by K.M. Weiland
Chapter Twenty-Four
Glen Arden wasn’t exactly what Chris expected. But, then, he hadn’t exactly expected to spend the night sitting up in the sway of a skycar.
He’d slept soundly enough, only to wake to a stiff back and a crick in his neck. Outside, storm clouds weighted the sky, and flecks of rain dotted the glass panels. Even inside, the temperature was chilly. He hunched into the protection of his leather jerkin and watched Allara surreptitiously.
She was back in full-blown ice mode. All her answers to his attempts at conversation amounted to monosyllables, and she wouldn’t even meet his gaze. This was about more than just her father’s summons. This was about him. Maybe he’d crossed some invisible line of etiquette last night. He’d thought they were making progress, maybe even to the point where she actually liked him instead of just tolerating him for the sake of her duty.
“You okay?” he asked.
“We’re here.” She gestured out the window to where yet another lake swelled the horizon. This country was one lake after the other. “Lake Arden.”
Mansions drifting in the water bobbed into view.
“The city floats?”
“Not quite.” Quinnon went over to the corner cabinet to stack the goblets and plates from their early lunch.
Allara stood and brushed off the front of her fawn-colored traveling gown. “The city has no way to increase its boundaries, so new homes and businesses are built on ship hulls and floated around the perimeter.”
“Why can’t it increase its boundaries?”
The train began its descent, and their car swung around so he could see for himself. The lake’s northeastern shore scooped away from the embrace of the hills in something like the shape of an artist’s palette. Where the thumbhole would have been on the palette, the island city of Glen Arden rose from the water and stretched far away into the lake, fading from view in the wisping smoke and steam of industry.
He moved to the window as the skycar carried them over the mile or so of water between the city and the shore. “At least you didn’t have to dig a moat.”
“It’s the most defensible city in the kingdom.” She lifted her cloak from a hook in the corner. “Thanks to the fishing and access to fresh water, we’re entirely self-sufficient. If we ever needed to, we could cut the skycar cables here and detonate Faramore Bridge on the South Shore and we’d be able to hold out against any land siege.”
The skycar reached the edge of the city, and its shadow fell across a parade of small ships with stiff, silver-scaled sails. The ships cruised alongside the island, sometimes half a dozen abreast, in an aquatic highway. A wide white-paved road spanned the beach, populated with the expected horse-drawn carriages, as well as a few litters and even a couple rickshaws. On the other side, the city proper began, its streets looping out in widening semi-circles.
Elegant houses of three and four stories lined the streets. Most of them were made of a pale gray stone, all the corners rounded, the walls carved in a rippling effect. Spiraling columns supported narrow balconies at every level, and behind the delicately wrought railings the gleaming windows curved outward. The place had a decidedly more modern feel than the dark solidity of Réon Couteau.
“The Taïs Quarter,” he said. He remembered it from their geography lessons. As the city’s wealthiest districts, it hugged the palace’s hill on the east end of the island.
Another twenty minutes brought them in view of the palace itself. It rose in graduating levels up the hill above the city. Green-shingled towers at either end crowned its stone walls and two smaller towers framed massive iron gates.
Just outside the gates, the cobblestone roads pooled into a large square. In the center, a fountain spurted a circular waterfall, and naked fire glinted from behind the veil of water and mist.
“Fawa-radi,” he said. Orias had been right. The capital’s sculptures were impressive.
“How do you know about fawa-radi?” Quinnon sounded suspicious.
“Traded my Guardsman’s badge for one in a Riever ceremony. Lost it along the way though.”
“You got the rotten end of that deal. Guardsmen don’t part with their badges.”
The skycar crossed over the palace wall and began another short climb to a tower. It glided to a stop with the doors hanging level with the wall platform.
Allara swung her black cloak over her shoulders and slipped her hands through the arm holes. As a liveried footman opened the door, she shot one unreadable glance over her shoulder at Chris, then stepped down from the car onto the wide walkway.
Quinnon already had the horses’ ramp in place. He held Rihawn back as he waited for Esta and Parry and a handful of Guardsmen to disembark from the rearward cars.
A pale Esta staggered onto the walkway and let go of the assisting footman’s arm long enough to straighten her wig with both hands.
She emitted a little groan. “You can’t tell me this is the civilized way to travel. I don’t care if proper horse-drawn vehicles do take twice as long over bumpy roads, these newfangled flying wagons are barbaric. Did you fare all right, my lady?”
“I’m fine,” Allara said. She didn’t look fine, judging from the tiny white lines straining her mouth. “You can go on up to my chambers.” She glanced at Parry, as he jumped from the car, flushed with excitement, his cocked hat a little askew. “You too. I’m going straight to speak with my father, so once you’ve seen to the luggage, you can take a quick rest. I’m sure the staff here has preparations for tonight’s ceremony well under way, and the Gifted and I won’t need to dress until late this afternoon.”
With a deep breath, she turned around. Head up and shoulders back, she led the way down the rampart. Behind, the horses unloaded in a great clatter of hooves against stone and the occasional clank of the car rocking against the wall.
A heavy door let them into an airy gallery, wallpapered in gold filigree. White columns opened into a great hall with yet another black-and-white checkered marble floor. A massive staircase, carpeted in green, rose at the far end of the hall. Its generous landing divided into two narrower flights that hugged the walls to the left and right.
The mingled voices of noblemen, soldiers, and servants thundered beneath the cavernous ceiling.
“This is your home?” Chris asked. “Is it always like this?”
She kept walking. “There are always a horde here. But this is different. There’s a Gifted in our halls and a war on our doorstep.”
They waded into the sea of people. The men parted before her like dust on the wind. They bowed and murmured civilities, but their eyes inevitably darted behind her to Chris. Recognition sparked in their faces.
By now, of course, everyone knew who he was, and depending on their ideology, they would either hate him or think he had come to save their world and win their war. One viewpoint was almost as uncomfortable as the other.
He kept his breathing regular and returned every curious look with a nod, daring them to glance away first. They almost always did.
Allara led him down the first flight of stairs, then followed a hallway to a sturdy door. A footman admitted them without question into a surprising hush.
The room was large and windowless, the walls paneled in a warm chestnut wood. Tapestries, worked with intricate maps, covered three of the walls. In the center, a table bore a clutter of parchments and pens, along with goblets and platters from a half-eaten meal.
Two men hunched over the end of the table and spoke in strained undertones. They looked up as Allara and Chris entered.
“Alla.” The taller of the two crossed the room. He wore a snug black doublet, buttoned all the way up to its high collar, and, over it, a sleeveless gray velvet overcoat collared with white fur.
She let him pull her into his arms, but the set of her shoulders remained taut. “Father.”
The king cupped her face in his hand. “Quite a muddle we’re in.”
“Yes, it is.” The way she said it seemed more an acceptance of blam
e than a simple assent. She turned away from him and gestured to Chris. “This is Master Chris Redston, the Gifted. And this is my father, King Tireus II.”
Arms behind his back, Tireus studied Chris.
He had the face of a patrician, lean and craggy. Allara had inherited the strength of her eyes from him, if not the color. His dark hair, cropped almost too short to comb over, was silvering at the front and the sides, and his gray goatee tufted at either corner of his chin. He was a big man, easily a few inches taller than Chris, with the arms and shoulders of someone who had acquired his strength by birth.
“Welcome to Glen Arden.” He bowed, the movement practiced and formal.
Chris did as Allara had taught him and touched his thumb and forefinger to his closed eyes and slid them down his face. It was a formal gesture of respect and honor that symbolized the most honored and respected person in Lael—the dreamer.
“Thank you,” he said.
Tireus straightened up. “Time is short, Master Gifted, so you’ll forgive me if I say what needs to be said without prefacing it with polite nothings. We’re in a spot. I won’t say it’s entirely your fault, although I gather your ignorance and perhaps willful stupidity had more than something to do with it.”
Chris made himself stand straight. This was the medicine he had asked for, and he would take it. “I’m prepared to accept full responsibility for making things right, whatever that entails.”
Tireus waved him off. “Never mind that. It’s all well and good and I’m sure you mean it, but I haven’t the time right now.” He moved back to the table and pawed through the maps. “The point is, war was coming with Koraud whether Faolan Mactalde returned or not. But now that he’s here, I’ll tell you straight, the odds are considerably less to my liking.”
“What’s happening?” Allara asked. “I’ve had no news. Your missive last night was the first I’d heard of anything.”
The other man, a heavyset gent with white hair, propped one hand on his jeweled belt. “Official declaration of war came yestermorn. We’ve had our eyes on the border and our spies across it, and they’ve been bringing word of intensified troop movements for the last half month.”
Allara gestured to him. “This is my uncle, my mother’s brother, Denegar Amras, Duke of Heindon.”
Denegar nodded an acknowledgment to Chris. “All signs point to an invasion at Aiden River. If they can get through there, they can march straight up the Karilus Wall and be on the shores of Lake Arden before we’ve time to pull ourselves back together.”
“Forgive me,” Chris said, “but won’t it take time for them to mass and move a sizable army as far as the Aiden?” If what he’d learned about Koraud and the borderland beneath the Karilus Wall was right, only one skycar track ran from Koraud into Lael. No way Tireus would have let enemy troops get through there, and without the skycar, an army on the march would need at least two weeks to reach the Aiden River.
“I see we’re an expert already.” Denegar’s deep voice rumbled.
Chris faced the big man and caught a hint of Allara in the tilt of his mouth. “Not at all. Just trying to figure it out for myself.”
Tireus glanced up from his maps. “Helping you figure it out is my daughter’s job. We haven’t the time for it, I’m afraid, since what you know and what you don’t is hardly crucial to our operations at the moment. Koraudian troops have been massing on the border for months, long before Mactalde crossed—as have our own. They’ve been on the march ever since he arrived two weeks ago. Your own figures bear out whereabouts that places them.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Allara asked.
“Yes, as soon as we get this ceremony out of the way tonight. We’ve already had word of raids along the border towns. I expect full-blown hostilities to erupt at any moment, so it’s crucial Denegar and I join our men as quickly as possible.”
Chris shifted his weight. Up to now, he’d felt he was doing something. Learning to fight and ride and understand Lael’s politics and geography had given him a purpose. But maybe he’d just been marking time. Tireus certainly seemed to put much less emphasis on the importance of the Gifted than did Allara, or even Crofton Steadman and his people in Nateros.
He looked at Tireus. “What is it I’m supposed to do in all of this? What’s my part? How do I help?”
Allara stepped forward, almost as if to stop him, and Denegar harrumphed in surprise.
For a moment, Tireus and Chris stood with locked gazes, each searching the other out.
Chris didn’t budge. King or no king, he wasn’t about to knuckle under to this man. He still wasn’t sure exactly what it meant to be a Gifted, but this was his fight as much as it was anyone’s. This was his fault, and he needed to do something about it.
Tireus tossed the maps back down on the table. “Master Redston, let us straighten something between us. You’re the third Gifted I’ve seen in my lifetime. No doubt you’ve heard of your recent predecessor, Master Garnett. Before him, in the lifetime of the Searcher who preceded Allara, there was Aloyshenka Odarennyĭ. He spent most of his time out in the woods, talking to birds. So between utter uselessness and downright treachery, I haven’t seen much to make me believe the Gifted can help.”
“Father . . .” Allara murmured.
Tireus blew out a deep breath. “You’ll pardon me my cynicism and my impatience, but I’m afraid that’s just the way you find us here in Glen Arden. As for what you can do, here’s what you can do. You’re a Gifted, ergo the people automatically adore you.”
“Not all the people.” He doubted he needed to mention Nateros by name.
Tireus’s frown deepened. “No, not all the people. But enough. So, after tonight, you’ll have been introduced to the world, and the world will have been introduced to you. From here on, you’re a symbol of this country, this kingdom, this monarchy, and the army that defends all three. So you’ll do us all a great favor if you use your winning smile to keep the general population happy in the midst of our great national crisis.”
Chris kept his voice even. “Public relations.”
“Something like that.”
Denegar straightened from leaning against the table. “A tour among the troops wouldn’t go amiss either.”
Chris managed a nod. Tireus’s attitude was more than just politic, it was sensible. But this was not what he’d had in mind when he’d taken the reins in this new life of his and promised to right all wrongs.
The king had already returned to sorting his maps.
Chris took a breath and tried to keep the frustration from his voice. “I’ll do it.”
Tireus grunted. After a moment of paper shuffling, he looked sideways at Chris. “Not exciting or glorious, I’m afraid. And, no doubt, not what you had in mind. I’d apologize if I thought you’d think it worth it. But the point is—” he straightened, “—if you truly want to help us, this is how you do it.”
“I understand.”
And he did. To be honest, he didn’t know quite what he’d had in mind. After all, he was just one person among many in this war, and an inexperienced, potentially untrustworthy person at that. But that didn’t make his new role any easier to swallow.
“And now,” Tireus said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to bid you take your leave for the time being. My daughter and Captain Quinnon will see to it you’re briefed and prepared for this evening’s ceremony.” He drew himself upright, stamped one foot like the Guardsmen did when coming to attention, and bowed from the waist.
Chris mirrored the bow back at him, then to Denegar.
Denegar returned the gesture formally and gave Allara’s shoulder a pat as she passed him. “Nice to have you back, my dear. Oh, and while I remember, I think we’ve located his family. You might want to have Quinnon or someone check into it. Reuniting a Gifted with his worried family is always rather good publicity.”
Chris looked back and forth between Denegar and Allara. “I have a family?”
“Of course you do,” Denega
r said. “Where was it you thought you came from? A body in each world, don’t you know? That means a family in each world as well. Name of Bowen.”
“And where are they?” Allara asked.
“Here in Glen Arden. You can send your lady-in-waiting down to get the address from my man if you’re of a mind to investigate further.”
She nodded and opened the door. Chris followed her out. Shadowed in the recess of the door, they stood in relative privacy for a moment.
“A family.” He mulled the words over in his mouth. “I wasn’t expecting that. What if I’m married? Maybe I have kids.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps they aren’t even the right people.” She raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to find out?”
