by Ben Wolf
Then again, he wondered if Prince Kymil even could view him favorably. Given Kent’s background, Prince Kymil might never find him trustworthy.
“Lord Etheridge,” Queen Aveyna said, “please kneel.”
Kent knelt and looked up at her.
Afternoon sunlight shined through the ceiling windows, framing Queen Aveyna in a golden aura. She was more beautiful than anyone Kent had ever seen—even more so than his beloved Miranda had been, if he were being honest.
Queen Aveyna raised her hands above her head, and they shined with blue light, then white. She pressed her fingers together and slowly pulled her glowing palms apart, tracing a line of white light between them.
Her fingers separated from their corresponding twins on each hand, but the light between them lingered, brilliant and straight. When she lowered her hands, the light, now at least two-and-a-half feet long, hovered in the air over her head.
She reached up for it with her right hand and took hold of one end. As she pulled the light down, it took the shape of a crystalline sword that glowed with vibrant white light.
For all Kent had learned about anima magic, the practice of light magic still eluded him. Queen Aveyna had shown him several basic techniques, but he’d mastered only two or three of them. They always left him tired and weary, unlike most forms of anima magic, which he could do all day.
Queen Aveyna pressed the flat of the blade against the top of Kent’s head. “May your mind stay sharp in the course of your service to Inoth.”
She carefully touched the tip of the sword to his lips, and it felt cold, almost like ice.
“May your mouth speak only truth in the course of your service to Inoth.” She nodded to him and said, “Your hands.”
He held them out for her.
She touched the tip of the sword to each of his hands. “And may your hands only do good work in the course of your service to Inoth.”
Again, the blade cooled his palms.
“And remember,” she said with a smile, her voice low enough so only he could hear her, “I can use this sword to cut off your head whenever I want. So for your sake, my son had better be wrong about you.”
Kent grinned. “I am loyal, I assure you.”
“Good.” She winked at him and released her grip on the sword. It dissipated into nothing before Kent’s eyes. “Rise and present yourself, Lord Etheridge, Advisor to the Queen.”
Kent stood and faced the officials, all of whom knelt to him and bowed, including General Deoward, General Ruba, and Admiral Tagril. If Kent were trying to infiltrate and cripple Inoth from within, he would’ve been well on his way to doing so.
Fortunately for Inoth, he had genuinely forsaken his old life in Muroth. And unfortunately for Muroth, Kent would now work against them for the rest of his days.
And Fane would pay the greatest price of all.
He stole a glance back at Prince Kymil. Aside from Grak and the rest of the royal guards, Prince Kymil was the only person not honoring him.
Instead, he continued to sit in his chair with his arms crossed, still scowling. It matched the expression on Grak’s face perfectly.
No matter. Kent lived to serve Queen Aveyna’s interests, not theirs.
“You may rise,” Queen Aveyna said to the officials, and they did. “Now, let us celebrate.”
Kent occupied the seat of honor that night. Unfortunately, rather than being seated next to Queen Aveyna, he sat directly across from her at the far end of the grand banquet table in the dining hall.
It was an Inothian custom, apparently, that the person being honored sat across from the royalty present so as to suggest a measure of equality in honor.
Kent would have much rather sat next to Queen Aveyna.
Several dozen chairs sat around the table, all filled with the ranking military officials who’d been present for the ceremony.
General Deoward sat to Kent’s left, but on the adjacent side of the table, and General Ruba sat to Kent’s right, across from General Deoward. Admiral Tagril sat to General Ruba’s right, and the various officials sat where they pleased from that point on.
Though Kent could hardly make out Queen Aveyna’s expressions from so far across the room, Prince Kymil’s persistent glares cut across the table with perfect clarity. He sat to his mother’s left, on the adjacent side of the table.
Grak, also scowling, stood behind them.
Kent wondered if Grak ever ate anything. He had to, given his size, but Kent had never seen it happen. Grak never ate when the queen or the prince ate. But it also made sense not to eat while protecting them—one fewer distraction.
Kent ate and conversed primarily with the two generals and the admiral. General Ruba and Admiral Tagril got thoroughly drunk and resorted to telling the foulest, dirtiest jokes and stories they’d ever heard, but General Deoward and Kent remained sober as they exchanged stories of various battles over the years.
They had much in common, including having stood on the opposite sides of several of the same battles. General Deoward didn’t seem to be holding it against Kent, despite Kent’s side having won the majority of them. Similarly, Kent no longer faulted General Deoward for having initially arrested him.
The night lingered on, and the wine continued to flow, but gradually the officials retired for the evening and walked or staggered out of the dining hall. Kent kept his eyes on Queen Aveyna as much as he could amid the loud joking to his right and the incessant war-storytelling to his left.
As he did, he noticed Prince Kymil summon Grak to his side while Queen Aveyna addressed one of the officers to her right. Prince Kymil uttered something indecipherable to Grak, who nodded, staring at Kent the entire time.
Kent watched them intently, but their conversation ended as abruptly as it began.
“Well, Lord Etheridge,” General Deoward said as he rose to his feet, “if you’ll excuse me, I should escort our two fellow advisors back to their chambers. I doubt they have the wherewithal to complete such a mission on their own.”
Kent stood as well. “Thank you for your hospitality, General—our first encounter notwithstanding, of course.”
“Yes.” General Deoward’s countenance hardened slightly. “I’m sure you understand I was merely doing my duty.”
“Completely.” Kent extended his hand. “I look forward to serving Inoth with you.”
“Likewise.” General Deoward shook Kent’s hand. “Good evening.”
With that, General Deoward rounded Kent’s seat and grabbed hold of the other two advisors and helped them up. They both leaned on him as the trio stumbled toward the dining hall doors, with Admiral Tagril and General Ruba still cracking jokes.
Kent no longer wondered why he had so consistently routed Inothian armies and incursions over the years.
He cast another glance at Queen Aveyna, but she was locked in a tense conversation with her son and didn’t notice him.
Grak did, though, and he glared at Kent from across the room.
Only a handful of guests still sat at the table, so with a measure of disappointment he’d failed to capture Queen Aveyna’s attention, Kent elected to retire as well. He left the room with Grak’s harsh gaze still heavy upon him and returned to his chambers.
That night, from his room, Kent saw Kymil standing at his father’s mausoleum with Grak again.
With his newfound freedom, Kent had taken to surveying the castle grounds, and he’d made sure to stop at the mausoleum for a look. Sure enough, it housed not only Kymil’s father but several more of his ancestors as well.
And Kymil was once again paying his respects, perhaps to all of his ancestors, while Grak stood watch with his torch in hand. Why Kymil felt the need to have Grak accompany him for protection, Kent didn’t know.
But perhaps if Kent were as scrawny and weak as Kymil, he would want a guard around all the time as well.
Kent crawled into his bed and began reading an ancient tome he’d borrowed from the palace library.
A wize
ned archmage by the name of Sobikal had written it several hundred years ago. It focused on the theory that a person could somehow master all three types of magic if only they could live long enough to achieve the feat.
Even without considering the additional lifetimes a mage would need to live in order to achieve mastery of all three, Kent didn’t see how such a feat was possible.
From what he understood, the foundational principles of light magic and dark magic diametrically opposed each other. Light magic required a degree of self-sacrifice, and dark magic required energy and essence from other living things in order to wield power.
But Sobikal claimed he had found a path toward achieving that goal, the end result of which would be godlike power. Sobikal’s biggest regret, as he’d written it in the book, was that he’d come to the realization of this possibility so late in life that he had little time to fully explore the path.
As Kent read, he heard the hiss of something against stone to his left. He shined his candle toward the sound and saw a thin, flat piece of parchment on the floor in front of his door.
Someone had slipped a note under his door?
He pulled the sheets aside and slid out of bed to examine the parchment.
He picked it up and held it near the candlelight. It read:
Come to my chambers.
- A
Kent shivered. He wore only his undergarments, and though the nights had turned cold as winter approached, it wasn’t the weather that had chilled him.
If he obliged the queen, he knew what it would mean.
She hadn’t attempted to engage him in this manner since his first night in the palace, but they had certainly flirted and teased their way into closeness with each other since then. He’d been thoroughly smitten with her, and she clearly felt the same way.
Their relationship reminded him very much of his time with Miranda in that it felt natural and fluid. Were it not for the breadth of difference between Aveyna being queen and Kent being a makeshift lord and now an advisor, he could have called Aveyna a friend as well as a love interest.
Kent stared at the parchment. Her words read more like a command, but he knew she meant it as an invitation. But it was an invitation that he dared not turn down nonetheless.
With a sigh, Kent placed the parchment on his bed and closed his eyes.
Then he headed over to his vanity and lit two more candles so he could choose what clothes he intended to wear.
Queen Aveyna opened her door. Her blonde hair hung down by her shoulders, and she invited Kent inside. He’d been to her chambers a few times before, but he’d always stayed outside.
This time, he went inside.
Aveyna closed and locked the door behind him.
Candles glowed with soft light around her considerable bedchamber, easily twice the size of Kent’s. A burgundy canopy hung over her large bed, and thick furs covered the bed’s surface.
A hearth burned with low flames across the room, and silver moonlight shined onto the stone floor through three tall windows. Kent counted at least another three sub-chambers attached to the bedchamber, but he didn’t get a look at them because of Aveyna.
She walked up to him, barefoot and clad in a comparable nightgown to what she’d worn on her visit during his first night at the palace. She wrapped her arms around his torso. “I’m cold. Warm me up?”
She smelled like flowery perfume, as usual. It was wonderful.
Kent wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her close to him. The feeling of her body pressed against his sent his senses tingling. “Your fire is low. Would you like me to add to it?”
“Yes, please.”
He released her and headed over to the hearth. He fed three thick logs into the dwindling flames and then stepped back. “There. That will help.”
When he turned back, he found Aveyna sitting on her bed, wrapped in one of the furs, and he smiled.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked. “It’s still cold.”
“Give it time.”
“Come sit with me?” She patted the bed next to her.
Kent sat next to her.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Your note didn’t leave me with much of a choice.”
“You always have a choice. Especially now, Advisor Etheridge.” She winked at him.
“Thank you again for placing your trust in me,” he said. “I am honored, especially considering all that has happened.”
“There is no one more deserving of the role,” she said. “Do you know why I’ve summoned you tonight?”
He looked into her light blue eyes. “I have an idea.”
“And you came willingly?”
“Yes,” Kent replied quietly.
“Forgive me if I was too forward.”
Kent chuckled. “Compared to last time, a note is not at all too forward.”
Aveyna smiled and tried to hide her face under the furs. “Now I’m blushing.”
Kent burrowed for her hand and found it. “You have no reason for concern. You simply wanted to rush to an inevitable conclusion.”
Aveyna lowered the furs. “I don’t want this to be the conclusion of anything. Unless it’s the conclusion of our time apart from each other.”
Kent nodded. “I can agree with that.”
She smiled again. “Good.”
Kent sat there, gazing into her eyes. He wanted her more than he had that first night in the palace—far more. His body flooded with emotion and energy, and he reached for her face with his hand and cupped her jaw.
She leaned toward him, and he pressed his lips against hers.
Within moments, she was tearing at his clothes, peeling them off layer by layer.
“Why are you wearing all of this?” she asked as she worked on his trouser buttons.
“I wanted to show up prepared for anything,” he replied as he pulled his shirt off his shoulders. “You might have been summoning me to a private military meeting, for all I knew.”
Aveyna giggled, and he loved the sound of it. She said, “I appreciate your thoughtful modesty.”
The fire crackled behind them, brightening the room with golden light. They kissed again, with him shirtless and her still working on his trouser buttons.
“Here. Let me.” He stood and finished working the buttons. Then he kicked off his boots, pulled his trousers down, stepped out of them, and rejoined her on the bed.
They made their way under the furs on the bed, and he made his way under her nightgown.
The fire in the hearth roared to life, and they spent the next hour locked in a passion the likes of which Kent had never known.
Kent lay on his back in the bed, and Aveyna lay on his chest, clinging to him.
Across the room, the fire had receded again. Kent considered getting up to tend to it, but he decided to stay put instead. Aveyna was comfortable, and so was he. Beyond comfortable.
“Tell me about your wife,” Aveyna said softly. “What was her name again?”
“Miranda.”
“Yes. Tell me about Miranda.”
Kent exhaled a long breath. He hadn’t spoken of her in years, mostly because it stirred up old pains in his heart any time he did.
“She was the daughter of another Murothian lord from several provinces north. It was an arranged marriage, which I was not initially pleased about, but the instant I saw her, every single reservation I had extinguished,” he began. “She had long, black hair and bright green eyes. Fair-skinned. A bit taller than you, and absolutely stunning.”
“Mmm,” Aveyna said. “She sounds lovely.”
“She was.” Kent smiled, and sadness trickled into his heart. “When we married, I was nineteen. She was only sixteen. Our love was slow to develop. I had my own ideas about what I expected, and they differed from hers. She was strong-willed and stubborn. But so was I.
“At first, her stubbornness bothered me, but it was one of the qualities I came to love the most about her. My mother had died some ten year
s prior, so the only consistent exposure I had had to women came in the form of servants. Whenever I tried to treat her like one of them, it did not go well for me.”
Aveyna giggled. “I can imagine. Treating the daughter of a lord like a servant? What did you expect would happen?”
“I had been taught that women were subservient to men, but Miranda’s mother had taught her otherwise. Needless to say, I had more than a few rude awakenings along the way, but it all worked out until…” Kent hesitated. It was a painful memory.
Finally, Aveyna said, “I don’t want to make you talk about it.”
“I am willing to do so. For you.”
Aveyna sighed softly. “You told me she died in childbirth.”
“She did.”
“Is there much else to tell?”
“A little.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
Kent curled his arm around Aveyna and ran his fingers through her hair. “We were married for nearly three years before she became pregnant. She had endured two miscarriages during that time. I have long wondered if those failed pregnancies were her body’s way of saying she was not built for childbearing.
“But we succeeded when she was nearly twenty years old. When she went into labor, I was happy and terrified and hopeful all at once, but those feelings slowly surrendered to fear and desperation when the midwives and our physicians told us she was dying.”
Kent swallowed back his emotions and cleared his throat.
“It’s alright,” Aveyna said to him. “You don’t have to say anymore.”
“No. I need to.” Kent forced himself to maintain his composure, and he continued. “They told us the pregnancy— my son—was killing her.”
“Oh, Kent,” Aveyna clung tighter to him.
“They gave me a choice. An impossible choice,” he said. “I could either save my child and probably lose my wife, or I would certainly lose them both.”
Aveyna squeezed him again.
“Miranda made me choose our son. She made the physician perform the surgery.” Kent clenched his fists. “I have seen horrific acts exacted on the battlefield. I have done horrific things to my enemies. But nothing I have ever witnessed compared to what the physicians did to my wife.”
