The entrance to my father's private apartments was guarded by two men, the left one giving me a stern look.
"Your father is not accepting any visitors at this time," he said.
"Yeah, but...it's me," I said with a shrug. "Let me in."
"I will see if he's willing," he said, and disappeared through the large, wooden door. His partner moved to the center of the doors, and I waited patiently.
After an almost-too-long of a wait, the guard returned and left the door open for me, saying nothing. I offered him a kind smile and my thanks as I passed him.
The simplicity of the small sitting room surprised me, especially considering the amount of gold and silver built into the public rooms. But the walls were empty, the furniture simple. Not at all what I'd consider a king's bedroom to be.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He sat in a thick, leather chair on the other side of the room, his feet propped up on a footstool, his body slumped in a red, velvet dressing robe and matching slippers. In his hand, he held a glass of brandy. The bottle sat next to him, half-empty, although his gaze was clear.
"Have you come to speak to me in your mother's stead?"
"Wouldn't have to if you'd talk to her," I said. There were no pretenses in this room, no need to dance around the truth. Nobody was watching except Grieg and me.
"Tell me what's on your mind so I can get back to my evening."
"You know why I'm here," I said, walking toward him. "Invite the damned doves. Make up with Collins and give aid to our people in Duran. Stop acting like everyone's got to stroke your ego. You're a king, not a god. You're going to tear this country apart."
"You think too highly of me, son. I'm but one man. I can't tear an entire country apart." He swirled the brandy in his glass. "The ministers simply give voice to the deepest fears of the people, and I must bow to the will of the people, as needed."
"The people aren't always right."
"Now who sounds like a god?" Grieg replied with an infuriating smirk. "Believe me, just as much as you'd like the war to be over so you can be with your Raven girl again—yes, I'm aware of her and your guard's ministrations, I'm not so easily fooled as you might think—I would love to make peace with the Ravens. But what would we do with our economy, which has been married to the war effort since before even I was born? Now that barethium is no longer mined from our mountains, we've lost one third of our workforce."
"Pair them up with Collins," I said, tired of this same song and dance.
"But, son, how will I explain to the ministers, who know the real reason behind the tidal wave, that I've decided to let bygones be bygones with Jervan and Herin? They'll tell the media the truth about the bomb, inevitably whipping our population into a bloodthirsty frenzy, and asking for retaliation against the Ravens."
"And you'll do nothing to stop it," I said. "You've got an entire media arsenal at your beck and call, and you can't possibly find a way to spin this to avoid that outcome?"
"And what outcome would you have me choose, son? Shall I imprison our own people for speaking out against me? Or should I send our Kylaen bombs straight to the heart of Thormondia, where your precious Theo and Sergeant Kader are holding out, trying to speak with the rebels? Or should I just allow Minister Mansela to call for my head and take the throne from me, descending our country into chaos?"
He tilted his head at me, as if he'd do whichever option I told him to. The problem was, I couldn't see a good solution of any of the outcomes he'd painted.
"Lest you think I spend my days lounging about making decisions about lives and property without merit, I've considered all the options, and I'm taking the lesser of all evils." He sighed and finished the rest of his drink. "Much as your girlfriend has when she takes my money to those rebels in Thormondia."
I swallowed. "If they're successful, if Anson overthrows Bayard, would you consider peace with them? An independent Rave?"
I'd expected him to throw the brandy in my face, to say he'd never consider such an awful idea. That Rave was his, and his alone, and independence would happen over his dead body...but instead he simply smiled. There was something behind his silence, something that honestly made me afraid.
"In the spirit of Midsummer, I shall extend the invitations to your Rave-loving ministers, with the warning that if they step a toe out of line, I'll reinstate our hanging policy and string them up in the town square. Collins will get her invitation, but not her aid, and should consider, perhaps, telling her father to move operations to a country which will allow him to take such liberties with property that is not his."
I blinked at him, still thrown off by his non-answer about peace with Rave. But my mind quickly caught up. "You aren't going to rebuild your own city?"
"Kylae will survive without Duran, as it has for many years before Collins decided to waste his money on it," he said simply. "Well, son, was that the end of it? Any other grievances you wish to air? Or may I return to my evening?"
I had plenty, but I thought it best to keep them to myself for now. Whatever my father was planning, it had put him in good spirits, which I didn't think boded well for anyone.
ELEVEN
Theo
The trip back to Rave was thick with talk about the cessation of the Herin-Kylae treaty, and what that meant for their respective countries. I said nothing, but listened intently to the concerns about where Herin would get iron for their ships, and where Kylae would be getting money to replace the millions of crowns they received from Herin. After the first hour, the conversation settled, and my thoughts wandered back to my amichai.
I hated the fact that we weren't niec. On top of that, he'd saved my life a few times, and the imbalance was palpable. The next time we were together, I would level the scales. And I spent the rest of the flight daydreaming how I would accomplish such a feat.
"Get that grin off your face," Kader had said when we walked off the plane in Herin. "You're conspicuous."
Although I could've argued that Kader, too, had been in a much better mood since we'd left Kylae, I did as instructed.
Our safe house on this trip was back in the slums, but for once, I didn't mind being left behind. Kader returned before the sun set with the best news: my message had been received, accepted, and Anson wanted to meet the next evening. We spent the rest of the night dissecting what I would say and how, and I was so excited at the prospect of finally making a giant step forward that I forgot to be nervous about it.
But the next morning, a loud throbbing woke me and in my sleepy daze, I worried we were under attack. I scrambled to the window and listened for the screams; instead I heard laughter. It wasn't a bombing I was hearing, it was music.
The door behind me opened, and Kader walked in with two cups of coffee and a bag of breakfast.
"What's going on out there?" I asked, gratefully taking the coffee from him.
"Not sure," he said. "But there's hundreds of people in the streets. Dresses, dancing, some kind of paint—"
"It's Prima Anela," I said in amazement.
"What?"
"Our summer festival!" Despite myself, I hurried past him to look out the window of the row house. Young women in frilly pastel dresses strolled by, their hair braided and laced with bright orange phoenician flowers. Their faces were daubbed in greens, blues, and purples, chalk that they'd also be showering on those deemed plaice, or lucky.
"I've never heard of it," Kader said, peering over my head.
"That's because we haven't had a true Prima Anela festival since...since before independence. We learned about it in school, about the meaning of the colors and the traditional dances. It's supposed to celebrate fertility and the summer crop..."
"So, the same thing as Kylaen Midsummer?"
"No, not the same thing as Kylaen Midsummer," I said with a purse of my lips. "Prima Anela is celebrated with paint and pastries and chocolate and dancing and—"
"I thought you said you've never had a true festival?"
"
We haven't, but we'd have a small party at the base, and we'd always get a little chocolate and paint to throw at each other. And...."
My words died in my throat as an older man pushed a cart of shiny, fluffy pastries, filled with ham and cheese and the traditional Raven spices. My mouth watered and I pressed my face against the glass.
"So that's what I was smelling," Kader said. "Where are those?"
"Jamo..." I said with a bit of a whine. "We'd get them at the orphanage, so I haven't had one in ages. But I remember they tasted like heaven. Buttery and gooey and spicy."
I turned back, but Kader had disappeared. A few minutes later, I saw him jog to the man with the cart, purchasing no less than ten jamos and a couple of wrapped chocolate balls. My stomach rumbled in anticipation as he returned to the safe house.
"What's the greeting?" Kader said, handing me a greasy bag.
"Savo Prima Anela," I said, inhaling the scent of the bag and memories of my childhood.
Gingerly, I retrieved the first hot, buttery dough-ball and took a huge bite. The sweet ham and sharp cheese melded beautifully with the potent spices, and memories of jamos given at the orphanage I'd grown up in returned. But the delicacies from my memory didn't hold a candle to the mix of flavors and textures in my mouth.
"You need a minute?" Kader asked with a chuckle after I let out a small moan.
I opened an eye at him. "Huh?"
"You look like you're having a nice time over there. Galian'll be jealous."
I couldn't even be bothered by his comment as I took another huge bite, licking the gooey cheese off my lips. "Fis ish heaf'en."
He unwrapped a jamo and ate half of it in one bite. "Smart of Odolf to set up a meeting today. Bayard declared it a national holiday, so there'll be a lot of folks out in the street."
"Waa—a nafional howiday?" That was odd. There'd never been a national holiday in all my years in the military, and I couldn't remember any before either.
"Bayard must be getting desperate," Kader said gruffly. "Festivals are a good way to boost morale and make people forget they hate you."
My initial elation evaporated. Like everything good Bayard did, there was always strategy behind it. I swallowed the jamo, which suddenly didn't taste as good. "You're probably right."
"But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy it a little, today," Kader said. Without warning, he threw a bag at me, and the chalk exploded in my face.
I coughed, cursing him and wishing my mouth hadn't been wide open when he'd launched the attack. I wiped the paint out of my face and glared at him.
"What the hell was that for?"
"Disguise," Kader said, dumping a bag of blue-green onto himself. "Thought you might want to enjoy the festival."
I glanced down at my arms, now covered in purple chalk paint. "You know, Kader, tradition says if someone throws paint on you during the festival, they want to marry you."
"I'll leave that to Galian," he said. "Come on. We might as well try to figure out what's prompted Bayard to throw such a big party."
The chalk made for a great disguise, and for the first time in over six months, I could finally walk around my country during daylight hours. I would've been more obvious if I hadn't been covered in paint, as everyone was a mix of blues, purples, greens, yellows, and pinks. By midday, I'd already been hit with two more bags by passing young men, both of whom had shrunk away in fear when they saw Kader standing next to me.
The city was vibrant, more alive than I'd ever seen it before. Everyone wore bright smiles and chatted easily with their neighbors. Street urchins ran between people's legs, laughing and giggling. But as the day wore on, I noticed the absence of children between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Most of those carrying bags of jamo and glasses of ambessa were twenty or older. Even covered in paint, it was clear their hair was clean and their clothes new—and, most jarring, their bodies whole.
Around mid-afternoon, more beggars began infiltrating the crowds, and the disparity was clearer. They carried burns, scars, and missing limbs, survivors of a war that hadn't affected a large part of the country. Those with means ignored the cries for food and money, the same way I had when I'd lived in a fancy apartment in the city.
The jamo settled poorly in my stomach. This wasn't a festival for those people; this was a festival for those who already had plenty. As far as Bayard was concerned, the dregs of society were simply there to fight and die in his war.
A twenty-five-year-old woman, her stomach swollen and her eyes dead, begged a trio of well-dressed, older men for food as they walked by her. I'd always thought when a soldier got pregnant, the military would pay for her care and feeding. But since I'd been in the streets, I'd seen at least fifteen expectant mothers, all begging for food with small children around their feet. I'd never been thankful to grow up in an orphanage until that moment.
Kader followed my gaze and his eyes narrowed. "Come on. Let's see if we can convince some of these drunken idiots to tell us what Bayard's up to."
I nodded, but smiled when he gave the woman our leftover jamos and twenty crowns before we left the square.
Galian
"I've tried all the usual channels, Your Highness," Johar said, her mouth tense and body rigid as she stood before us in the formal Kylaen military uniform. "Whatever Grieg is planning, it's big and kept close to the vest."
It was the longest day of the year, Midsummer, and based on the number of cars lining up outside the castle, the party downstairs was already in full swing. But my mother had called a meeting of her confidants to discuss what I'd learned the night before. None of them had been pleased that I'd sought out Grieg personally, but my news of him planning something had set them on edge.
"None of the ministers were in their offices today," Rhys said. "No one would meet with me in their homes either."
"Your father refused to meet with me all day as well," she said, placing a perfectly manicured hand on her other arm before looking around the room. "Johar, your team did a sweep, right?"
She nodded. "We found one new recording device, and we've updated our security protocols so it doesn't happen again."
"It's fine, we all make mistakes. I should've been more vigilant," Mom said. "In any case, we've got to reassess what this means for Kader and Theo's mission. Perhaps nothing, if they're successful in meeting with Anson. Perhaps everything."
With a soft rap at the door, Filippa appeared. "Your Majesty, His Highness is asking for you."
Mom nodded, not even bothering to hide her worry. "We will be down shortly. Thank you, dear."
I envied Johar as she disappeared to the first story to watch the ball from behind screens, while I had to follow my mother and brother down the hall toward the music. When Rhys and my mother headed for the top of the stairs to be formally introduced, I darted around to blend into the crowd.
By my mother's estimation, two hundred of the richest Kylaens were in attendance, although I felt the tension in the room from the warring factions. Mansela stood in a red dress, watching the room as if she expected an executioner to spring out of the punch bowl. The hawkish ministers laughed loudly and wore easy smiles.
Something was definitely not right.
After the official introduction, Mom broke away to mingle with guests and welcome them to the party, while Rhys did the same. Since there didn't seem to be anyone under the age of thirty in the room (besides Mansela), I was left alone. That was, until I spotted Olivia, standing against the wall, a vision in pastel green.
"I was unhappy to get your message," she said, although she hugged me for the cameras taking countless amounts of photos from their roped off area on the side of the room. "And curious to still receive the invite. If your father wanted my company to relocate, why invite me to the ball at all?"
"No idea," I said with a shrug. "But I'm not giving up. Duran's still part of our country, regardless of what your father's done to piss mine off." I found Rhys at the front of the room, and he nodded approvingly. "Rhys and I are seek
ing alternate funding sources for aid. Perhaps a provincial governor. Maybe even working with Jervan."
"Careful, Galian, I might think you have a thing for me," Olivia said with the ghost of a flirtatious smile. "Could our engagement be back on?"
I had to laugh at that. "Tell me that wasn't you."
"I avoid the papers if I can," she said, glancing at the photographer taking shots of us talking. "I thought it might've originated from you, trying to temper your...image."
I swirled the champagne in my glass. "So you never...you really didn't like me at all?"
"Oh, I did. But I'm not the kind of girl who'll be jilted more than once. You were very clear that I wasn't her, so it's fairly clear that whoever she is..." She averted her gaze and offered a smile to a passer-by. "She has your heart."
"That she does," I said, absentmindedly worrying about Theo over in Rave. I just hoped whatever Grieg had planned wouldn't impact her.
"Well, if it isn't the two lovebirds." Rhys joined us, a thin smile on his face as he held his hand out to Olivia. "You're a hard woman to get hold of."
She made a noise and sipped her champagne. "I was just telling your brother about the upsetting news. Your father has decided against sending aid to Duran?"
"For now," Rhys said, almost a little too quickly. "But I'm sure we can change his mind."
"Are you?" Olivia said, sounding harsher than I'd ever heard her before. "Because from where I stand, Your Highness, it seems like you're doing a lot of bowing and not a lot of doing. You're to be king one day, and you let your father just do as he pleases, without check—"
The Complete Madion War Trilogy Page 53