The slippers were on the opposite wall, lined just as neatly. He picked a pair he thought would fit and fumbled to put them on. They were delicate compared to anything he was used to, and he didn’t want to risk ripping the fine material. Somewhere beyond him, he was vaguely aware of Marc and the King talking. He snapped to full attention at the mention of his name.
“Isn’t that right, Gib?” Marc’s voice was cheerful and his smile troublesome. He glanced at the King. “It’s like the first time I met him. He was afraid to sit in the chair.”
“Oh, so the slippers scare him? I see. By the time he gets them on, you’ll have to leave for supper.”
Gib gasped, mouth agape. He didn’t even know what to say to that. Marc and the King both burst into laughter upon examining Gib’s face. The words fell from Gib’s mouth before he could think to censor them. “I see what Seneschal Koal meant about always being surrounded by children.”
The King gestured for them to follow farther into his private quarters. “You’ll learn all too soon, Gibben Nemesio, that youth is fleeting. Immaturity, however, can be nurtured for a lifetime.” He was still laughing as he swept over to a chair by his balcony and perched as lightly as a feather upon it. Marc wasted no time in taking the seat opposite and making quick work of the pedestal between them. Gib ventured a step closer to get a better look.
It was a game of some sort, he’d wager, with a slew of small pieces for either player. Marc sorted the colors—pearl for himself and jade for King Rishi. The King, for his part, barely took notice as he was looking out the window. Gib trained his gaze in the same direction and realized King Rishi was staring down at the courtyard. Only marks before, Gib had stood out there beside Joel for what may have been the last time.
Grief wrung his heart and he looked away, still unwilling to dwell on the treacherous emotions seeking to undo him. He’d promised himself he’d find either Tarquin or Kezra later and speak to them about what he was going through, but he hadn’t yet found the time. For now, he placated himself with the lovely surroundings in the royal suite.
The architecture was much the same here as it was in the other parts of the palace Gib was familiar with, only this room seemed more akin to a home, with all of the shoes, several small toys on one shelf, and what looked like a child’s school things on another. The bookshelves themselves were of a more modest size and cluttered with too many books, nothing at all like the grand library near the council chamber or the one inside Academy.
Lush, crimson curtains framed each grand window but were pulled back to allow in what sunlight the day had to offer. The furniture was primarily made of dark wood and detailed with hand paintings telling stories of legends Gib could not place. One reoccurring figure was that of a twisting crimson serpent.
“The dragon of Beihai.”
Gib jumped. “What?”
King Rishi was watching from across the room. He gestured toward the serpent. “The red dragon of Beihai is the creature you keep looking at. There was a time when it was not a mere shadow of the Empire’s golden dragon. In its prime, it represented peace and prosperity. Now all dragons from the north are seen as conquerors.”
“I’ve never seen such a dragon,” Gib admitted. “It almost looks like a viper to my eyes.”
The King smiled, but it was a sad, tired mockery of what it should have been. “Yes. The Empire’s dragon casts a long shadow. Like the country it hails from, the golden dragon blots out all others who would stand with or beside it. It does not share its glory, only absorbs those smaller than itself in its undying quest to conquer all.”
Marc made the first move on the game board. His light mood from earlier seemed to have vanished. “Who are we waiting for?”
“Roland.” The King’s words were clipped as he made a counter move. “Aodan went for him.”
Gib watched as they continued their game despite neither of them taking any pleasure from it. As their pieces moved and were lost to one another, Gib gathered it was a strategy exercise but didn’t grasp what constituted a proper move and what did not. As their play wore on, he also deduced that either Marc wasn’t good at strategy or the King was exceptional.
Time passed, and the only sound was the clicking of the game pieces. King Rishi told Gib he could sit in one of the window sills if he wished, so he did, just to feel less in the way. Marc and the King were nearly done with their game when a knock on the door interrupted their play. King Rishi was on his feet in an instant, and Marc breathed a sigh of relief, looking to Gib. “Just in time. He’d nearly licked me—”
“Don’t lick Marc. He prob’ly tastes as bad as he smells,” Aodan Galloway called from the doorway.
Marc laughed. “I’d tell you where you could lick me, Derr, but I’ll keep polite in front of Gib.”
The bodyguard’s red hair fell in his face as he knelt to put on his slippers. Blowing a stray strand from his eye, Aodan offered only the barest of smiles—a somewhat frightening look. “Koal’s underling? He’s heard worse in ’is time. Council meetings an’ all.”
Marc shrugged but didn’t get to respond before a different voice grumbled from the hallway, “Move your arse, Galloway! I’m standing out here, shoeless, like some beggar.”
Gib smiled. It wasn’t often he got to see Weapons Master Roland Korbin anymore. After training under him the first two years at Academy, Gib had moved on to become Koal’s understudy. It was good to see his old weapons trainer again.
Roland’s dark hair and sun-worn skin didn’t look any worse for wear when he crossed the threshold, and Gib had to wonder if training new recruits helped keep the master young. Their eyes met briefly, and it was hard to tell what he was thinking behind his shrewd, hazel eyes.
The King didn’t offer to greet his new guests, and no one bothered to pretend their visit was for pleasure. As soon as the door was closed, Roland crossed his arms over his broad chest and went for the point. “So Marc’s here as well. I s’pose this isn’t lucky chance.”
King Rishi began pacing. Not an encouraging sign. “We need to be prepared to head Neetra off tomorrow. He’s going to push me even harder now that Koal is absent.”
“He’s bent on going to war with Shiraz.” Marc’s voice was cold, uncharacteristic for his typical good nature.
Roland groaned. “Neetra’s mad. He’d have us discharge our women soldiers before we even began to march. I don’t know how he thinks the army can handle war and troop thinning at the same time.”
King Rishi threw his hands into the air. “He’d simply lower the draft age again. Surely once a child is privy trained they can pick up a sword and shield for Arden!” His pacing grew more agitated by the moment.
“At least Neetra’s down a man, too,” Roland offered as he leaned against a bookcase. “He’s also lost his Right Hand in this.”
“Aye,” Aodan agreed. “That Liro is almost as dangerous as his uncle. It’s best to keep our watch on him.”
Gib bit his lip. This topic was scarcely ever breeched. Even in his short years in Silver, Gib had come to know how unpopular Koal’s elder son was. Despite the undying loyalty many felt for the seneschal, Liro was not extended such favor.
“Liro is still young and foolhardy, but Koal trusts him. He knows his son. We have to trust his judgment.” The King sounded tired, like he might not believe the words himself.
Roland shook his head. “I trust and respect Koal as much as any of the rest of you, but we all know his sight is clouded on that boy. Ever since he was born, Koal’s been skittish of ’im. He’s just not a good egg, Liro. Joel is Koal’s son as well, and look at the difference in them! I’d trust Joel in a position of power but Liro? No. He’s a snake.”
King Rishi silenced them all with the wave of a hand. “We’re not here to discuss Liro. Right now, he’s as far away as our seneschal. We need a plan to deal with Neetra before he manages to tip the balance in the council room.”
“You’re right. We’ll be down a vote with Koal absent,” Marc said. “Th
is isn’t a good time for him to be gone.”
“There’s never a good time for him to be gone!” The King stopped next to the window, looking outside. He held his hands behind his back, and his blank face did little to conceal his unease. At long last, he issued a deep sigh and turned to look at the other men in the room. “I need one of you to be the acting seneschal while Koal’s gone.”
Marc and Roland both froze. The air felt stiff, heavy. Gib didn’t envy either man their positions. Filling the shoes of the seneschal was no light task. Both the dean and weapons master seemed fully aware of this as their eyes met.
Marc opened his mouth, but Roland beat him to it. “Well, don’t look at me. It’s a hell of a jump to go from training soldiers to becoming the Right Hand of the King!”
“I’m only a dean,” Marc lamented. “I can tell students what classes would benefit them most. Other than that, I’m a healer. I’ve next to no combat experience.”
“What good is combat experience in the council room? Unless I’m able to meet Neetra with a blade, I’m useless!” Roland countered.
Aodan chuckled darkly. “My vote’s for Roland then.”
Something dangerously like fire crossed over the King’s features. “I’m serious. Someone needs to sit in for Koal. Neetra will be relentless now. I’ll need someone there to support me.”
Both candidates fell silent for a time. Gib looked down at his hands as he twisted them together. He could see why neither Marc nor Roland were keen on taking the job, but the King was right. Someone had to do it.
Their voices were softer when next they spoke. Marc and Roland embraced a steel-like resolve and tackled the problem with logic instead of emotion. Marc pointed out that Roland’s war experience would be valuable if they had to dissuade the majority of the council from sending their troops to march on Shiraz. The King countered, expressing concern over General Morathi Adeben. Roland was only the Weapons Master—Morathi outranked him.
Gib cleared his throat, offering his own tentatively spoken input. “Morathi’s also already on the council. He has seniority in the eyes of the other councilors.” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to speak. Surely the King would have asked for his opinion if he wanted it. “S–sorry.”
Roland gestured toward Gib hastily. “See? Even an understudy knows more about the politics of the council than me! I’m not a member of the High Council. Marc, the politicians are more likely to listen to you simply because they already know you and would favor your experience.”
The King rubbed his chin as he paced. “It would be in our favor to pull you in, Roland. With Koal gone and Marc taking his place, we still lose one vote. If you step in, Marc can stay in his chair with his vote and you can fill in for Koal.”
Gib bit his bottom lip. He could see a flaw in this. Was he allowed to speak? They hadn’t reprimanded him a moment ago—but what if he’d merely been lucky that time? Roland’s shoulders slouched. With a defeated sigh, he nodded. It seemed he was going to accept the offer.
Gib swallowed, his heart hammering. “Wait—I’m sorry to speak without being asked, but do you not worry General Morathi might defame Roland? For the sake of saving votes for his own cause?” He flinched, waiting to be reprimanded.
Marc nodded. “Gib has a point. Neetra and Morathi typically favor the same vote, and they have a lot of pull over the councilors who are on the fence. Roland’s inexperience may hurt us more than help.”
King Rishi’s face contorted as he paced, and the tension in his shoulders made the rest of his body look equally rigid.
He went for so long without saying anything that Aodan eventually broke the spell. “Rishi?”
The King came to a full stop in the center of the room. His dark eyes, typically so shrewd and in control, looked glassy, panicked. “None of these choices are good! We stand on the sword’s edge yet again. Will this never get any easier?”
“Runnin’ a country isn’t easy,” Aodan replied. “It’s not fer the faint of heart. You know that.” The bodyguard folded his arms across his narrow chest. “Now choose, Highness.”
The King whipped around and set a fierce gaze on the other man. Aodan didn’t back down—he didn’t so much as flinch—and Gib had to wonder how he could be so unflappable under such a heavy look.
King Rishi finally sighed in defeat and gestured toward the “victor,” Marc.
Visible relief washed over Roland, but he turned to Marc in the next instant. “You’ll tell me if you need help with anything. I’ll do what I can for you. Deal?”
Marc had gone pale, but he kept command of his voice. “I can’t pull you away from your work. Our young troops may need you more than ever now.”
“I’ll announce it at council tomorrow,” King Rishi said, looking at Marc. “You’ll sit in Koal’s seat until he returns.”
If he returns. Gib’s treacherous thoughts slipped away from him before he could squash them. He didn’t want to think in such a way, but it was true, wasn’t it? They had no guarantee any of their friends would come home. The King might lose his most trusted advisor and eldest son in one blow. Gib might lose his first love. He sniffed, refusing to let the tears overtake him. He would speak to Kezra or Tarquin later. It was a promise to himself.
Roland bowed to the King, only to be waved off with an irritated groan. “I should get back out to the field. My assistant is overseeing the class for me now, but I want to cover new formations with the students today.”
“Yes. Especially if there’s any chance we’ll be going to war.” King Rishi sounded exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in years.
“It’s been good to have enthusiastic students to work with,” Roland said as he made for the door. “They learn faster when they chose to become a soldier on their own. Tell that to your general.”
Marc and the King both offered half smiles at that, but Gib got the distinct impression Roland wasn’t making conversation. General Morathi had never hidden his distaste for female soldiers and raising the draft age. A cold lump settled in Gib’s stomach just thinking about the havoc Morathi and Neetra could wreak together without Koal present to be the voice of reason.
Roland took off his slippers and grabbed his boots before reaching for the door—only to have it swing open before he could touch it.
“Get in there, both of you, before I decide to tell your father how you’ve behaved!” A woman’s voice carried from the hallway, and Gib craned his neck to see who it was.
Crowned Prince Deegan and Princess Gudrin shuffled through the door, sour looks on their dirty faces. Queen Dahlia came through an instant later, holding the hem of her dress in one hand and her delicate shoes in the other. The instant she saw everyone was watching them, her powdered cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”
King Rishi laughed. “Rough day?”
The Queen made to bow, but Marc raised his voice as she did. “It’s only us. No one important.” A smile split his face in two when she glanced around and seemed to come to the same conclusion for herself.
She relaxed with a sigh. “Oh, they’re being awful. Making messes in the garden, chasing each other with the tools—I only wanted to bring them inside.” She plucked up a pair of slippers and tried to get out of the way as quickly as possible. When King Rishi stroked her arm in passing, she fixed him with a hard glare. “You could have told me you were going to take your meeting here. I would have taken the children elsewhere.”
The King shook his head, still smiling. “We were done anyway. You couldn’t have known—” His voice clipped to a halt when Princess Gudrin wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her dirty face against his fine clothing. He put a hand atop her head and gently pushed her back. “Don’t try to win me over to your side. Go get cleaned up!”
Gib bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. How many times had Cal or Tay done the same thing to him when they were still little and their father had reprimanded them? Gudrin reacted about as
well, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she whined and ran through a door which must have led to additional wings in the royal suite. The Queen followed her, exasperation etched into her features.
Roland shook a finger at the King. “It should be a crime to break the princess’s heart, Highness.”
Crowned Prince Deegan stomped toward the same door. “She was being a brat. If she behaves like that when I’m king, I’ll banish her!” The Weapons Master barked a laugh as King Rishi shooed his son into the other room.
Roland took his leave a moment later, closing the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Marc sighed and turned to the King. The smile he’d displayed for the Queen and children had already vanished. “How do you think Neetra is going to handle this news?”
King Rishi sank down into his chair. He wiped at the dirt smudge his daughter had left on his clothing, but even Gib could tell it was only a distraction. “About as well as you think. He’s going to make my life a living hell.”
“We’ll hope for Koal’s swift return then.”
“We’ll hope for his return.”
The King’s forlorn voice made Gib wince. He still refused to think about it. Perhaps if he kept pushing the thoughts away, he could escape them entirely. Maybe he could wait so long Joel would return before ever having to embrace this grief.
Marc stood. “Right. Okay then, Gib. I think we can go.”
Gib was on his feet and following his mentor before he knew he was doing it. They removed their slippers wordlessly and each took boots in hand. Gib turned to bow to King Rishi and, for once, the King bowed his head in return instead of waving Gib off as a troublesome nuisance. The King looked like a ghost, sitting there with hollow eyes and worried thoughts. The room suddenly felt empty, and Gib almost didn’t want to leave. He opened his mouth but had no idea what to say.
“Papa!”
Princess Gudrin ran from the other room just then and jumped into the King’s lap. He smiled and seemed to come back to life. Gudrin looked over and realized Gib and Marc were still standing there. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin, looking every bit a princess. “I mean—King Rishi—can Deegan and I go horseback riding?”
Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden Page 17
