Molag’s face burned with rage. He raised a finger, attempting to respond.
“I said enough,” Urdan said in a more controlled tone. “You have nothing to offer but incendiary remarks and conjecture. Differing opinions are imperative to establishing beneficial directives for Yarah, but this isn’t your intent. Your prime impetus is to disrupt the council’s affairs and sabotage our efforts. This won’t continue, Molag. I won’t allow it.”
“Allow?”
“Yes, allow. I’m the Caretaker of Yarah, and I decide who sits her council. I chose you because I thought that you’d come with honest dialogue and reliable suggestions, but your behavior is that of a malapert, not a beneficial member of this council. You’ve offered nothing but derision, and continuously disrespect our new leaders. Tell me: would you have voiced the same about the Vereuxs?”
“Oh, now I’m allowed to answer?”
“You behave as a spoiled child denied the breast of your mother, Sir Bomgaard. I’m sorely disappointed. Apparently, you aren’t interested in bettering our beloved village or sustaining equitable relations with our leaders. You’re dismissed with the gratitude of the council,” Urdan finished with a dismissive wave of his hand.
As Molag sprang to his feet, seething, Urdan ignored the display, grabbing up a parchment from the table and examining it.
“You dare!” Molag said, pounding a fist on the table.
“My decision is final, Sir Bomgaard.” Urdan spoke coolly, and then rose, addressing the rest of his council. “Thank you for your invaluable insights into our future endeavors and current situations. We’re adjourned and will reconvene seven suns hence.”
The council members offered slight bows, glancing around the chamber warily before exiting. Molag was the last to leave, slamming his heavy chair up to the table.
“You think yourself safe behind these stone walls, Caretaker? Where will you hide when the people you’ve betrayed come to make you answer for it?”
Urdan fixed him with a baleful stare. “I serve the people of Yarah, not Molag Bomgaard. Whoever has a grievance will be heard. They need not slink over the citadel walls; they need to only knock, and it shall be answered. That’s the difference between you and I. Force doesn’t guarantee results. If you doubt that, ask Draizeyn Vereux for his opinion on the matter.”
Molag scoffed, exiting the chamber and slamming the door in his wake.
“He’ll be one to watch, Father,” Jarin warned, entering from a side-chamber. He often listened to the council meetings, documenting what was said and by whom.
“Indeed. It would be prudent to send a message to Nazil. The Zaxson must know about this. I’ve no doubt that Molag’s sentiments will resonate with many Yarahians.”
“Do you think that they’d attempt an uprising against the Zaxson?”
“I put nothing past such men,” Urdan said. “Yarah isn’t in turmoil. Mayhaps the calm is unsettling to those of his ilk. He has a hatred for the humans that’s beyond reason. I fear the sons of Manifir will encounter numerous adversaries and controversy on the path they’ve chosen.”
“What about Arianna? She’s married to Temian and shares the Benoist name.”
“Your sister is where she belongs, Jarin. From the beginning, it was meant to be. I only wish that Manifir could’ve witnessed the joy of our children’s wedding. Arianna will be fine, but we must alert them to this conflict.”
“I’ll send a message immediately.” Jarin started away and then paused. “With Sir Bomgaard removed, who’ll take his place on the council?”
“There’s only one other that I’d choose. Before you send a message to Nazil, instruct Cantor to retrieve Aronin Thaon. He and I must speak on many matters concerning both Nazil’s and Yarah’s current state.”
“Aronin? He’s ridiculed Sir Benoist of late. Are you certain that you want him on the council?”
“I’ll determine that after we speak. Aronin’s anger stems from learning about Temian’s true father. Manifir Benoist was wed to his aunt, after all. Even though Temian was conceived long before their marriage, it was no less a shock. They grew up here in Yarah together, never knowing their relation to each other. Aronin has nothing against the Benoists, and speaks highly of Pentanimir. He trained with the Zaxson for several seasons while he was in Nazil. Not only that, the Thaons are highly regarded and well liked amongst the populace. It would bolster our position to bring them to our side.”
“As you say, Father. I only hope that Aronin’s position mirrors that of our own. We need no further conflict or separation within the village.”
“You speak true. Now, do your duty. I must have words with your mother. She needs to know what’s happened.”
With a slight nod, Jarin exited the chamber. Urdan watched the door close, leaning back in his seat and digesting the implications of the meeting. It was likely a presage to something greater.
Zaxson
Symeon entered the solar, bowing. He’d been packing to leave when Nakaris informed him of the meeting. Since Nazil’s liberation, he’d assumed a tentative position in the citadel. Howbeit, Nazil wasn’t his home, and it was time to reclaim the life the former leaders had stolen from him.
“You sent for me, Zaxson?” Symeon asked.
“I did. Please join me,” Pentanimir said, motioning to the table. “We have much to discuss.”
Symeon merely nodded, closing the door behind him and taking his seat.
“Symeon, you’re no longer in service to the citadel or obligated to me. In fact, I’d heard you were readying yourself to leave Nazil. I didn’t know you’d plan to depart so soon. Where are you traveling?”
“South, my lord. I’ll visit the Neema outpost first to meet with some associates. After which, I’m going to Kaleo.”
“Truly? Well, I have an offer that I’d like you to consider. Of course, I’ll not hinder your leave, but I do hope that you’ll be receptive to what I have to say.”
His curiosity piqued. Symeon poured a glass of wine, leaning back in his seat. “I wasn’t planning on leaving until the morrow, and I’d like to thank you for the horses and coin.”
“It was my pleasure, Symeon. You’re owed far more than some horses and provisions. What you’ve suffered here…” he shook his head. “…even more so, what you’ve done for my family and me is incalculable. This war couldn’t have been won without your assistance.” Pentanimir paused, locking eyes with him. “Or your honor. Do you have any family near?”
“Once, but no more.”
“Someone will join us shortly, but I needed to speak with you first. You’re aware that most of our Chosen were killed during the battle. Now, I need to enlist and train a new Chosen guard…a guard that evinces the honor and skill needed for such a prestigious position. Of all the men in Nazil, your skill and integrity impresses me most.”
“Thank you, Zaxson. I’m honored.”
“They aren’t just words. I haven’t forgotten you besting me when we sparred in Spero, or you saving my life during the battle. You reminded us of the true meaning of honor, and I plan to evince the same as I rule Faélondul. I owe you more than could ever be repaid.” He waited a moment, ruminating on those truths. “Symeon, I’d like for you to consider becoming my First Chosen and train a new Nazilian guard.”
With that, Symeon sat motionless, staring over at him.
“I hope that your silence isn’t a refusal,” Pentanimir said.
“No. No, Zaxson. Are you truly offering me such an honored position?”
“I am. In fact, if you refuse, I’d be hard pressed to find a replacement. You’d be in charge of my personal guard as well as the Chosen. Save three, the selection of the new guard would be yours. You’ll be responsible for their training and anyone you enlist to assist. I’ve already assigned you a spacious suite, and I’m prepared to hire attendants to see to your personal needs.”
Symeon considered those words, and more so, what they could mean for his future. The First Chosen was fourth in Nazil�
�s hierarchy. Never had a human held such a high position. Not even in the human cities. He inclined his head, unable to form a verbal response.
“Very well. Nakaris Middleton is your second and my brother, Temian, your third. Wosen Neufmarche will be new to the guard and is of special concern and interest to me. He and his father helped to liberate the city. Wosen is half-Nazilian, and eager to become a Chosen.”
“I’ve met him. Does he have any formal training?”
“Very little, but he’ll train hard and follow your orders. Of this, I am assured.”
“I accept your offer, Zaxson, but I’d like to request that your sister assist me.”
“Thalassa?”
“Yes. Her prowess is exceptional and the training she received from the Protectors would be invaluable in combination with my own. If she’d be agreeable, I’d be honored to work with her.”
“Thalassa would be the one who’s honored, Symeon. I’ll talk with her once my meetings are concluded. She’s asked to assist Nzuri, but I doubt she’d refuse an opportunity to spar with you and train a new Chosen Guard.”
“I look forward to it, Zaxson. We’ll train them well, and I’ll remain at your side.”
As Pentanimir raised his cup, a soft knock claimed their attention. When the door creaked open, Symeon’s brow knitted.
“Sarai?” Symeon said. “Do you need me?”
“The—the Zaxson asked me to join him,” Sarai said, inching into the room.
“I did,” Pentanimir said. “Please take a seat. I have something to discuss with the both of you.”
Pentanimir observed the timidity in her steps and the concern on Symeon’s face. Sarai slid her chair closer to Symeon, and further away from the Zaxson before sitting. He understood her apprehension, and that truth saddened him. It would take time to remove the tarnish corroding Nazil. He just hoped that he could achieve such an imperative resolution without disrupting the fragile peace tethering Faélondul together.
He cleared his throat.
“Sarai, I appreciate you coming with such haste. Hushar informed me that you were returning to Kaleo.”
“That’s where I’m from, Zaxson. Symeon was going to escort me home.”
“Sarai, there’s nothing to fear from me. I’m not the Vereuxs, and that’s part of the reason I needed to speak with you and Symeon. As with him, I have something important that I’d like to ask you.
“Firstly, are you aware of the Guardians and their Protectors who helped liberate Nazil?”
“Yes, I saw the Guardians and their leader in the Animus Wood.”
“It’s because of them that I’ve called you here. I need to speak this in full hearing of Symeon. It’s important that he knows what’s to come.”
“Me? What do I need to know?” Symeon asked.
“I’ve learned that you intend to wed soon. Is that correct?”
“It is. I would’ve escaped Nazil long ago if not for Sarai. I wouldn’t leave without her. Draizeyn…he—”
Pentanimir silenced him with an upraised hand. “I know, and I’m sorry. It isn’t nearly enough, but I offer it to you anyway.”
As they nodded, Pentanimir sighed, dreading his next words. “I also ask your forgiveness for my next question. I wouldn’t mention it if the AsZar hadn’t spoken about it. Sarai, I need to know who took you abed.”
“What? Why?” Symeon asked. “She didn’t want to lay with anyone. They forced their depravities on all of us.”
“Symeon, I’m not asking to demean or belittle. I’m aware of the atrocities that took place here. No matter how much I wish it otherwise, I can’t change what’s already past, but with your help, we can create a better future.” He took a deep breath, looking at Sarai. “I’m asking because of the child that Sarai carries.”
“Child?” Sarai asked, lowering a hand to her abdomen. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Why do you think she’s pregnant?” Symeon asked.
“The AsZar told me about the child. She said that my son, Tardison, would need assistance from the child you now carry. You’re pregnant with a son, Sarai, and he’s integral to the future of Faélondul. Do you know his father?”
Tears lined her eyes as she stared at him in horrified disbelief. “I—I drank the herbs. I can’t be pregnant. I can’t.”
Symeon grasped her hand, draping his arm over her shoulder. “You’re certain, Zaxson?”
“I am. I’m sorry, Sarai, but it’s true. Do you know the father?”
“There were but two,” she said, lowering her gaze. “Draizeyn kept me for his own, but after he was killed, Daracus…he...he—”
“Daracus? He’s the father?” Pentanimir asked, knowing his preference had been men.
“Yes. If I’m pregnant, it would be the seed of the son, not the father.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
Symeon drew her closer. “Is this all you need, Zaxson?”
“Yes,” he sighed, draining his cup. “I can’t order you to carry this child, Sarai, but I plead for you to consider it. The AsZar spoke of his importance to all of us. You don’t need to answer now. If you’d like to speak with Symeon alone first, I understand.”
“I don’t know,” Sarai said. “I don’t want to lose Symeon or keep this child. I want no reminder of Daracus or his foulness. I won’t keep it. The Vereux seed is tainted and corrupts the lives of everything around them.”
When Pentanimir attempted to speak, she shook her head, finding the resolve to look at him. “If the AsZar spoke about this child, I’ll carry him, but nothing more.”
“We wouldn’t ask you to keep him,” Pentanimir said. “I’ll take him as my own, and you won’t have to see him. He’ll be under my protection. Are you certain that you can do this?”
“No,” she said, wiping away her tears. “But I—I’ll try. I don’t want any part in this other than what I’ve stated. I’ll bring him forth, but I won’t hold him to my breast. I want him taken away as soon as he’s delivered.”
“Sarai, are you sure?” Symeon said. “My love will remain regardless. We can raise this child together, and I’ll accept him as my own. Don’t forgo the love of your son due to your love for me. He’s a part of you, and that’s all that matters to me.”
“No. I won’t claim any children but yours. No others.”
Symeon’s visage was forlorn. “I won’t leave your side, Sarai, I promise. Learning about this child changes nothing. After I speak with Nzuri, we’re going to Kaleo and meet with your parents about our ceremony. You’re going to be my wife, and we’ll begin our lives together.”
“I appreciate your willingness, and thank you both. I understand it’s a difficult decision, and I’ll be here for whatever you might need,” Pentanimir said. “Before you take leave, please speak with Temian regarding an escort. If you’d like to travel soon, we’ll ensure that you’re kept safe. I’ll need you back in the citadel shortly, Symeon. You’re my First Chosen.”
“I’m honored, my lord,” Symeon said, helping Sarai to stand. As they left the room, Pentanimir motioned to Elodie.
“Please escort Symeon and Sarai to his suite on the second level. Do you recall the one he was assigned?”
“Yes, Zaxson.”
“Good. Please escort them and send Beilzen in.”
Pentanimir roughly rubbed his face, retaking his seat. This transition was tedious, and he’d grown weary. Although he was pleased that Symeon accepted his offer, he wasn’t certain about Sarai’s well-being. They were planning their wedding, and now, she’d carry a child from her rapist. Daracus had been sadistic, and Pentanimir didn’t want to contemplate what Sarai had suffered at his hands.
He shook his head, forcing those thoughts from his mind. It was time to confront Beilzen, no matter how he wished it otherwise. Pentanimir saved this meeting for last, and he hoped the time wasn’t too soon. Beilzen needed to heal, not only his body, but in his heart and mind most of all.
Beilzen hobbled into the chambe
r wearing only a long robe. Even after a full moon, his skin was a sickly pallor, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. He winced with every movement, trying not to reveal the agony of his abuse.
Pentanimir gestured to Wosen in the corridor and then watched in sadness as Beilzen tried to find comfort on the chair. Though he’d loathed him in the past, he couldn’t help but sympathize with him now. It was the influence of his uncle Oxilon that had forced the changes in Beilzen. Just as Yannick had turned from the man he was in his youth, so had Beilzen. His cruelties were well known throughout the citadel. However, even one as misguided and cruel as Beilzen had become didn’t deserve such treatment.
“How are you healing?”
Beilzen lowered his gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
“The High Priest, Nzuri, has tended me well. The—the pain is all but gone.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Beilzen, and I’m sorry for what Daracus did to you. The former slaves spoke of his cruelties often.”
“Well, no one suffered more at his hands than me.”
“I wouldn’t speak so surely. You didn’t know Daracus or the cruelties he committed. Many have suffered worse than you and then died slowly after their treatment. But that evil is no more, and I’d have you well tended.”
“Why? Why would you care about my treatment? Don’t you even want to know why Daracus had me in the dark chamber?”
Pentanimir shook his head, looking on with empathy. “I have no need to know, but there are many things that you need to learn.”
“Learn? You truly give no care? The reason doesn’t matter?”
“No. Regardless of the offense, there’s no justification for what he did to you. Nzuri informed me about your injuries and violations.”
“Surely, Wosen and Hushar told you what I’ve done,” Beilzen said.
“They have. Should I take that into consideration? What punishment would you assign yourself for such cruelty?”
“Punishment? Will—will I be taken back to the cells?” Beilzen asked, unable to keep the tremble from his voice.
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