by Laura R Cole
*
Wren was less enthusiastic to look into Lord Frolkon and Master Banys now that he had Ketharly’s plight to research. But she had told him that the Princess would have to come first. She could potentially be in danger, after all, and Ketharly could wait. But even Ketharly’s encouragement didn’t make it any easier to leave behind his books to go in search of the Triumvirate members.
He found Lord Frolkon in the Hall of History, a place Wren had seen him many times before. He was squinting through crinkled eyes at a giant tome. Wren walked over and cleared his throat.
“Hello, young man. Lord Wren, isn’t it?” Lord Frolkon asked, looking up from his work.
“Yes, sir,” Wren answered politely. “I was hoping I could have a moment of your time, sir?”
“For such a polite young fellow, you may have two,” the old man answered genially. “Such manners seem hard to come by these days. What can I do for you?”
“I am doing a paper on the unification of the two halves of the country, culminated by Phoenix’s ascension to the throne. I was hoping to get your input on it.”
“Indeed, history is in the making.” The old man closed the book he had been reading gingerly, and laid gnarly clasped hands on top of it before going off on the subject. He spoke about the ceremonies that would take place for some time, though everyone in the kingdom was well aware of the information he was giving Wren.
Wren bit his tongue and listened politely until the man came to a pause. Seeing his opportunity, Wren cut in. “Some people are expressing concern over Phoenix’s lack of magic. Do you see this as a problem?”
“Absolutely not!” was the man’s vehement response. “Before the current King and Queen, and excepting the short rule of that monster Nathair, when’s the last time a powerful mage was in power? The Dark King! That’s who. I say we’re better off without mages as monarchs.”
Lord Frolkon was one of those who still remembered the time before Layna’s reign when magic was outlawed except to a select few. He’d spoken out against making magic legal again in Counsel meetings more than once, though this was the first time Wren had seen him quite so ferocious about the failings of magic. He appeared to even still blame magic in general for the evil that blood-magic brought to the land. Wren silently checked that box off in his head. Lord Frolkon definitely didn’t think less of Phoenix for her lack of talent, nor was he likely to be someone employing the use of magic to be the one behind the attacks.
The man was finished, however, adding, “Sure, magic can make a job easier or quicker, but what will that accomplish?”
Wren simply shrugged, other than more free time he wasn’t sure what answer the man was looking for.
“Making people lazy! That’s what it’ll do. Anything you can accomplish with magic can be done the good-old-fashioned way.”
Wren didn’t agree with the man’s logic, but didn’t bother to express his opinion. Instead, he asked, “Do you think Phoenix will make a good queen? Won’t you miss your position of advising?” The question was a bit bold, but Wren hoped to cut the man short. If he asked too many more questions, the man’s tangents would take up the rest of Wren’s day.
“The Princess is a natural leader, a born royal. She will do famously. As for me missing my position? Fah!” The man spit as he made his sound, and Wren closed his eyes, trying not to give in to the urge to wipe it from his cheek. “I should have retired years ago, but they keep voting me back in! Finally, I’ll get to go relax my old bones.”
Wren hurriedly thanked him for his time and begged his leave, citing an imaginary lesson he had to attend. Once out of the Hall, he sighed in relief and wiped a sleeve across his face. He didn’t have any proof of it, of course, but he was fairly certain that Frolkon was not behind the attacks or the rumors against Phoenix.
His next stop was Master Banys. He was a much younger Counselor, so hopefully Wren at least wouldn’t be spit on. He had made an appointment earlier with him, though due to the man’s schedule he had asked Wren to meet him at his nursery while he spent time with his newborn son.
Wren was allowed to enter immediately, and he found Banys looking frazzled holding a tiny baby. He shook the man’s hand as he balanced the youngster on one arm. He had a towel draped over his shoulder and as he walked, he bounced the baby up and down. It wasn’t exactly a picture that commanded respect. Wren had seen him quite a few times in Counsel meetings, and this home-life version of the man was unsettling.
“Please excuse the informal setting. I had to squeeze you in. My wife and I are trying to raise our son without nursemaids, so it can be a bit hectic.” He glanced behind him to make sure she wasn’t listening and then added in a whisper, “My wife’s idea.”
Wren couldn’t help but wonder how Banys could be the imposing presence he was in Counsel and let his wife run the show at home. He asked the same introductory questions he had of Frolkon, setting up the lie that he was researching a paper about Phoenix’s coronation. The younger man answered quickly, never pausing the bouncing, and avoiding the tangents that the older Frolkon had gone off on.
“Do you think that Phoenix’s lack of power will be a problem?” he asked.
He could see Banys formulating his response. It was obvious that he did not hold the same distaste for magic as Frolkon did. Wren wracked his memory. Banys had a fair amount of talent himself and was probably young enough to not remember much of the time when it was banned.
“I think that it’s disappointing that she never got to develop the full potential that her powers could have amounted to with the King and Queen being what they are,” he answered carefully. “But it’s very honorable that she sacrificed her talent for the good of the people. I myself lost an uncle to the Bricrui disease before she cured it. Having talent is not a prerequisite for the throne, as much as people may now think otherwise since Layna’s rule resurfaced the idea, and I for one think that the Princess’s other talents will fully make up for any shortcoming.”
Wren moved a bit closer, putting his finger out. The tiny boy grabbed hold of it in his fist. Despite himself, Wren had to admit the tiny human was rather cute. Removing his finger before the child guided it into his mouth – which was beginning to show teeth – Wren continued with his questions.
“And will you miss your position as part of the Triumvirate as it is absorbed into the Counsel? Do you feel that especially because of this lack of magic she still needs you to act in your current capacity?”
The man actually laughed out loud, drawing his wife’s attention in the next room. The moment Wren laid eyes on Banys’s wife, he no longer wondered why he had consented to anything the woman pleased. She was possibly the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen – excepting Ketharly. Wren would forego the nursemaids to spend more time in her company too.
Unfortunately, his wife’s arrival made Banys turn around, and at just that moment, his son decided to spit up directly onto Wren’s front. He sucked in his breath. That could not have just happened, he thought. Only it had. Banys and his wife immediately began apologizing. As the woman helped to clean him up, Banys answered his question.
“No,” Banys stated emphatically. “I will most definitely not miss the extra work of this position. We just found out we’re expecting again,” he had a slightly frantic tone, though he smiled broadly at his wife as she glanced up sharply at him, “which we are so excited about. But Phoenix’s coronation cannot come soon enough.”
“Thank you,” Wren concluded, looking down at his ruined shirt. “I think that about wraps up my questions.” He bid them both goodbye and left as quickly as propriety would allow, looking to be out of range of the spewing child before he chose to excrete something again. He made a mental note never to agree to forego nursemaids.
He tracked Rhys down to deliver the news, and found the boy in short order.
“Well,” he reported, “I don’t think either of the other Triumvirate me
mbers have any reason to want Phoenix discredited or time and energy to plan the attacks.”
“What’s that on your shirt?” Rhys asked.
“Don’t ask,” Wren answered, walking away. “Don’t ask.”