aggravation out onto her. “Today I lost the majority of the vote all three times and one of the males from whom I expected the greatest support was one of my most adamant opponents. I do not know how my father did it—or any king for that matter. The True Bloods may have been onto something—getting away from here!”
“It is difficult when the council is so… venal.”
“Yes! Ex—” he stopped and looked at her again. He had not expected that opinion from the daughter of the El’adorium. She had to know that her father voted—or did not vote—on almost every twistedly-selfish policy that came through the doors. With that sentence, the timid female he perceived her to be was gone. There was no hesitation to her words, no fear. She was soft spoken, but there was a fire in her eyes that he had glimpsed only for a moment when he had seen her last. Something he had perhaps mistaken for embarrassment.
“I am sorry for my father’s decisions. I wish there was something I could do. I do try to talk to him, believe me,” she continued as though not noticing Hairem’s surprise. “But you know, he is a very difficult male.” She shook her head wishfully. “And… I wanted to apologize for the other night. It must have been wholly exasperating to have my father, well… trying to introduce us.” She laughed then, rocking back on her heels. “I do not envy your position. I suppose every lord with a daughter in the city is trying to have you present for dinner.”
Hairem frowned, surveying her for a second time. He was not certain what to make of her. She did not seem to be the shy girl from dinner. And he was not sure how to reply to her unabashedly straightforward comments.
She seemed to detect this and continued without breaking stride. “Oh, I apologize. You were ranting about the council. Gods know you need to.”
Hairem smiled slightly then—an ever so slight, genuine smile. “I did not mean to unburden myself on you. That was rude of me. The council is what it is, and I can hardly expect to change it in a few weeks. But I am a very patient male.”
The female slid a bit closer, intensely focused on his words, as though they were sharing a secret. “Did the council lower the taxes on the cotton imports?”
Hairem pursed his lips for a moment. “No. I’m afraid quite the opposite.”
“Truly? But what about Mikanum? No doubt Yulairm and Heshellon voted with you, but why would Mikanum vote against you? His people have no interest in the silk market.”
“Mikanum’s people do not, but Mikanum is another matter entirely.”
“The gall of him!”
The door to the Council Hall swung open then and the lady fell silent, casting her eyes aside as the council filed out. Hairem stepped to the side, waiting for them to pass.
“Ilsevel,” Nilanis called to her as he paused before the council’s steps. He bowed his head briefly to the king, dismissive to his presence as though his mind lay on far superior matters. Like his three most recent victories.
The lady gestured for her father to wait and turned back toward the king, seemingly apologetic once more. “Have a good evening, Your Majesty. I wish you more fortune tomorrow.” She hurried after her father in swift, pattering strides, long blond braid bobbing softly behind her.
Hairem stood wholly perplexed. She had, no doubt, intrigued him.
Chapter Six
A faint crunch sounded under each of Jikun’s footsteps as he stepped heavily across Kaivervale’s fresh layer of snow—it would be many months in the south before he would even glimpse a dusting. Dawn was just rising now, casting long shadows across the city. The sun was hidden deep behind the Telsuel Peaks in the east, but the cloudless sky was still filled with her light.
Jikun glanced to his right at the soft sound of crunching snow not his own. A stone home stood quiet and dark except for a small, heavily clothed child creeping from the doorway.
“F-fair day, General Taemrin,” the girl greeted with a start as she stepped outside. She closed the door carefully behind her, leaning her face close to the crack as she did so, as though helping to soften the door against the frame.
Jikun paused, regarding the child reproachfully. “Do your parents know you are out?”
The child shifted sheepishly, eyes lingering on her feet. “Of course they do,” she replied, pulling the basket she carried tighter to her side.
Jikun narrowed one eye. She was dressed in heavy boots and a thick cloak. A handmade scarf wound tightly about her head, but little tuffs of white hair poked out from beneath it. He could catch a glimpse of the end of bread protruding from the opening of the basket. “Where are you off to?”
The child took a long step past him. “To the market, General. So glad to see you home! Lithriella’s many blessings be upo—” she choked on the last words as Jikun caught her by the hood of her cloak and jerked her to a solid stop.
Children these days! Hardly different than the rabble of soldiers he had had to nurse for the last several years. “Hold up there,” he insisted with a tone he reasoned was at least mildly intimidating. “Where did you say you were going?�
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He saw the girl flinch. She hesitated for a moment, and then her jaw set. She turned, attempting to yank the cloak out of his hand. “To the market.”
Jikun released her. “To the market,” he repeated steadily. He could see the girl’s eyes waver as he narrowed his gaze. “…Well, off with you then,” he gave a sudden, off-putting smile.
The girl retreated several steps away and then fled down the street toward the business district. He saw her glance over her shoulder twice before she vanished behind a building and was lost.
He remained where he was standing thoughtfully. What trouble had he gotten into as a child? …Gods, he was a terrible example. Still, the city was small and close-knit, with practically every member of the community looking out for one another’s family—what could she possibly be doing, running off without permission, that wouldn’t eventually be discovered?
He finally turned away and slipped behind the barracks. Yes, she couldn’t do worse than he had: icing over doors, freezing the snow underneath unsuspecting elven feet, tossing a few rocks through the Watchtower’s windows… The military had certainly curbed the miscreant out of him.
‘Prostitution? Anti-religious reprobate?’ He could almost hear Navon’s stern reproach from a thousand leagues away.
Jikun scoffed. Most of the miscreant, anyways.
He stopped, eyeing the great field of white mounds stretched out before him. He placed his hands against the fence of ice that encircled the land and strode in without pausing, passing through the opening that he had formed in the ice. It closed behind with a soft, crackling refreeze.
“Nazra!” he called.
The field before him shifted. The mounds of snow raised their heads, grey noses sniffing the air, ears perking up. From his left, a wolf leapt to its feet, shaking the snow dust from her fur, tail beating rapidly against the face of a companion just behind her.
Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1) Page 11
