Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  “No news is good news.” Tarquin’s voice was hushed as he spoke. “Asher’s been out there a time or two for reinforcements. He said the Nales border is more stable than Shiraz’s.” He was trying to be helpful—his earnest tone said as much—but Gib couldn’t help the churning in his stomach.

  “That’s what I keep telling Cal. Liza’s better off in the north than to the east.” Gib tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that Asher Aldino, Tarquin’s older brother, had gone to Nales and made a safe return. But Asher was a politician and rarely saw the front line of any skirmishes. Liza is fine. Until I have that letter in my hand, she’s fine.

  They finished their drinks without another word and handed the mugs back to the vendor. Blood warmed, Gib and Tarquin ventured back out into the busy street toward the Rose Bouquet. The music and entertainment there never failed to attract a large crowd. As they drew closer, the first upbeat notes tickled their ears. A smile passed between them, and silently the friends agreed not to discuss Liza or the borders anymore.

  Tarquin gave a sly smile and asked, “Is Joel going to meet up with us?”

  “I don’t know. He had to go visit Ambassador Cenric this morning. I barely got a chance to see him.”

  “Really? It seems you’ve had all the time in the world to see him. Since his return, I don’t think you’ve spent a single night in our dorm room.”

  Gib’s face burst hot, and he pounced on Tarquin rather than try to force coherent words from a stuttering mouth. The two friends laughed and staggered through the street as the music became louder with each passing step. Longer limbs eventually won the struggle despite Tarquin’s lack of grace, and Gib was forced to walk with his head under his friend’s armpit for several paces. When they reached the Rose Bouquet, however, Tarquin showed mercy and turned Gib loose.

  As always, the owners knew how to throw a party. The music was festive and loud, amplified by the mages who worked for the tavern. Joel had mentioned before that while magery wasn’t an incredibly rare gift, it had varying levels of strength, so it only stood to reason the weaker mages might find themselves looking for less strenuous careers. Gib supposed if he’d been born with the ability, amplifying music wouldn’t be the worst job he could think of.

  Tarquin had already begun to clap along with the rhythm. From under the wide brim of his hat, his pale eyes squinted toward the stage. “I like the singer. I heard she wrote most of the band’s songs herself.”

  Gib had to stand on his tiptoes to be able to make out the performance platform. He could barely see the lead female performer dancing and singing on the stage. “I like this song. It’s the one about child soldiers. It created a stir last summer, didn’t it? I thought Neetra was going to have a fit. He wanted to arrest the entire troupe, but the King shot him down.”

  Tarquin leaned in and lowered his voice. “Do you think he’s out here somewhere? The King, I mean. Do you suppose he’s listening, too?”

  Gib laughed. “What? Hidden under a cloak and driving Koal insane by ‘not behaving like royalty’? Maybe in his younger days, but I doubt it now.” The smile left him, and he lost the tune of the song. “The council is so cross with him most days he doesn’t go anywhere without his personal bodyguard and an entourage of royal sentinels. He’s not even allowed to walk alone through the palace.”

  “Father has told me as much.” Tarquin stopped clapping and shook his head. “He says he remembers when the King would openly defy the court and say things most unbecoming for royalty. He’d behave in ways Father wouldn’t fully discuss.” A small laugh escaped him. “Apparently there was always a strong distaste for the rules—”

  “Sounds like a scoundrel. Anyone I know?”

  Gib jumped in place when the new voice rose just behind. Hasain smiled down, looking for all the world like his father—from the wild glint in his eye to the dimples in his cheeks. He stood with a regal rigidity all his own, however—a reminder of his true nature.

  Gib frowned at Hasain. “It would seem you have your own healthy disrespect for protocol. Shouldn’t you have a guard of some sort?”

  Hasain opened his mouth but was cut off by rambunctious laughter. A moment later, Nawaz Arrio pushed his way through the crowd to join the group. He was red faced and smiling like a fiend. “Oh, you three better run! When she gets here she’s gonna—”

  “Nawaz Arrio! You miserable horse’s arse! Get back here!”

  Kezra’s onyx hair bristled and fanned in every direction, and her sentinel uniform and face were soaked as she tromped up to the group. At some point she must have wiped her forehead and smudged her bindi. The crimson diamond now looked like a terrible scratch across her brow.

  Gib raised an eyebrow and attempted not to laugh. “What happened to you, Kezra? You look like a drowned rat!” He lost his battle then and snickered with Nawaz, who also appreciated the joke.

  While they were enjoying a good laugh at her expense, Tarquin had already whisked the cloak from his shoulders and offered it to her. His face was cherry red as he held it at arm’s length. “H–here, Kezra. You’ll catch your death in those wet clothes.”

  Kezra halted in her attempt to catch the troublemaker who’d wronged her. Looking down at herself and then back to Tarquin, who couldn’t hold her gaze, she seemed like she would decline his generous offering. But then her face softened just a little, and she nodded graciously. “Thanks. But now you’re going to freeze.” Kezra whipped around to snarl at Nawaz. “You could do with some common sense and manners like Tarquin!”

  Blue eyes danced as Nawaz peeked out from behind a sour looking Hasain. “You looked bored. I came over to say hello.”

  “And to dump a damned rain barrel over my head!”

  “That was an accident—”

  “The hell it was!”

  Just as she was preparing to throw Tarquin’s cloak over her shoulders, Hasain sighed and stepped forward. “Enough of this. If you put that on, it’ll get wet, too.” He snatched the garment from her and tossed it back to Tarquin—who was still staring at the cobblestones—before pulling off gloves and muttering an incantation. As if it were no trouble at all, Hasain gestured toward her tunic, and Gib watched as the heavy fabric dried before his eyes.

  “And to think I didn’t even know you were a mage for the longest time,” Gib laughed, staring incredulously at Hasain. “You wear your white robes so sparingly I guess I never noticed.”

  Hasain was as smug as a cat with a feather on its lip. “Anyone born with the gift can become a mage. Extra training is required to be a politician. I choose to make the most of myself.” He gestured toward Kezra’s dry uniform. “Simple. Problem solved.”

  If Hasain was waiting for thanks, he was surely disappointed when Kezra stepped around him and pointed at Nawaz. “I could arrest you, you know!”

  Nawaz turned a devilish grin on her. “Empty threats, dear. You can shackle me if you want though. Just go gentle at first.”

  “Ugh,” Gib groaned, falling back a step.

  Tarquin had his back to them already, his crimson face reminding Gib of a pyre. Hasain made some strangled sound of discontent, and Kezra, of all people, laughed like a fiend.

  Her mirth effectively covered the sounds of another man as he approached. Tall and slender, he swept through the crowd with precision and authority. His white mage robes billowed out behind him and his sour, haughty frown made people jump out of the way faster. Gib didn’t notice him until the man was an arm’s length away.

  “Kezra! What the hell happened back there? Did you catch the guy who—oh, it’s him.” The man narrowed his emerald eyes and gave Nawaz a shrewd look. “I suppose this means he won’t be getting arrested.”

  Nawaz ducked behind Kezra. “Sorry, Zandi. I didn’t see how close you were standin’ to her. I didn’t mean for you to get wet, too!” He chuckled and ruined any credibility he might have hoped to build.

  “Well, that makes it all better then, doesn’t it?” The newcomer crossed thin arms over his
chest.

  Gib only then noticed how out of sorts the man looked with his mussed hair and wet uniform.

  Zandi Malin-Rai was Kezra’s elder brother, and though they shared the same dark skin and green eyes, that was about where their similarities ended. He definitely took after their father for build and features as well as his cold disposition—though despite his icy words and detached nature, he wasn’t unhandsome.

  Kezra waved off her brother’s concerns. “If you’d been doing your job and not bothering me then you wouldn’t have been in the line of fire.”

  “That hardly makes his behavior excusable!” Zandi rubbed his hands together briskly before repeating the same magic trick Hasain had performed just moments before. Zandi muttered under his breath the entire time, still giving Nawaz death glares.

  Gib shook his head. “You mages and your magic. I suppose I’ll never understand it.”

  Zandi’s green eyes flew wide, and his cheeks went a shade darker. His hands came up to fidget with his long onyx hair as he avoided eye contact with Gib. Cutting his sister a vicious glare, he muttered, “You didn’t mention your friends were here. You should introduce us properly.”

  It seemed a funny request. Gib had met Zandi before and was sure everyone else here had, too. With the exception of Gib, all those present were of noble birth and had fathers or step-fathers on the High Council. More than once they’d all crossed paths at formal events and holidays. Gib owed his good fortune of being Koal’s understudy as his means of attending these same gatherings.

  Kezra didn’t even try to be discreet about her brother’s odd inquiry. In fact, true to the nature of any sibling, she had a smug look in her eye as she ridiculed him in public. “You know damned well who he is! Gib, this is Zandi. Zandi, that’s Gib—not that you didn’t know. You need me to remind you who Tarquin is? How about Hasain? Or Nawaz?”

  Zandi openly fumed, and Gib took it upon himself to laugh them out of the awkward situation. After all, it had happened to him more than once while trying to remember the names of everyone at court. He offered his hand for a shake. “I’m Gibben, but please call me Gib. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t remember my name either if I were you.”

  Zandi’s grip was tentative as the mage took hold of his hand. “I remember your name, Gibben Nemesio of Willowdale, understudy to Seneschal Koal Adelwijn.”

  Gib was at an utter loss for words. If Zandi remembered his name then what were the reintroductions for?

  Confusion must have shown on his face, and the mage withdrew his hand with a small smile. An awkward lump rose in Gib’s throat. Had he missed something? Why did he feel like everyone was grinning at him?

  “All right. I’ve had enough of this. I’m going back to work.” Kezra snorted and pushed past her brother, grabbing his arm on her way through. “We have to go back to work.”

  At last, Zandi’s emerald eyes fell away from Gib. The mage gave a curt nod and followed at Kezra’s heels. “Fine, yes. And let me fix your bindi. You look terrible.” Just before they slipped back into the crowd, Zandi looked back one last time. “It was good to see you again, Gib.”

  Gib waved, still confounded by the entire meeting. When he turned back to the others, Tarquin and Nawaz were both watching him. While Tarquin tried not to smile too broadly, Nawaz’s grin was nothing short of lewd.

  Gib’s eyes went wide. “What? What’s everyone staring at?”

  Nawaz clapped him so firmly on the shoulder Gib nearly tumbled. “So tell me, friend, where is Joel today?”

  “He had to see his mentor, why?”

  Without knowing Nawaz so well, Gib would have been intimidated by their height difference and the lord’s manner. Nawaz bore down on Gib with a wicked beam. “I just have to wonder if Zandi’s greeting would have been so warm had Joel been at your side.”

  Tarquin tittered, and Gib could feel his guts twist. Oh. He hadn’t realized. “I don’t think that’s what—” His voice faltered. Actually, maybe it sort of made sense. A strange warmth fluttered in his chest like soft butterfly wings tickling him from the inside. Zandi was taken with him? The warmth spread to Gib’s face. He’d never been the object of anyone’s desire before. Well, Joel hardly counted seeing as Gib had longed for the other man first. Joel. “Well, I’m flattered then, but he’ll have to look elsewhere.”

  Nawaz wagged his eyebrows. “For now anyway.” When Gib shook his head, Nawaz tsked. “You’re no fun. There’s no harm in lookin’. Speaking of which, I’m going to get closer to the stage so I can watch the dancin’.”

  “Dancing? Today? It’s too cold for that out here.” Tarquin gasped and glanced toward the raised platform.

  Nawaz laughed and slung an arm over Tarquin’s shoulders, leading him into the crowd. “Boy, you worry too much. The cold air is a good thing. It makes them blush and keeps things perky.”

  A horrified look crossed Tarquin’s white face, and Gib found himself giggling at his friend’s expense.

  “We can’t go up there. This is indecent!” Tarquin floundered and looked back at Gib. “Gib! Come with me!”

  “Hell no,” Gib laughed. “You two enjoy yourselves. I have a little brother to help with his reading.”

  The pair slipped farther into the crowd, and Gib had just turned to make a hasty retreat when he noticed Hasain was still standing nearby, scowling at Nawaz’s back. “Nawaz better watch himself or he may find marrying Heidi his only option.”

  Not this again. Gib sidestepped and tried to excuse himself. “Kezra knows her own mind well enough, and for now, she chooses him.”

  “For now, perhaps. He’ll slip up sooner or later, and she’ll see how useless he is.”

  Gib didn’t want to become involved in this, but he was about done listening to Hasain’s accusations. “Or you could simply wish them well and be their friend, as they would do for you. Joel and I are as opposite as night and day and so far we’re—”

  “Deluded?” Hasain’s words were sharp as a bee sting.

  Gib never knew how to take the Radek lord. One moment he was arguing on behalf of the poor and underprivileged, while in the next breath he was belittling anyone who crossed him.

  “Where is Joel, anyway?”

  Reeling from the fresh insult, Gib considered not answering. His voice was strained when he managed to find it. “He went to see Ambassador Cenric, to sign off on his internship. Why?”

  Hasain frowned. “Interesting. No matter, I suppose. But speaking of Ambassador Leal, before I left the palace today, Father was in a fierce mood. When I tried to ask him about it, he shooed me away and was yelling something about ‘sending Cenric or no one.’”

  A chill swept up Gib’s spine. He tried to ignore it. “A shame. Cenric only just returned.”

  “A good thing for Joel that he’s signing off then.”

  Gib nodded and thought to head to the Adelwijn estate. Surely Cal would be waiting by then. Gib hesitated where he stood though, lingering just a moment longer. “King Rishi was visibly upset? You don’t—you don’t know where he was sending Cenric, do you?”

  “If I knew, I would have said as much.”

  The cold seeped into Gib’s core, bone deep. “You don’t think he’d send Cenric to Shiraz, right? I mean—after Queen Jorja and all.”

  Hasain sighed, and some of his rigidity slipped away. “I don’t know. I hope not. He hates—it kills him a little to send others into known doom.”

  “It can’t always be avoided. And I suppose it’s better to risk the life of one rather than many in a war.”

  “Tell that to the one who is sent. Tell that to their family.”

  Joel trailed Cenric as they arrived outside the council room doors. Joel’s nerves had been on edge since their hasty summons, and he belatedly realized he’d been wringing his hands the entire way there. Cenric had asked again what the urgency was, but their royal guardsmen escorts could only apologize and lead them onward.

  The heavy door swung open before Cenric could knock, and inside, King Rish
i’s strange Blessed Mages watched them with eerie violet eyes. Joel began to nod in greeting, but he was pushed along too fast to have a chance.

  As the pair of sentinels who’d escorted Cenric and Joel took post outside the door, Koal Adelwijn’s stern voice called out. “Ah, Cenric, sorry to pull you back in here so soon—” The seneschal’s hard gaze fell onto his son and the stilted words made Joel cringe. “What is he doing here? This isn’t a meeting for children.”

  Joel frowned. “I’m not a child.”

  Before Joel managed to get himself into any more trouble, Cenric stepped in. “Apologies, Seneschal Koal. I tried to ask what this meeting was about, but the guardsmen were vowed to silence. It is common practice for a master to bring his understudy while still on duty.”

  He bowed and motioned for Joel to do the same. The look in Cenric’s eye suggested he was in no mood for an unruly student, so Joel complied, biting back any harsh words he’d had for his father. Right now, he is the seneschal of Arden and I am an envoy trainee. Behave as such.

  Koal’s sharp gaze was heavy, but Joel met those eyes with as much determination as he could muster, a task made more difficult by their current company. Beyond the strange Blessed Mages and the seneschal, the King and his personal bodyguard were also present. Joel couldn’t help but feel he was in way over his head. He clasped clammy hands behind his back to keep them from shaking and took a deep breath. If his father was ever going to see Joel as anything more than a child, now was the time to prove himself.

  “Enough of this. There’s no time for arguments.” King Rishi looked haggard, face pale and eyes swollen. He stood tensely by the head of the council table. “There’s been a summons from the Northern Empire, Leal. I have no intention of sending anyone, but Neetra will be here any moment and he’s demanding—”