“Go find a room and get settled in, Joel. Cenric, NezReth—a word with you both, please?”
Joel blinked. He sees me as nothing but a burden. I’ll always be a child in his eyes. Hanging his head, he went to the lounge and scooped up his pack. Slinging it over one shoulder, he turned and entered the corridor Hasain and Liro had just taken. I suppose I should check in on them to ensure no blood has been spilt between here and the sleeping quarters.
Koal’s voice flitted down the corridor, and Joel slowed his pace. He knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but the gravity of the words caught his attention and held him spellbound. “I’ll tell you what concerns me already. Emperor Lichas—he’s been reigning since I was a boy! I may not be a scholar, but I’m no fool! His youth can’t be natural.”
Cenric snorted. “Agreed. I actually met Sarpedon thirty years ago and he looks exactly the same as he did then. He hasn’t aged a day. Can anyone explain this?”
“NezReth?” Koal demanded.
Terrible silence marred the suite until NezReth replied in a quiet, hesitant voice. “Magic is capable of such strange and, often times, perverse things, but I am afraid I have no answers to give you—only unverified speculations. I will need to delve further into this matter.”
“In the meantime, we all must stay alert. Something about this situation feels very wrong,” Koal whispered.
Cenric issued a lengthy sigh. “I don’t like it. I don’t like any of it.”
“Like it or not, we’re here. It’s too soon to go running with our tails tucked. The least we can do is meet with the Emperor and listen to his proposal—and plan accordingly from there.”
Joel forced his legs to move. If they hadn’t invited him into the conversation then he shouldn’t be listening. A chill crept up his spine as he slid into one of the empty bedchambers. What kind of power did the Northern Empire possess if they were not only able to control the weather, but also prolong the life of their ruler? He’d never heard of such magery. And if NezReth isn’t sure either, this must be some rare or forbidden magic indeed. Has the Emperor somehow managed to defy time? Is that why he isn’t aging?
Shaking his head, Joel turned to examine the room. Silken curtains rustled in the breeze coming through a single, oval-shaped window. Fresh morning light poured into the chamber, illuminating the white marble walls and colorful motifs on the bedspread. He could see the garden outside, and the smell of spiced food and flowers hung on the air. It was a shame he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy any of the beauty the palace offered.
Joel flopped down onto the bed and stared at the decorative stucco ceiling. He exhaled slowly, feeling as though it was the first real breath he’d gotten since arriving in Teivel. Chhaya’s bane. What did I get myself into? I’m not cut out for this. He closed his eyes, and all he could see was Gib’s face. A deep, wrenching ache gripped his heart. I’m so sorry, Gib. I shouldn’t have left the way I did.
“Joel?” Cenric called tentatively from the door.
Joel hurried to sit up, wiping his damp cheeks with a sleeve. “S–sorry. I was just resting for a moment.”
“It’s all right.” Cenric’s smile was genuine as always, which reminded Joel why he respected the ambassador so much. Cenric motioned toward the bed. “May I talk to you about something before we’re called for mealtime?”
Joel scooted over to make room, doing his best to push thoughts of Gib aside. “Yes, of course.” This isn’t about the Emperor, is it? Did they catch me listening to their conversation?
Cenric sat on the edge of the bed and turned to face Joel. “I’m sure you’ve done your own research about the Northern Empire, but I felt it wise to warn you about something, in case it was overlooked during your own studies.” His smile fell away. “Things are different here. Laws are—more strict, and the penalties for disobedience much harsher. I’m not sure whether you’re aware or not, but romanticizing with someone of the same gender—” Cenric’s cheeks were turning a noticeable shade of red as he stumbled over his words. “—is forbidden in the Northern Empire.”
Joel let out a horrified gasp. What, exactly, was Cenric implying? All the emotion he’d kept bottled inside manifested as bitter anger and poured out. “I’m well aware of the law— do you really think so little of me? Are you worried I might seduce some poor Imperial courtier and ruin Arden’s chance at peaceful negotiation? I can’t believe you would even suggest such a thing!”
Shock crossed Cenric’s face, and Joel knew he’d overstepped his boundaries. He glared at his hands, which sat in his lap and trembled as he tried to contain the despair billowing inside his heart. I should have stayed with Gib. Now I have nothing. I ripped his heart out and then didn’t even tell him how sorry I was. I don’t deserve to survive this mission, and I don’t deserve Gib.
“I apologize,” Joel whispered. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you. I just—I said goodbye to Gib—possibly forever—and I’m really, really not interested in pursuing anyone here, so you and the others needn’t worry.” A rebellious tear slid down one cheek.
“I wasn’t suggesting you would, I swear to you.” Cenric leaned in, placing a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “I know you wouldn’t ever compromise the mission, and I know your heart lies with Gib. I only wanted to remind you not to speak openly about your personal life. We’ll find no friends here, and any one of us could mistakenly say something that could be used against us.” Squeezing Joel’s shoulder, Cenric lowered his voice even further. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to hide who you are from anyone. But while we’re here—”
“I understand. It has to be this way.”
Cenric sighed, hazel eyes sorrowful. “It’s not fair. This is why I had reservations about coming to Teivel. Arden is not without her faults, but we’ve made remarkable progress breaking away from the influence of the Northern Empire. I just—see no good to come from this meeting between the two nations. The last time Sarpedon offered an alliance, his goal was to extend the Empire’s law to encompass all of Arden beneath it. He wanted to take over the country. I can only pray that isn’t the case now.” Cenric’s voice trailed off in an eerie wisp as he stared aimlessly across the room.
“You’ve been an ambassador of Arden for over half your life. Father has been seneschal for nearly as long. Between the two of you, I know the country will never be led astray or taken advantage of.”
Cenric met Joel’s gaze, and for the first time since their conversation had begun, the envoy’s frown dissipated, replaced by a weak smile. “Share some of your confidence with this old fool, will you?” He patted Joel on the shoulder one last time before taking to his feet. “I should put on presentable clothing. I’m sure we’ll be called for morning meal any time now.” Cenric paused beneath the door frame. “And try not to worry about what’s going on back home. From what you’ve told me of Gib, he seems to be a good fellow. I’m sure he understands why you chose to come. Likewise, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you upon your return.”
Joel sucked in a sharp breath. “Yes. I’m sure you’re right.” No. You don’t know. No one knows. I ruined everything, and I have only myself to blame for it.
Cenric departed, leaving Joel alone to wallow in his emotions for some time. Finally, he wiped his eyes dry and took a deep breath. Pull yourself together. You’re here now. There’s nothing that can be done about Gib while you’re in the Empire, and feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to help the mission. You came to assist Cenric and protect Father. Now how about you actually do something useful!
He changed out of his damp clothing and into a clean robe, hoping a fresh set of clothes would help renew his spirit. By the time he meandered back into the common room, his stomach was growling as ferociously as a wild animal. I certainly hope mealtime is sooner than later.
Cenric smiled as Joel sat down beside him on the lounge. “Feel better?”
Joel’s cheeks flushed as the other envoys turned to look at him. Unable to maintain eye contact with any of them, he opted to stare at t
he intricate threadwork on the lounge. “Much better now that I’m out of those wet clothes.” He bit his tongue and hoped no one would notice his discomfort. I don’t need Father worrying about me—or to give Liro any excuses to remind me what a disappointment I am.
Koal unraveled a blank sheet of parchment and waved it at Hasain. “Fetch me an inkwell and quill. I need to start my report for the King.”
Hasain locked his jaw but did as he was told. Liro stood against one of the pillars toward the back of the room and smirked openly at the young lord’s misfortune.
Cenric cocked his head to the side. “Already? We’ve barely unpacked.”
Sighing, Koal sat behind the only table the suite had to offer. “I promised him weekly updates.” Hasain came back a moment later, handing Koal the quill and setting the inkwell onto the table. Koal thanked him with a silent nod.
“Have you given any thought to your messages being intercepted?” Cenric asked, his brows furrowing with concern. “What then?”
Koal dipped the very tip of the feathered quill into the inkwell. “NezReth has assured me they won’t be.”
“They will not be,” NezReth reiterated. He stood in a shadowy enclave on the far side of the suite, violet eyes ever vigilant as they scanned the garden outside.
The ambassador nodded his head, offering no further debate. “I trust your judgment, mage.”
Magic, Joel concluded. He’ll ward the message with protective magic before Father sends it to King Rishi. He’d heard of such a thing before. Mages would often enchant a message containing particularly important news so if anyone false attempted to open it, the parchment would burst into flames or the ink would bleed so the words were illegible.
A light tapping sound came from the door just then, and the conversation ground to a halt. Koal looked up from the parchment paper. “I imagine that’s our call for breakfast.”
When no one else made a move to answer the door, Joel sighed and slipped out of his seat. I might as well make myself useful for something. He trotted across the room and grasped the brass door handle, wishing he knew how to command the door to swing open with a flick of his wrist, as Adrian Titus had demonstrated was possible. He pulled the door open.
A young man stood in the hallway and jumped to attention as the door hinges squealed. He wore a plain white tunic much like any of the other servants Joel had seen, though the embroidered gold thread on his sleeves and silken belt around his waist seemed out of place for such a lowly rank. Although the color of his hair was darker than most in this land, his complexion was as fair as any of them, and a pair of inquisitive green eyes measured Joel in a not unfriendly way.
“Greetings,” said the newcomer, his voice a soft tenor. He bent forward in a cordial bow. “I am Kirk Bhadrayu, mage trainee and apprentice of Archmage Adrian Titus.”
Politely, Joel tipped his own head forward. “My name is Joel Adelwijn, understudy ambassador and mage of Silver City.”
The young man smiled—a genuine smile, the first Joel had witnessed since arriving in Teivel. Such a show of emotion surprised him after all the scowls he’d received in the throne room.
“Well met, Joel Adelwijn,” Kirk replied. “My master has sent me to see to it your party is comfortable.”
His smile was infectious, and Joel found himself smiling back, despite his somber mood.
“Thank you. We are.” Joel moved aside and motioned for the other man to enter the suite. “Please, come inside, if you’d like.”
“O–oh, no, that’s all right.” Kirk looked at the floor, a faint blush coming to his cheeks, and Joel had to wonder if he’d mistakenly said something offensive.
Trying to salvage the situation, Joel cleared his throat and asked, “Might you know when breakfast will be served?”
Kirk’s eyes lit up. “Your meal is awaiting you. That’s actually the main reason I came to introduce myself. If you’re ready, I can take your party there right now.”
When Joel turned to ask the other envoys, not one of them objected.
The mage trainee, Kirk, led them to a beautiful courtyard, shaded by a canopy billowing in the light breeze. Beneath it was the most exquisite table Joel had ever seen. Carved from smooth alabaster, it was at least twenty hands in length and sparkled brighter than sunlight reflecting off a winter landscape. Even the table legs were luxurious—each carved in the shape of a dragon and made to look as though they were holding the weight of the tabletop with their talons.
Joel’s stomach gurgled at the sight of all the bountiful food waiting for them. Bread so fresh it was still steaming tumbled out of wicker baskets, and platters of colorful fruit and roasted meats made his mouth water. As they took their seats around the table, a pair of servants filled their goblets with wine.
Kirk, who had been standing to the side of the table, cleared his throat as the envoys began to serve themselves. “Once you’ve eaten your fill, His Grace, Emperor Sarpedon, has requested your presence in the council chamber. You can ask any of the servants to lead you there. I will take my leave now, but my master has charged me with your well-being for the duration of your visit, so if you need anything, request a servant to find me immediately.”
“Of course,” replied Koal. “I speak for all of us when I say we are most grateful for our host’s hospitality.”
Kirk bowed and departed without another word.
Joel took his time filling his plate. Such a wide variety of foods were offered that he had a hard time choosing what to sample first. Passing on the roasted quail, he opted to try melon and the small, sticky purple fruits Cenric called figs. The party ate in silence for some time, and despite his growling stomach, Joel found himself pushing his food around rather than eating it.
His mind kept dwelling on the conversation he’d overheard between his father and NezReth—and it worried him deeply. Like so much else about this city, the Emperor’s youth was a conundrum. Had Emperor Sarpedon somehow learned to stop the natural progression of aging and, if so, by what means? Something is very wrong about all of this. The magically controlled weather, Sarpedon’s agelessness, the complete waste of magical resources everywhere I look—where is the Northern Empire getting all the energy to maintain this way of life?
Birds twittered above the canopy, interrupting his dark musings, and Joel raised his face to watch them. His eyes widened at what he saw. Not birds. What in the two worlds?
Strange little winged creatures perched along the tops of the pillars, chirping like songbirds. Indeed, their feathered wings and beaks were reminiscent of a falcon, yet the lower halves of their bodies were covered in hardened scales, and long, reptilian tails sprouted from their hindquarters. Joel had never seen such an oddity before.
He looked across the table at Cenric. “What are those things?”
“Cockatrices,” the ambassador replied, turning to watch the strange creatures as they fluttered and squeaked.
Joel shook his head. “What?”
“It is rumored,” NezReth explained in a quiet voice, “that the cockatrices are descendants of true dragons. Many centuries ago, before the dragons were driven to extinction, Imperial mages used magic to fuse young dragonlings with various animals. Through trial and error, they essentially created three new species—the basilisk, manticore, and of course, the cockatrice. Of the three, the cockatrice thrived.”
Cenric chuckled. “Yes. The Empire did a fantastic job creating a new pest to infest the city. Though, I’ll admit, they’re more aesthetically pleasing than rats.”
Joel scrutinized the tiny, chattering reptiles, finding it difficult to believe they were descendants of the majestic, fire-breathing dragons he’d read about in the Tales of Fae. Somehow they seemed but a cruel parody of their beautiful ancestors. Joel frowned. The idea of warping magic in such a way didn’t sit well in his stomach. Were the Imperial mages so arrogant they believed they had the right to experiment on living creatures?
“Of course, the cockatrices’ super speed makes them quite
useful to the Empire,” Cenric continued. “I’m sure they would have been eliminated completely if they didn’t make such fine messengers.”
“Super speed?” Hasain asked as he filled his plate with fresh fruit and bread.
“Yes. They can travel astonishingly fast over long distances.”
A smug smile crossed Hasain’s lips. “Arden’s messenger pigeons can do the same.”
“Ah, but the cockatrice is capable of flying so fast their form cannot be seen by the naked eye,” Cenric replied, giving Hasain a wry smile of his own. “In one day, they can cover the distance a pigeon would take weeks to traverse. How else do you think we were able to get a response back to the Northern Empire so fast when they requested we come to Teivel?”
Hasain refocused his attention onto his plate. He shrugged, and Joel could tell by the faint shade of pink on Hasain’s cheeks he knew he’d been bested and was having trouble admitting it to himself.
The party ate in silence after that, though the cockatrices continued to chirp above, almost as if they were serenading the envoys. A gentle breeze blew through the terrace, rustling Joel’s raven hair and cooling the humid air just enough to be comfortable. Joel wondered in passing how the people outside the inner city were faring. How cold was it beyond the borders of this magical paradise? He frowned, wondering if Emperor Sarpedon and his wealthy patricians ever thought of the unfortunate people beyond the dome. Did they even care?
All at once, the silence came crashing down as a small army of servants and courtiers made their way into the courtyard. Girls with pearls around their necks and draped in fine silk gowns giggled and chatted while servants scampered at their heels with extravagant parasols held high to keep the sun from reaching the ladies’ eyes. No one in the procession paid the dining envoys any heed. Indeed, all their attention seemed to be centered on one person within the group. The courtier ladies were all but hanging from the arm of a young man.
He couldn’t have been any older than Liro or Hasain, and he carried himself with the overzealous confidence of a person born into nobility. He swept onto the terrace with his entourage trailing behind his long cape. Wispy curls crowned the youth’s head, and the sea silk tunic wrapped around his lean body matched his golden hair as though it had been planned that way. Two blue eyes fell upon the envoys, and Joel could detect a trace of condescension behind the boy’s reserved stare.
Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden Page 15
