by B. K. Boes
Moloch tried to ignore the prick to his pride that he had not yet convinced Junia’s father to allow him to court her. Even if Junia had been there at dinner, they could not have talked or exchanged the niceties of lovers like Waen and his Lady Rianne. Bitterness crept in as Moloch realized Waen was right. He and Junia were only acquaintances according to the world, no matter how they felt about each other.
Still, if this is where the real test starts, I can pull ahead, Moloch thought as the king led the way to the royal drawing room. His stomach flip-flopped as he walked. Never had he been invited to such a casual atmosphere with the king.
If I can extend the bond I have with Zuria to the king, Waen won’t stand a chance. His heart began to pump harder as the prince’s earlier comments echoed unwanted in his ears. If the bond is as strong as I thought it was. Moloch glanced at the prince who was walking beside him. Is a little loyalty too much to ask?
Zuria looked at Moloch then as if he had heard his thought. He furrowed his brow. “You look nervous,” he said quietly. The others were ahead, the king and Nibal talking and laughing. Waen stayed on their heels, saying nothing but laughing when appropriate.
“I am. A little,” Moloch admitted.
Zuria chuckled softly.
“It’s not funny, Zuria. This is my life we’re talking about. My future.”
“It’s a game of Avarice,” Zuria said.
“Easy for you to say.” Moloch tried to keep his voice even. “You have no competition for your future.”
“All right,” Zuria said, hands up in surrender. “Just be yourself. I’m for you, remember?”
Unless your father isn’t, right?
Moloch kept his teeth from grinding together and forced a small smile. “I remember.”
“It will all be fine.” Zuria patted Moloch on the back.
Moloch took a deep breath to clear his head. This was his chance to make a good impression, over and against his brother. All he needed was a promised title, and his future would be secure. He would own his family’s legacy, and Lord Nondrum would approve his courtship. For a brief moment, Moloch imagined what life would be like once this was all over.
A seat on the War Council, on my way to becoming Zuria’s Chief Military Advisor. A second estate here in Patriphos, in Monrah Circle. Junia by my side. A child growing in her belly. No more war with Waen. No more tests. Just peace. He opened his eyes. I can fight for that.
That picture renewed Moloch’s resolve as he followed the others through a small set of doors into the royal drawing room. More modest than he expected, it was a long room, with a long balcony to match. Several glass doors stood open, and a breeze circulated gently. Paintings of past kings lined the wall opposite the balcony. A stone hearth sat unused. Wing-backed chairs accompanied the hearth, facing toward it, and a low table sat between them. A round table with cushioned chairs was opposite the hearth. The last wall boasted shelves carved into its stone face displaying a large collection of leather-bound books.
“Here we are, sons. Come, have a seat.” Their father stepped between Moloch and Waen and gave them each a generous clap on the shoulder. He sat beside the chair obviously reserved for the king. Waen quickly sat next to him, and Moloch took the next chair around the table beside the prince. The king, however, went to a beautifully carved wooden cart which held crystal glasses and a clear bottle of amber liquid.
“I’ve selected one of my favorite liqueurs for tonight. I hope you all enjoy purple ambrosia?” King Shamylle poured the drinks himself, carrying them two at a time back to the table.
“I love purple ambrosia,” Waen quickly offered. It was a squeak in the silence. Too eager. The king looked over his shoulder for a moment to look at Waen, and then turned back to pouring drinks.
When the king served Moloch a glass, he became aware of the fact that there wasn’t even one servant in the room.
He’s treating us all like peers, Moloch thought. I guess Zuria’s strange ideas really do come from his father.
He smiled and nodded his thanks. “I’ve only had this sort of drink a few times, Your Majesty, but if I recall, I enjoyed it thoroughly.”
“Good! A man can get through many a thing with a good glass of ambrosia at hand.” King Shamylle sat with his own drink and took a sip. He sighed in satisfaction as he swallowed.
“So true, my friend,” Nibal said. “You and I have proven that.”
They chuckled together, some sort of inside joke. Waen laughed a bit, too, as if he were in on it.
Moloch smiled. Keep trying too hard, brother. You’ll make it easier on me.
“Are you gentleman up for a game?” King Shamylle said as he pulled open a small drawer to his right. He set a wooden box not unlike the one Moloch had in the Red Rooms on the table, opened it, and pulled out a pristine deck of cards. King Shamylle took another sip of ambrosia, shuffled, and set the draw pile in the center of the table.
Nibal raised his glass, toasted the king, and took a much larger sip. When Moloch brought the glass to his lips, he almost choked simply from inhaling the scent of it. But he took a sip anyway, trying to keep his mouth from twisting as it burned his throat. He coughed despite his efforts.
“Stronger than your average ambrosia, isn’t it?” King Shamylle smiled proudly. “It’s made in Apar. No one knows the secret of it.” Being the king, his turn came first and he began his draw.
“No one knows anything about what goes on in a Lone Mountain,” Nibal said, a grimace on his face.
“There is a people we should all be watching carefully,” Waen said, parroting the same things he’d heard their father say countless times at their own dinner table. He didn’t know what he was talking about, of course, but he sure made an effort to act like he did. “No alliances. No enemies. Just a lot of money and secrets.”
The king ended his turn with two resource cards and one that depicted a soldier, which could be used to negate a card depicting a band of marauders. The men engaged in their turns one at a time around the table as they talked.
“Come now,” Zuria said. “The Eremites of the Lone Mountains have always been isolationists. Even from before The Schism. It’s not as if they’re hostile.”
Moloch nodded. “You could even say they’re a peaceful people. In fact, with their innovations, they could make powerful allies.” He counted the victory marks in his head, wondering if he should purposely overdraw on his next turn.
Would the king rather win? Or would he rather see good strategy?
“Yes!” King Shamylle pointed at Moloch and smiled. “That’s what I’ve been saying.” He turned to Nibal, chuckling. “Suspicion is part of your nature, and it’s served us well over the years. I’d agree there’s not much to worry over concerning the Lone Mountains.” He looked at Moloch once more. “But your father here has been right where I’ve been wrong.” And then to Zuria, “Never throw out the word of a trusted advisor.”
Zuria’s lips drew taut. “Yes, Father. I never meant to belittle the general’s thoughts on the matter.”
“Neither did I, of course,” Moloch broke in, maintaining his alliance with the prince, hoping he would notice.
“No, no,” Nibal said. “I took no offense. It was a valid point.”
“A valid point, yes,” King Shamylle gave his son a comforting pat on the arm. And then he looked to Moloch. “And you as well, Moloch. Making stronger allies of the Lone Mountains has been a thought of mine for a while now.”
Moloch smiled as Waen’s expression went blank, as it did when he was masking his discomfort. It was strange to sit in the presence of the most powerful man in all of Leyumin and hear a compliment such as that, but it was exactly what Moloch had wanted. He relaxed his shoulders a little.
As the conversation wore on with the game, Moloch waited to speak, calculating every word that came to his mind. Waen was more confident, agreeing with their father at every turn. Moloch wanted his words to mean something that night. He wanted the king to remember him as more th
an a parrot of his father. A new man, with new ideas.
Halfway through their second game, the king’s voice broke through Moloch’s musings. “So, Moloch, what is it you’ve been studying at Bastra? I know Zuria is quite happy to have you there alongside him.”
"I’ve been studying international tactics based on different topographies, along with the usual physical training,” Moloch said, drinking in his brother’s frown without looking directly at him.
“Don’t be modest,” Zuria elbowed Moloch’s arm. “Just this afternoon, Moloch won a hand-to-hand in one of the battle squares.”
“Well that’s no surprise,” Nibal said. “The Sarrem men aren’t easily cowed.” He was on his third glass of ambrosia by now and spoke with the slightest slur. “Waen here is good with a sword, but his hand-to-hand could use some work.”
“Father,” Waen whispered sharply.
Moloch glanced at his brother, thinking of the king’s tendency to value humility. “Where I lack, my brother succeeds. I’ve not won nearly so many sword duels as hand-to-hands in the sparring yard. Waen also has very little opportunity for direct competition, being at home in his training with just our master-at-arms,” Moloch said, playing on the king’s family-oriented philosophies. Of course, to Waen, his compliment would come across as intended.
“Ah, the sparring yard.” King Shamylle said, fondly slapping Nibal’s shoulder. “You know, in my younger days, this man was the first to beat me at sparring.”
“You mean the first to make it an honest fight,” Nibal said.
Moloch sat up straight in his chair and stared at his father. He looked back and forth between the king and Nibal as they locked eyes and set their jaws. And just when Moloch was sure his father had gone too far, both men burst into the kind of laughter that shook a body for minutes on end. By the end of it, Moloch was laughing with them, more out of relief than anything.
The king took a deep breath. “My advisor is ever honest with me.”
“If only you listened more often,” Nibal said, wiping his eyes with his napkin. “Maybe we’d be uniting Leyumin instead of participating in subtle games and far-fetched tricks.”
“Nibal, come now.” The king frowned. “Let’s not speak of this. A direct approach within their territory would mean a greater loss of our men. Perhaps there would be victory, but perhaps not. Do you want to risk that?”
“Father? What are you talking about?” Zuria leaned in.
Moloch couldn’t help but do the same.
“A strategy to get ahead of the Adikeans,” the king said. “One that requires a man to think long-term.”
Nibal frowned. “At best it’s a distraction.”
“General!” King Shamylle straightened, his voice raised.
Moloch tensed and held his breath.
“My king,” Nibal began, his face reddening and voice carefully under control. “Isn’t it you who said only moments ago to never throw away the words of a trusted advisor?”
Waen stared at his father, white-faced. Moloch looked at Zuria, who seemed as bewildered as he was. This was no inside joke. It was an argument. One that had gotten heated in the past, from the sound of it.
King Shamylle let out a long breath and slowly unfurled his fists. He lowered his voice and spoke with a refined sort of sternness. “I’m not throwing away your words, Nibal. I’ve considered them and will continue to do so. But I ask the same courtesy in return. I am not a coward. These so-called games may very well culminate into a more direct approach. But if we are to unite Leyumin, we must do it with intelligence and strength.”
“I apologize,” Nibal said, swallowing whatever words he really wanted to say. “I expect this conversation should go no further with mixed company.”
The king sat back in his chair. “I suppose you’re right.” He sighed, gathered his asset cards, and tossed them toward the draw pile. “I’m more tired than I thought. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going to bed.”
He stood abruptly, and everyone else scrambled to their feet. They all bowed and bid the king goodnight. When he was gone, Moloch’s father sat down in a huff. Waen stood unsure, looking between Nibal and the doors where the king had gone just moments before.
Moloch sat and drummed his fingers on the table as he watched his father rub at his temples. With the prince’s presence in mind, he spoke up, hoping his defense would reach the ears of the king. “Father, whatever this is about, the king pulled us through the last war with some brilliant strategies. Perhaps you should reconsider your position.”
Nibal’s face turned red again and he pounded a fist on the table. “You speak of something you know nothing about!” he shouted. “And I was the strategist in the war. The king’s clever ideas won a few battles, but my plans won the war and pushed those Adikeans far from our southern border. Our king inspired confidence in the men, but it was me who struck fear into Adikean hearts.” He was so agitated that a coughing fit ensued, and then when he caught his breath, he seemed to remember the prince was in the room. Zuria was staring at the general, his lips drawn into a thin line, his eyes hardened. “My prince,” Nibal said as he began to breathe easier, “I’ve had too much to drink. Forgive me.”
“A man such as yourself has earned a deaf ear in this matter,” Prince Zuria said, but his expression didn’t change.
Nibal stood back up. “Thank you, sire. I think I will also have to retire.” He looked to Waen. “It’s been good to see you. You’ve done well tonight.” Before Nibal turned to leave, he clasped a hand on Moloch’s shoulder and squeezed tightly. Leaning close, the alcohol pungent on his breath, he whispered into Moloch’s ear. “Tonight, your brother supported me at every turn, while you played the king’s sympathies. You’d do well to remember it is I who appoints the next Duke of Eunoya. Not the king. Do not make a fool of me, son.”
Moloch felt the blood drain from his face. He closed his eyes at a wave of nausea. He had been so focused on the king’s impressions that he hadn’t read his father’s mood correctly. Waen must have been able to tell something was amiss because he looked entirely too pleased. Finally, Moloch’s father let go of his shoulder and left the room.
Waen began to follow, and then looked over his shoulder at Moloch. “Are you coming?”
Moloch looked to Zuria.
“I’d actually like Moloch to stay a little longer,” the prince said. “Have a restful night, Waen.”
Waen bowed. “Thank you, Sire, and you as well.”
Finally, Moloch and Zuria were alone again. “What did your father say to you?” the prince asked.
“Nothing,” Moloch said, still feeling sick. His cheeks were flushed, and his palms were damp with sweat. “It was… private.”
“That whole last part was strange.” Zuria tapped the edge of a card on the table. “Talking of games and tricks.”
Moloch raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t know what they were speaking of? I assumed Waen and I were the ones in the dark.”
“No.” Zuria let the card fall. “And I don’t think we would’ve heard anything about it if ambrosia hadn’t been involved.”
“The king… he sounded angry with my father,” Moloch said cautiously.
“You’ve nothing to worry about,” Zuria said. “My father thinks of yours as a brother. They’ve had disagreements before. Strong disagreements. This one is troublesome simply because it seems so secret. Even from me.”
Moloch’s mind spun with the directions he could take the conversation. He had spurned his father, but he had done well so far with the prince. “Whatever it is, you’ll be brought in soon. It would be a mistake not to include you, Zuria.”
“A mistake has already been made,” the prince said. “I thought my father included me on all of his meetings. He’s grooming me for the future. I must be prepared for everything.” Zuria folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. “I thought he trusted me.”
Moloch leaned forward. “I’m sure he does. You’re his son, Zuria. His heir. No o
ne is perfect. This is an oversight, I’m sure.”
Zuria’s brow knit together. “Perhaps.” He looked up at Moloch. “You know, your thought about making stronger allies of the Lone Mountain people… that was good. I’m going to talk more to my father about the issue.”
“I’m happy to be of service.” Moloch smiled, grateful for some sign he had done something right. He gestured toward the cards and lifted his glass. “We didn’t finish. You want to have another glass and start over?”
“It always does my heart good to squash you in a game of Avarice.” The corner of Zuria’s lips curled into a smile. He took a drink of ambrosia and began shuffling the cards.
“Well, then,” Moloch said, “You’d best go to bed now, my prince. I don’t plan to lose.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Imrah
Lower Sector
The City of Sydor, Adikea
3rd Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
As Imrah walked the Lower Sector toward Lapuro’s home, she thought about the first time she’d been on these streets with Nasheer on her hip.
How afraid I was. How hopeful.
She smiled. No longer a place of uncertainty, the Forgotten Vale was a place she now held dear. This was where the plan was made to save Nasheer. This was where, nearly two years ago, she’d been given marro, the substance that had freed her from the fear of childbearing. Though it had left her doubled over in pain for days, it had lifted a weight from her shoulders. The illness was considered a mother’s grief over the loss of her son, and she was never questioned otherwise.
Never again would she lose a son. Never again would her heart be broken so completely. Dramede Dakkan, of course, wasn’t happy with her current state of barrenness. He still took her to bed, but after a year of no results, had begun to call her only when he wanted to satisfy his most aggressive desires, something the lady of the house preferred to avoid. Of course, Imrah knew she could be easily replaced in that regard. Her unique value remained in running his household under the watchful eye of Lady Vega, his true-wife. It had taken her years to be properly trained in all of Lady Vega’s preferences.