Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  “Assumptions are dangerous things,” Liro replied, raising his chin into the air and looking like Neetra for all the world. “Why should we take to heart the prejudiced opinion of one foolish, cowardly boy hoping to escape the duties he swore to his country?”

  Hasain leapt to his feet, hands balled into fists at his sides. “How dare you! You would openly mock the King? Call him foolish? A coward?”

  Liro lifted one brow but kept his face blank. “If the shoe fits, I suppose.”

  “My father is a good and noble king! His past is irrelevant! Look at all he’s done for our country! He’s brought peace and prosperity to our lands, treated with neighboring countries, raised the quality of life for everyone, not just the wealthy. Because of his rule, Arden has moved forward to embrace all of her people, not only the privileged few!”

  “And when we are overrun with uneducated peasants, who will defend our country? When all our traditions have been torn apart and sent to hell, where will Arden’s strength come from? The women soldiers or the illiterate farmers?”

  Hasain swept forward, coming dangerously close to Liro. “You’re still worried about losing your power, aren’t you? You don’t care for the people of Arden, only yourself and your privilege.”

  “That’s something, coming from the king’s bastard son who’s still riding his father’s coattails.”

  Hasain launched himself at the other man, but Koal stepped in before the first blow could fall. He shoved Hasain back and glared at the two young men. “Enough of this, both of you! We’re in the Empire. Our focus needs to be here.”

  No one moved or said anything for what felt like an eternity, but finally, Cenric cleared his throat. “Agreed, and all of that aside, an invitation has been extended to us here and now. A course of action must be chosen.”

  “Invitation? More like an order,” Hasain muttered under his breath, still glaring at Liro.

  Cenric turned his hazel eyes to Koal. “What say you? Do we attend this gladiator tournament?”

  A deep sigh escaped the seneschal’s mouth. He stared beyond them all, looking out onto the terrace, his eyes distant and filled to the brim with worry. “What choice have we now?”

  “What choice did we ever have?” Joel whispered.

  Stagnant silence settled over the envoys, filling every corner of the suite, until Koal whirled around, his features hard and determined once again. “Go. Prepare yourselves. We leave in a mark. And may The Two forgive us for bearing witness to such travesty.” He stormed toward his private quarters without another word.

  Joel glanced up when Cenric touched his shoulder. Finding it difficult to swallow, Joel flashed his mentor a false smile. “So, this gladiator match, is it—will there be—will people—die?”

  Cenric sighed, hanging his head in defeat. “Blood sport has always been an integrated part of Imperial culture.”

  “But how can they allow it?” Joel blurted. “How can they allow people—humans—to fight to the death? To slaughter one another as though they’re cattle?” He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling chilled to the bone despite the humid air blowing in from the terrace.

  “The Imperial people believe death by combat is one of the most honorable ways a man can die.” Cenric rubbed the back of his neck absently. “Many of the gladiators who fight believe they’ll find redemption in the afterlife.”

  “Well, they certainly won’t find it in this life,” Liro remarked in a snide tone. He turned to look at Joel, leveling him with a cruel gaze. “Don’t waste time pitying them, brother. Most within the arena are convicted murderers and thieves—uncouth vagrants, unworthy of forgiveness. May the Blessed Son have mercy on their damned souls.”

  “It’s not our place to pass judgment, young Lord Adelwijn,” Cenric warned as he passed by Liro. “Now come, both of you. We’re obligated to attend the tournament. Let’s get it over with.”

  Liro scowled at the ambassador’s back as Cenric departed the room. Joel found his brother’s glare to be most troubling.

  Gib squeezed through the crowded hall leading to Marc’s office, praying time was still on his side. Although honestly, he knew he had little reason to worry. Marc was probably not even ready to leave for the meeting.

  The dean was notorious for being the last to arrive for council and the first out the door when it ended. Likewise, Marc wasn’t known for his insight or wisdom but, rather, as a peace keeper. It had been a gamble to have him take Koal’s vacant seat, and so far, Neetra hadn’t been kind. The High Councilor took every opportunity to point out any flaws or weaknesses Marc might have. It was hardly any wonder King Rishi seemed to be on a rapid decline.

  Gib locked his jaw and tried not to think about it. The envoys had been gone for almost an entire moonturn now. Marc and the King just needed to hold on until their return.

  As Gib reached the office door, a strange foreboding rose within him. The door was slightly ajar. Had Marc already left and accidentally forgotten to lock up? Gib knocked as he peeked inside, not wanting to seem too forward, but also a bit worried. The office was never left open.

  When it became apparent no one was going to answer, he slipped past the threshold. Inside, his attention was drawn to Marc’s cluttered desk and belongings. If Gib hadn’t known any better, he would have reason to believe these were signs of a struggle—but time had taught him well. The dean was just a messy worker.

  Gib shook his head and called out. “Marc? Are you here?”

  No immediate answer came, but Gib thought he heard a sound from the closet and decided to investigate. He hesitated before opening the door. It felt too personal to be peeking around, but he soothed himself with the knowledge that he wasn’t doing it to snoop. Gib pulled the heavy oak door open.

  Nothing. Only crates overflowing with paperwork containing who-knew-what. Gib had to stifle a laugh. Marc really was a slob.

  “I’m tellin’ you, he’s breathing down the back of my neck all the time. He won’t leave me alone!”

  Nawaz’s voice carried from the hall and sounded as if it were drawing closer. Gib cursed at himself for entering the office without permission.

  “He has a point, you know.” Marc was with Nawaz. They were likely both on their way in. “You’re not a boy anymore. At eighteen, with a fine job as a healer, you should be looking for a wife.”

  Gib winced. Damn it all to hell. Not only was he in a place he shouldn’t be, but he was also likely to be immersed into a conversation he wanted nothing to do with. When their shadows fell across the open door, he sucked in a breath and tried to look as confident—and innocent—as possible.

  “Why in hell is this open?” Gib heard the dean mutter.

  A split second later, Marc burst inside, dark eyes on fire. Gib refused to jump, but his throat may have let forth an undignified squeak.

  Marc’s face relaxed when he saw Gib. “What are you doing in here? And why did you leave the door open?”

  Heat blossomed on Gib’s cheeks, and even though neither Marc nor Nawaz seemed to be judging him, he still felt the need to explain himself. “I didn’t! I came to join you for the meeting, and the door was already open. I was concerned, so I came in to make sure everything was all right.”

  Marc slapped Nawaz on the shoulder. “See? I told you, this door is broken. This is the third time in as many days I’ve found it ajar.”

  Nawaz had already turned his crystal eyes to the jamb and was examining both hinges and latch. “I don’t see anything wrong with it. It hasn’t always slipped the bolt, has it?” He took to one knee and peered into the place where the bar was meant to catch the frame.

  “No.” Marc went to gather the things on his desk. He silently motioned for Gib to fetch a bag and stacked what would be needed for the council meeting into a disordered pile. “It’s only been the last few days. I’ll have to get a smith to look at it.”

  “You might want to have a mage ward it,” Nawaz suggested in a low voice.

  Marc stuffed his things into his
pack and very deliberately didn’t make eye contact with his nephew. “Why would I do that?”

  Nawaz gave Gib a desperate look, and Gib knew he was being called upon for help. “Nawaz may be right. With you as the acting seneschal and this being a new problem, you can’t be too careful.”

  “Ridiculous, both of you! What would anyone want in here anyway? School records? Healers notes? Old healers notes at that—”

  “Uncle, please,” Nawaz pleaded. “Just this once, err on the side of caution.”

  Silence among such loud men was most uncomfortable, and Gib wished he could hide under the desk or leave the room. Marc resisted for only a moment longer before hanging his head. “All right. I’ll talk to Rishi about it—after the meeting and not in front of Neetra.”

  Nawaz rolled his eyes. “Right. Because he’s nothing but trouble and you know it.”

  “You’re against him because you don’t want to marry.”

  Nawaz folded his arms over his chest. “I’m against him because he’s been against me from the moment we met! Koal knows it too, as well as the King. Neetra is a snake, and he’s done nothing but make trouble since Koal stepped through that portal!”

  Gib’s stomach flopped. It was true. The very day Koal and the other envoys departed, Neetra resumed his campaign to lower the draft age. General Morathi had also come forward to speak about his dislike for the female soldiers, who apparently were “holding back the progress and morale of the army.” Each day was an endless battle in the council room. The tension was building to a crescendo. Gib could feel it, and he was sure everyone else could too.

  Marc picked up his pack and swung it over a shoulder, motioning for Gib to follow him. “You’re not telling me anything I wasn’t already aware of. I have to go now. Rishi is probably beside himself wondering where I am.” He gave his nephew a severe stare. “Remember to go check on your aunt for me. She has to rest throughout the day or her ankles swell and her back hurts so much that neither of us get any sleep.”

  Gib chuckled. “The baby is already causing trouble? It’s not even here yet.”

  “Right. Our hands are going to be full when it arrives.”

  A small laugh rippled between them, but Gib noticed Nawaz didn’t join in. The young lord seemed ill at ease as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “You’ll consider my offer, uncle?”

  Marc’s shoulders visibly tensed. “Nawaz—”

  “Consider it. You know I could be useful on the Eastern border.”

  Marc lowered his voice. “It’s a hell of a stretch for you to relocate just to avoid marriage. It’s dangerous out there!”

  Gib stared at his feet. He’d hoped to avoid this conversation. Even as he listened to the desperate words, he couldn’t help but think of Heidi and the broken look they’d shared a moon cycle earlier. Kezra weighed equally heavily on his mind as she seemed to be well suited with Nawaz.

  “I don’t care if I never marry,” Nawaz replied. “But if I do, I damned well want to wed the one I love.”

  “Have you asked her?” Marc asked. “Your Kezra? You said Neetra doesn’t care who you marry, just so long as—”

  Nawaz laughed brokenly. “My Kezra? Kezra belongs to no one, and she won’t marry me.” He retched on the acid truth, drawing Gib’s pity. “I asked her in a roundabout way not long ago. She won’t do it. She won’t marry anyone, ever. I’m sure of it.”

  Gib didn’t doubt it. Kezra was one of his dearest friends and a fine warrior, but she was also independent. She’d told Gib before that she never had any intention of marrying or having children. “I shouldn’t have to,” she’d said. “Why are all women expected to marry and have children? Is that all Arden thinks we’re any good for? My blade is as deadly as any man’s, but no one cares about that. They care only that I can bear sons.”

  “Then why is Heidi such a bad option?” Marc implored.

  He wasn’t trying to hurt Nawaz, but his nephew recoiled as though he’d been burned. “I never said Heidi was a bad choice! It’s just—she’s not my choice. She’s a good girl, but I don’t want her. I don’t know if I could ever love her. She deserves someone who’ll be good to her, someone who’ll hang off of her like—”

  “Like she hangs off of you?” Marc hit the nail on the head.

  Nawaz’s face pinched. His crystal eyes froze over in an instant, and not a trace of smile could be found. “You know what? Never mind. I’m clearly not talking to the right person about this.” He stepped toward the door.

  Marc floundered, reaching out with one hand. “Wait! Wait just a moment. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No. You go to your meeting. I’m sorry I bothered you.” Nawaz turned and stormed from the room.

  Marc’s mouth moved without a sound, and his dark eyes followed Nawaz’s back until the young lord’s blue jerkin disappeared into the sea of students beyond the door. The dean dropped his arm to his side. “Damn it! I’m no good at this. Now I’ve hurt him, too.”

  Gib placed a hand on Marc’s forearm and directed him away from the office. Making sure the door was latched, Gib stayed at his mentor’s side as they started their trek to the palace. “He’ll cool down. Nawaz has a hot temper sometimes.”

  Marc followed behind Gib rather than lead the way. Deep, all encompassing fear fogged Marc’s normally cheerful brown eyes. “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this, Gib. Koal needs to come back before Neetra breaks down Arden and Nawaz both!”

  “Why does Neetra suddenly want Nawaz married anyway? Is there a reason for it? Is it about inheritances? Does Neetra not want to have to give Nawaz anything from his estate?”

  Marc barked a humorless laugh. “Neetra wouldn’t give anything to Nawaz if his life depended on it. He’s only ever tolerated the boy, and just barely that. No, Neetra doesn’t want to be tied to him any more. If he can get Nawaz married off then Neetra’s legal obligations end there.”

  “What if Nawaz refuses?”

  “Then Neetra will take his crest. He’ll be stripped of his title.”

  Marc said it as if it was no big deal, as if it wouldn’t shatter Nawaz beyond repair. Gib couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have been born with authority and power only to have them both snatched away on a whim.

  “He wouldn’t be a lord anymore? Can Neetra even do that?”

  They passed through the gate to the palace with little more than a nod to the guard. Marc sighed. “He can in this circumstance. Nawaz isn’t Neetra’s son. Nawaz is only a lord because Neetra ‘showed him favor’ and granted Nawaz the title after marrying Bahari. If he disowns Nawaz—and he will if Nawaz doesn’t do as he’s told—then Nawaz stands to lose everything.”

  Bile rose up the back of Gib’s throat. Neetra was despicable. Did he really think so little of his stepson? Nawaz was loud and rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad man. Why did Neetra continue to push Nawaz away?

  “You know what I think,” Marc pressed on. “I think maybe Neetra wants to make a match for Inan and can’t do it until Nawaz is out of the way. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but time will tell.”

  Gib shuddered. He supposed it was all fine and well that he hadn’t been born with a title or the responsibility that went along with it. He enjoyed not having to worry about marriage or retaining a family crest.

  Allowing the conversation to fizzle out, they proceeded the rest of the way in silence. The hall outside the council room stood empty, save for a small gathering of men. King Rishi waited by the high wooden door, surrounded by an entourage—Aodan, Didier, and Crowned Prince Deegan, as well as a handful of palace guards.

  Marc picked up his pace as he and Gib drew closer. “Oh, hell. You didn’t have to wait out here for me!”

  Gib tried not to stare at King Rishi’s haggard face. Dark circles had formed under the ruler’s eyes, and his skin was blanched a sickly white color.

  King Rishi looked down his nose at Marc. “It wouldn’t do for me to enter with
out my acting seneschal. It’s not as if we could start without you.”

  “I suppose, but you didn’t have to wait out in the hall!”

  The King hesitated, casting a wary look around. “I can’t—I can’t go in there alone. If I have to listen to that imbecile rant and rave one more time I may hang myself.”

  Gib sucked in a sharp breath, and Prince Deegan’s youthful face pinched. They could have heard a pin drop for the lack of sound. No one dared say anything, though Diddy met Gib’s eyes with a look of abject terror. This kind of talk was so unlike King Rishi. Was Neetra truly wearing him down so quickly?

  Marc’s cold laugh echoed across the empty corridor. “Come on now, it’s not so bad.” He smiled, but even Gib could tell it wasn’t as bright as usual.

  King Rishi clenched one fist and raised it to his chest. His breaths came out in ragged wisps of air, and for a moment, Gib worried for the King’s well being. He wouldn’t pass out, would he? Was the stress of running a country without his Right Hand too much for him to bear?

  Deegan looked up at the King and pursed his lips, looking very much like Koal, the boy’s uncle. Actually, Gib noted absently, the Crowned Prince favored the Adelwijn side of his family. He looked very little like his sire, though the brooding quality in his dark eyes was reminiscent of Hasain.

  Diddy put a hand on the King’s shoulder. “Father.” He didn’t say anything more, but King Rishi seemed to take strength from the small gesture.

  King Rishi locked his jaw. “Koal needs to return before I go mad.”

  “Neetra’s insufferable.” Gib had voiced his opinion before he could think to censor himself. Both princes nodded in agreement, and even Aodan grunted his assent.

  “Oh hell, enough of this pity party.” The bodyguard’s rough voice filled the empty hall. “Koal will be back when he’s able. In the meantime, the two of you have ta keep that bastard in there from turnin’ Arden on its head.” He met the King’s sulking sneer and pointed to the door. “Ya know Koal would say the same. Now get in there, both of ya.”