King (Books of the Infinite Book #3)

by R. J. Larson

  “It’s a joy to be well, thanks to the Infinite and our favorite prophet.” Akabe motioned to a pair of chairs set before his massive, ornately carved worktable. “Sit, please. No ceremony.” His own mention of ceremony caused Akabe to look at the study’s entrance. Sure enough, two guards and a handful of courtiers lingered there, watching and listening. Akabe smiled at them. “Close the door as you depart!”

  His guards slid suspicious frowns at Ishvah Nesac. No doubt they’d loiter outside, twitching, ready to break in and apprehend the scholarly priest at the slightest provocation. Doing their jobs, Akabe reminded himself. He stared until they obeyed and shut the door.

  Nesac approached the table but silently refused to sit. Giving in to the man’s wish to observe protocol, Akabe dropped into one of the gilded chairs. The chief priest reverently placed his collection of scrolls and a box on the wood’s polished surface.

  The box, itself an ancient relic, creaked open beneath Ishvah’s thin, scholarly hands, revealing an ivory tablet yellowed with age. One of Parne’s Sacred Books—Praises. Akabe grinned. “Again? Do you believe I need to memorize Praises?”

  “A spirit of gratitude pleases the Infinite, sir,” the priest murmured, not entirely solemn.

  “And you think I’m ungrateful?”

  Ishvah sat in his designated chair, composed. “I’d never dare say such a thing, Majesty.”

  “Yet you think it.”

  “Only regarding your dislike of being Siphra’s king.”

  True.

  Ishvah cleared his throat. “Sir, if you’re tired of The Book of Praises, I’ll bring another next week.”

  “No. Praises will be fine.” Akabe opened his writing box, eager to complete the lesson, then talk with Nesac. The priest was discreet, and he and his wife were Ela’s friends. “I look forward to learning from all the Infinite’s Sacred Books.”

  “Your priests and Siphra’s faithful are glad.” Nesac smiled. “Familiarity with the Infinite’s Word will allow you to recognize false teachings if anyone should present them in the palace. Self-seekers invariably take verses out of context and build them up to fit their own purposes for the sake of gaining power.”

  “Well, if I must be a king, then I’ll try to be a discerning one.” Particularly while divine direction seemed so scarce. Akabe snatched a parchment and wrote the verse, translated by Nesac from Parne’s ancient priestly script. In all circumstances, praise your Creator. Those who love His name will take joy in Him. . . .

  Guilty. Akabe scowled. Yet he hated his circumstances—being king. Wasn’t it honorable to confess reality? However, making everyone around him unhappy with his constant complaints wouldn’t help this irreversible situation. Indeed, it would create bad attitudes among his courtiers and worsen matters. Better to be pleasant, win over his subjects, and find an understanding wife who would sympathize with his plight. Such as Ela. Sped onward by thoughts of Ela, Akabe charged into the verses. At the end of their discussion, he slapped his writing reed into its box. “Done! Now we talk.”

  Nesac’s black eyebrows lifted. “Haven’t we been talking, sir?”

  “Yes. But now we must speak of confidential matters,” Akabe persisted. “What do you know of the prophet’s thoughts on marriage?”

  Nesac’s face went blank as he gathered his supplies. “Which prophet, sir? Siphra has many.”

  “Why, the only prophet I could marry, of course. Ela Roeh.”

  The young priest dropped a reed. Akabe laughed at his stunned expression. “You heard me. I’m serious. I want to marry Ela. Therefore, I need to know . . . does she speak of marriage?”

  “No, Majesty.” Nesac’s tawny face reddened. “She refuses to marry because all of Parne’s prophets have died young.”

  “She’s a Siphran prophet now,” Akabe pointed out, shamelessly delighted. “What else?”

  The priest knelt to retrieve the pen, as if needing time to think. Settling, he coughed. “Well . . . before she was called as a prophet, Ela was pledged to marry a young man. But their agreement was broken, and he died at the start of Parne’s siege. He was unworthy of her.”

  “Am I unworthy of her?”

  “No.” The priest studied Akabe as if trying to weigh his soul. “You are worthy. But would it be right? Would it be the Infinite’s will?”

  “She could ask Him.”

  “Er, indeed. But—”

  Akabe leaned forward, determined to cut through the man’s hesitation. “Has she spoken of anyone else? Or revealed fondness for another man since coming to Munra?”

  “Not to me or to my wife, sir. She has close friends in the Tracelands—the Thels and Kien Lantec—but I’ve never heard her speak of marriage, except to refuse it. On her behalf, sir, may I say that she’s not fond of public attention despite being a prophet. She might be uncomfortable as a queen.”

  “Well, I feel the same about being king. Ela and I could complain to each other whenever we escape the courtiers.”

  Nesac chuckled, relaxing visibly. “And I’d lecture you two on gratitude.”

  A victory. Akabe jabbed the priest’s shoulder. “You’ll say nothing, of course, until I speak to Ela this afternoon.”

  “You have my word, sir. I pray the Infinite pours His blessings upon you both.”

  Accompanied by his father, Rade Lantec, Kien climbed the marble steps toward the Grand Assembly’s meeting place, his gold-clasped black tunic, leggings, and military mantle drawing stares. His attire marked him as a dark raven among the Tracelands’ dove-gray-robed officials—Father included.

  Yet the military uniform gave Kien an excuse to carry his Azurnite sword. The prized, nearly indestructible blue blade consoled him, because the Grand Assembly members’ gray robes undoubtedly covered a spiritual and political ambush. Kien would almost rather face scalns—stinking, venomous, hissing, soft-footed predators—with those bloodshot yellow eyes and reptilian red skin. . . .

  At least scalns were straightforward about wanting to eat their victims alive.

  Few greeted Father as they approached the huge bronze doors, but every gaze seemed fixed on Kien. Some unpleasant, others offering silent understanding, most noncommittal. Kien noticed one not-quite-concealed smirk from another black-garbed Tracelands soldier—the stuffily proper Subordinate Commander Selwin, his chief accuser.

  Kien had hoped to not see the man on his trial’s first day.

  Father scowled. “Selwin’s here already?”

  “Of course.” Kien’s stomach knotted. “I’d call him to testify on the first day if I were prosecuting me.” He deliberately grinned at Selwin, changing the subordinate commander’s smugness to bafflement. “His testimony will make me a living joke to half the Grand Assembly.”

  “We need to find a way to counter your religious beliefs,” Rade observed as they entered the huge marble-columned chamber. “Our foes are eager to condemn us for them.”

  Us. Kien grimaced at the word’s truth. This trial named him as its defendant, but Rade Lantec, the Tracelands’ preeminent assemblyman, might as well sit beside him in the chamber’s arena-like center, equally accused for all his past policies. Political maneuverings were the reason Kien faced censure in the Tracelands’ most public forum, instead of an ordinary court. He was being tried as Rade Lantec’s son.

  And as the Infinite’s servant.

  While Rade climbed the upper chamber’s steps to his high seat—its placement revealing his status—Kien descended to his chair on the marble floor below, at the table of the accused. Selwin immediately strode to the witness chair.

  Beyond Selwin, Kien recognized a particular smooth-faced, smiling, polished official. Assemblyman Cherne. Leader of the anti-Lantec faction. The man who’d insisted Kien be tried publicly, implying to all that the Lantecs might bribe a lesser court for Kien’s acquittal.

  After opening ceremonies, the lead prosecutor lifted his voice until it echoed off every marble column and curved wall, introducing Selwin, then bellowing his first question. �
��Commander Selwin, were you present at the fall of Parne, after the battle against Belaal?”

  “I was.”

  “What orders did Akabe, king of Siphra, give concerning the allied forces’ entry into the city-state of Parne?”

  Deathly serious, Selwin lifted his chin. “He ordered the Parnians removed from their city. Anyone who resisted was to be executed.”

  A wave of outraged murmurs flowed through the crowd of onlookers in the marble chamber. Seething inwardly, Kien leaned toward his defending counselor, Alan, and whispered, “Anyone who raised weapons was to be killed—not those who merely resisted leaving the city.”

  Alan nodded and pressed his reed pen into a wax tablet, making notes.

  The lead prosecutor raised his voice further. “What reason did the king of Siphra give for issuing this death order?”

  The corners of Selwin’s mouth curled, hinting at scorn. “He believed his orders were issued by his Creator, the Infinite, and that the Infinite decreed Parne must be destroyed.”

  “Commander Selwin, did you enter Parne under these orders?”

  “No, sir. I disagreed with the king’s orders and declined to enter the city.”

  “Do you know of any Tracelanders who did enter the city?”

  Selwin nodded toward Kien. “Judge-Advocate Lantec rode into Parne against my advice.”

  Determined, Kien met and held Selwin’s gaze until the man looked away. Interesting. The subordinate commander was consistently omitting any details that might validate Kien’s actions. Well, well. The worthy Selwin would regret his choice of tactics.

  Clamping his lips tight to suppress a grin, Kien snatched a reed pen, opened a new wax tablet, and pressed in rapid jottings of notes. His list lengthened as Selwin’s testimony progressed.

  Kien silently cheered the man onward.

  “Jess, hold still.” Ela combed her baby brother’s clean black curls, delighted by his shiny, perfect ringlets. Less pleased, the tiny boy stiffened, slid out of her lap, then crawled across the mat to Mother, who sat nearby munching on a crisp round of herbed bread.

  Kalme Roeh wrinkled her delicate nose as Jess put a hand on her knee and offered her a three-toothed grin. Ela laughed while Mother cooed, “What do you want, young man? This bread is mine—the first thing I’ve eaten since dawn!”

  Obviously certain of his welcome, Jess scooted into Mother’s lap and stretched out one pudgy arm, reaching for the bread.

  While her little brother was occupied, Ela gathered Jess’s linens and cleansing oil. Before she could go rinse the linens, the front door opened. Father stomped inside, scowling.

  Mother gasped. “Dan! Why are you home so early? Is everything all right?”

  “I’m not sure.” Dan frowned at Ela. “Have you had a vision? Anything I should know?”

  “No, Father.” Ela almost stammered beneath his ferocious stare. “Um, truly. Nothing’s happened. We’ve had a good morning. Look . . .” She motioned to the branch, which rested in the corner as plain, unremarkable vinewood. “It’s quiet, and I’m well. No headache, no revolutions, no poisonings—” Unlike yesterday.

  “Then why have you and I been summoned to speak with the king?”

  Ela blinked. “We have?”

  “Yes!” Dan snapped. “Go put on your best clothes, and hurry. I must return to work.”

  “The king?” Kalme gave the bread to Jess. “Ela, what have you done?”

  Why did her parents always presume she’d caused disasters? “I’ve done nothing!”

  Kalme and Dan stared at her, their eyebrows lifted in unison. Only Jess was perfectly content, gnawing his pilfered bread.

  “All right.” Ela snatched up the branch and rushed to her sleeping chamber, praying as she opened her new clothing chest. “Infinite? Why should the king summon me, with Father—as if I’m a child, needing Father to vouch for me and approve my words?”

  She waited.

  But He didn’t answer. And the vinewood remained bland, revealing nothing.

  4

  Ela lifted her chin and kept her eyes fixed on the corridor ahead as she and Father followed a royal servant to the king’s audience chamber. Yet she couldn’t help being aware of the courtiers on either side of her, clad in glittering, exquisite tunics and robes. Everyone eyed her. Some smiling, others not. All obviously curious.

  Well, they weren’t the only ones who were curious about her presence here—and particularly Father’s. Infinite, won’t You give me a hint?

  The branch in her right hand remained cool and infuriatingly ordinary. It seemed she must be patient. She exhaled audibly. Dan gave her a searching look—as if he suspected she’d heard from the Infinite. Ela shook her head.

  The servant led them into a quiet room with ornate walls, a large polished table, gilded chairs, and marble benches. A small crimson-clad figure dashed up to meet them. Ela recognized the little page. “Barth! How are you, sir?”

  “Lady, I’m well.” The boy bowed, then gave her a mischievous gap-toothed grin. “But I’ll never forget drinking that juice and having those blisters—they hurt! And my stomach burned till I thought I was dying! Oh, and thank you for the bread. Lord Faine and Master Croleut said you saved my life and I must thank you.” Before Ela could point out that the Infinite had saved him, the little boy raised a hand as if remembering instructions. “Wait, please. I’ll tell the king you’re here!” He ran out, his garments awry.

  Ela sat beside Father on a cushioned marble bench. Dan grunted. “Talkative scamp.”

  “Very,” Ela agreed. “He’s a clever student and his drawings are quite imaginative.” She shuddered, remembering his version of a scaln with overlong claws and fangs dripping venom.

  The door opened. Ela stood in unison with her father as Akabe swept into the room, regal in his gold-pinned mantle and flowing robes. An energetic, handsome king, Ela decided. Unlike his apathetic, scrawny predecessor, Segere of Siphra. She practiced a ladylike bow. “Majesty.”

  Akabe grinned, dimples accentuating his engaging smile. “Master Roeh. Prophet. Welcome and thank you for coming. I apologize for the short notice; however, I wanted to speak with you before I’m locked away for a few days in serious negotiations.”

  Ela returned his smile. “I pray the negotiations proceed favorably, sir.”

  “They must.” Akabe’s smile changed to a rueful grimace. “The sale of the temple lands is now in question. We’re trying to resolve the issue quickly.” Before she could question him—and wonder again why she’d heard nothing from the Infinite—Akabe motioned to their bench. “Please sit.” As they complied, he grabbed a gilded chair, placed it before them, and sat down. He studied Ela so intently that she blushed. “Prophet, thank you again for your quick action at the temple. I’m grateful. I hope most of Siphra is grateful as well.”

  Unable to resist his appeal, Ela smiled. “Majesty, Siphra is blessed to have you as its king.”

  Akabe gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Did Barth remember to thank you?”

  “Yes, sir, he did.” Recalling the little boy’s sweet face and bright eyes, Ela melted inwardly. “He’s an exceptional child. He remembers everything he’s seen and heard.”

  “You sound pleased with him. I’m glad.” Akabe matched his fingertips together before speaking again. “I’m not one to waste my subjects’ time, so I’ll simply say . . . or ask . . .” He looked directly at Ela, his golden-brown eyes as serious as they’d been the instant she pronounced him king of Siphra. “There’s no young lady I admire more in Siphra. You are respected, beautiful, and . . .” Akabe paused, seeming to gather courage. “I’m told I must be dutiful and marry. Ela—” He’d said her name as if he considered it among the loveliest of spoken words. “You surpass every lady in this palace and beyond. . . .”

  No. Ela felt the blood draining from her face as Akabe voiced the question she feared. “Will you honor me by agreeing to become my wife?”

  Father shifted, turning to stare at her. Ela met his gaze and sa
w his emotions: shock, giving way to elation. She could almost hear his thoughts. The king. A worthy suitor, able to handle—as Dan had phrased it—everything she would bring to the marriage.

  Ela gripped the branch, wishing a transporting current from the Infinite would sweep her from this room and this decision. How could she refuse without offending Akabe and infuriating Father? “Sir, thank you, but I’ve no wish to marry. I—”

  “Ela,” Dan warned softly.

  Ela swallowed. Father wanted her to marry. He obviously wished to hand her over to the king this instant. And, legally, he could. Her heart hammered and her breath caught. How might she escape? Desperate, she looked Akabe in the eyes and whispered, “I love someone else! Kien Lantec. He’s asked me twice. . . .”

  Father gripped her wrist and made her look at him. “What? When?”

  She hesitated, remembering. “Before Siphra’s revolution. And after the fall of Parne.” The heat of a blush worked over her face. The last time she’d seen Kien, he’d kissed her and promised he would never give up asking her to marry him.

  Father’s color also heightened, but with obvious frustration. “And you refused him?”

  “I felt I should.” Taking courage, she said, “I’d be a difficult wife—a burden.”

  His voice low, Akabe said, “I disagree. It would be an honor to marry you, Ela. And if you had said the name of any other man, I’d argue with you. However, disappointed though I am, I could never speak a word against Kien Lantec.” He offered her a sad smile and clasped her free hand. “He counts himself as blessed, I’m sure.”

  To Father, Akabe said, “Please do not be angry with her, sir, and do not believe that I am angry with either of you—I am not. I’ll greet you both at the temple site.”

  He left them quietly, through an amazingly concealed side door—its contours vanishing within the ornate wall carvings as he shut the door behind him.

  Father glowered at Ela. “Because of your stubbornness, you’ve embarrassed that good man! I’m grateful he’s kind. Any other king would have punished us, I’m sure!”