Hairem only paused to give Ilrae the same false, charming smile that they all had given him on so many meetings before. “If our extensive bridges, cliff sides, bottomless canyons, and vast lake cannot stop the plague, then surely no distance between the Sevilan Marshes and ourselves shall suffice. Lord Valdor, your Noc’olarian people have assisted in the quarantine and dissolution of countless plagues, am I correct? Perhaps you could explain to these fine lords how this occurs. I’m afraid that there are details to manage that I must see to—including the ravens. I’m certain Nilanis will offer you whatever support you need. Thank you my lords. I look forward to seeing you at our next meeting.”
The moment of astonishment was absolute; it was only to the sound of his own feet that Hairem left the chamber. With the doors snapping shut behind him, he leaned back on their golden handles with a relieved smile.
He had done it.
Political matters were running with ease already. The final glimpse he had caught of Nilanis’ open-mouthed shock assured him that the lord was going to be far less trouble with his daughter soon to wed the king.
What a brilliant fate the gods wove.
Chapter Nineteen
The council chamber remained deathly still. Nilanis stared after the king in stunned speechlessness. How dare Hairem ignore the council! How dare he grow so bold as to …trick him in this manner! What a fool the king had made of him…!
As he stood in the center of the vast chamber, fuming, he could feel the eyes boring into his back. His mouth snapped shut in stunned offense.
“Valdor, Heshellon, see to the supplies and location of Jikun’s army when they return. Ilrae, see to the raven dispatch,” Mikanum spoke finally, breaking the silence in a tense and almost dangerous tone. “Immediately.”
Nilanis did not turn around. He heard the scraping of two chairs and the quiet thud of two pairs of feet descending onto the floor behind him. He watched as Valdor and Heshellon passed by and vanished out into Eraydon’s Square.
There was a soft creak and the doors closed behind them.
“He has gotten out of hand,” Fildor growled softly.
Nilanis felt his stomach drop, but he turned toward them with face drawn and lips pursed. “I have not—”
“The king, you idiot,” Fildor snapped, tossing his uncombed hair about his head as his waving hand caught the ends and whipped them over his shoulder.
Nilanis narrowed his eyes at the brazen disrespect, but internally, relief pushed his panic aside.
“Indeed,” Cahsari agreed with a twisted scowl at the corner of his pale blue eyes. They seemed to have sunk further into his skull in his moment of contemplation. “Completely ignoring our will—doing whatever he pleases… We feared this day would come and lo and behold, it has arrived.”
Mikanum nodded gravely, his pale, chiseled face contorted in deep thought. He drew himself up and cleared his throat, regarding the room before him with all the command of the El’adorium himself. Yet Nilanis could see all eyes turn to the Darivalian, anticipating what was about to come. “I’m afraid that the king must be disposed of.”
Nilanis paled, eyes flicking from face to face. Indifference gazed back at him in solidarity from each of his peers. “Are you all mad?!” he finally gasped. “Killing the other council members was one thing, but the king?”
Cahsari snorted, deflecting Nilanis’ tension with a casual wave of his pale, boney hand. “What do you mean, the king? We eliminated his father indiscreetly and we considered that Hairem might become a problem as well. If the True Bloods had stayed around, it would have been them instead. Certainly this may not offer us a long-term solution, but eventually Sevrigel will realize that the position of the king is obsolete.”
Nilanis’ face hardened and he drew himself up much like Mikanum had done, standing in the center of the room as though he were leading a routine meeting. He raised his voice in command, deciding their course of vote as though he possessed them all. “We all agreed that Liadeltris was a special circumstance only because he suggested the dissolution of the council. His son has hardly possessed the throne! A second death so swiftly after the first will cause instability within the kingdom. He has no son. And we cannot afford this risk. We will shoot down Hairem’s ravens, if he sends any. Then we shall send a raven to General Taemrin and order his troops to relocate. Hairem will not be able to find them again to retract our command—”
“Oh, Nilanis! Hairem is about to bed your daughter and you are bending over backwards for the fool. Afraid you’ll lose all that power?” Ilrae sneered through yellowed teeth.
Nilanis stiffened. “Hairem is a problem that will soon be under control.”
“Your daughter is as strong-headed as Hairem. Don’t be a fool,” Mikanum rebuked suddenly. He raised a hand and gestured toward the speaker. “Nilanis, order the assassin to dispose of Hairem immediately and summon the mages to eliminate the ravens.”
Nilanis raised his chin in firm disagreement, weaving his lie without hesitation, “The assassin is currently employed on another matter of great importance. I’m afraid he’s unavailable.”
Fildor leaned forward, glanced once to his left and right for assurance of the others’ support, and locked eyes with the Sel’ven. “We know where he is, Nilanis,” he spoke softly, danger etching his tone. “Either you hire him, or we will.”
Nilanis remained stiff, his chin raised in stern and unwavering authority. He was the El’adorium! “This is an unacceptable solution to the problem—”
“I’m afraid that you are becoming an addition to the problem,” Mikanum interrupted.
Nilanis went still, the implication sending a chill down his spine. He searched his mind for words, but a blank slate lay before him. The room remained silent, waiting for his defense. He opened his mouth and closed it. ‘Damn it, Nilanis!’ he lashed out at himself. He inhaled sharply. “The assassin is currently preoccupied on other matters. You will have to find another solution,” he replied firmly. He raised his voice once more, willing command into his features—he would not be threatened! “And do not forget who owns his loyalty. If I should meet an untimely death, let me assure you that evidence of all of your illegal practices will come to light.”
Cahsari sat back slowly, his face devoid of emotion. The room about him remained silent. “…as you say, Nilanis,” he finally stated, heaving a conceding sigh. “I will see if I can talk sense into the king. But if our businesses suffer due to your whim, we will know whom to blame. Ilrae, you take care of the ravens.”
Mikanum nodded his head forward in agreement, but his lips and eyes remained uncharacteristically devoid of emotion, even for a Darivalian.
“Then we leave the matter in your hands,” Nilanis stated. He could feel the knot of tension in his chest begin to unwind. Seeing only complacency on the faces of the other members, he continued habitually, “The council draws to a close. May the gods alight our future days with wisdom.” He turned toward the doors, noting the silence of the elves as they gathered their belongings.
“Nilanis, if I may have a moment,” Mikanum called out.
Nilanis stopped, turning to examine the Darivalian as the other members slowly departed. The doors closed with a heavy thud and the two males were left alone in the vast chamber.
‘You have the gall to speak to me in private after your arrogance?’ Nilanis thought coolly.
He watched Mikanum run his fingers along the edge of the desk, pausing as though captivated by the wood. Then the Darivalian looked up, face calm and thoughtful in its regard for the El’adorium, and he stepped down from his desk to walk idly over to him.
“What is it?” Nilanis asked coolly, eyes over-focused on the ornate carvings of the desk the arrogant male had just left. ‘Who does that worthless Darivalian think he is?’
As Mikanum drew to a stop before him, he rested a hand on his shoulder and attempted to turn the speaker to face him. Nilanis begrudgingly complied, looking into the icy eyes of the Darivalian elf with ster
n rebuke. “I must apologize for my tone back there. Surely you know I meant no threat in my words.”
Nilanis’ lips curled, glancing once at the hand on his shoulder. “Threaten me again,” he began as his gaze locked onto the chiseled face before him, “and so help me, Mikanum, you will be found lying in a ditch.”
He saw the Darivalian bow his head, displaying a hint of humility before he replied. “I understand how you must feel with your daughter about to gain the throne and—”
“And you threatened that,” Nilanis replied, his voice growing as icy as the hand on his shoulder. “You want a hold on the king? This is how you do it, Mikanum. Do not threaten our opportunity again.”
He could see Mikanum’s eyes flicker with the fierce pride for which the Darivalians were known, the tension rippling along his jaw. But nevertheless, he was wise enough to meet the speaker’s demands solidly and passively. “Of course, Nilanis. You are the El’adorium, after all.”
*
Despite Mikanum’s reassurances, Nilanis made for the assassin’s inn the moment that the sun first dipped behind the dome of Sel’ari’s temple. He would ensure that the council could not possibly contend with his monetary offer! He muttered and scowled to himself as he went. The Night’s Watch was crawling throughout the city, hampering his businesses and now his nightly movement as well. Hairem had gotten out of hand, but that was all soon to be in his control.
He strode into the inn and stepped briskly up the stairs, squeezing past a large, reeking human at the top without even a moment’s regard for the contact against his fine clothes.
“Watch it,” the human growled gruffly, shoving him slightly aside.
Nilanis quickly caught his balance against the wall, ignoring the beast behind him. ‘Stupid human,’ was his only instinctual thought—the damn thing had only made his mood fouler. He stopped outside the assassin’s door, waiting for the rude man to head down the steps. ‘This is none of your business,’ he glowered at the fat, dirty face. He pulled his hood down further, feeling rather conspicuous in the bustling hallway. But this matter could not wait.
The human slowly turned about and vanished down the stairs.
Nilanis knocked once, softly at first.
‘Probably too busy whoring himself,’ he thought with exasperation when there came no answer. He knocked more solidly, determined to be heard.
“Ulasum’s Tooth?” whispered a voice suddenly beside him. “It will take you far away. A drop for a dream. Two for sleep. Three and your problems disappear…!”
Nilanis started and pivoted, tucking his face further into the shadows. “Get away,” he snarled, shoving the fat human back. Gods, did they not know the meaning of distance?!
Several men in the hallway paused to regard him for a moment.
Nilanis paled and quickly turned away, trying to look busy. “Damn it. Answer the door!” he hissed below his breath. The man was paid enough to be at his beck and call! He shook the handle subtly and gave it a twist. The door was locked.
He rapped harder.
Still, nothing. Nothing…!
An unsettling feeling began to form in his stomach, a chill running down his spine. He hurried down the stairs, ignoring the bustle of humans around him, and leaned over the counter, pressing his hands against the wood. “I need the key for room four,” he breathed.
“Checking into it?” the inn keeper inquired, hardly looking up from where he poured ale into a worn, wooden mug with the speed of a Kindarian slug.
Nilanis recoiled stiffly. “Checking in…? Yes. Yes, checking in.” He quickly set the coin on the counter, holding his hand out in swift command.
The innkeeper reached down behind the counter and raised a key before him at an intolerably slow rate. “Room four.”
Nilanis snatched it without a word and hurried back up the stairs, the pathetic elf forgotten. ‘Checking in?’ The words ran through his head ceaselessly as he reached the door. He shoved the key into the lock and twisted the handle with a fervent grasp.
The door swung open and rebounded against the wall with a solid thud. Nilanis stepped in, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dimness, his heart pounding in the thick silence.
The magic orb of light hung dimly from the ceiling, swaying slightly, causing the light to shift shadows at the corners of his eyes.
‘Where…?’
He closed the door with a snap behind him, taking several long strides forward.
The nightstand candle was new, seated in its brass holder at the center of the table. New logs lined the inside of the fireplace. The ash had been cleared out. The covers on the bed had been pulled tight and tucked in, the rug beside the bed straightened.
The room was empty. The assassin was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Alvena steadied the stack of clothes in her arms as she peered down the flight of stairs before her. She could just see around the side of the pile and glanced once behind her to Lardol.
“Hurry up, child!” Lardol barked, waving a hand at her from his doorway.
‘They aren’t going to wash themselves,’ she predicted.
Lardol pointed firmly. “They aren’t going to wash themselves.”
Alvena sighed and took an unsteady step downward. With the announcement of the king’s wedding spreading across Sevrigel, Lardol was working her harder than ever. She took another indignant step down and lurched forward as the weight in her arms shifted. ‘It’d be better to just toss them down the stairs and collect them at the bottom,’ she reasoned.
Of course, the last time she had done that, Lardol had taken punishment to a new level.
She heard the door behind her snap closed as the ornery elf went about his business.
‘I wonder how the king’s meeting went today,’ she pondered through several more steps. She hadn’t seen Hairem since he had left that morning, but Erallus was standing outside his meeting room looking as ominous as ever. If she hurried through her chores, she could stop into the room on some excuse. Perhaps she could bring him warm spiced wine. He did so seem to enjoy that!
A few more steps down and Alvena stopped to lean against the railing. The clothes in her arms were drooping now, precariously tilting over the side of the banister. She looked back once, quickly, and smiled wryly to herself.
‘Oops!’ she feigned for no one’s sake, letting the clothes tumble past the rest of the stairs to splatter in a wide heap of silks on the marble many floors below.
With a grin and a bounce to her step, she hurried down the staircase.
“I must see him,” a panicked voice rose to Alvena’s hearing from somewhere on the floor beyond.
She thought little of it as she reached the end of the stairs, turning to the right to collect the clothes. The guard along the wall looked away from the male before him just long enough to glare at her.
She smiled sheepishly.
“You don’t understand. This is an urgent matter!” the male breathed, trying to step past the soldier with a pale and fervent face twisted in indignant anger.
Alvena crouched down beside the clothes and looked up. There was something familiar about… Oh! She cocked her head. ‘Ilsevel’s father!’ she watched him take a sharp, retreating step as the soldier put a hand to his hilt.
“The king is not to be bothered,” the soldier replied stoically.
Alvena picked up several shirts, tucking them under an arm.
“I must see him.”
“About what?” the soldier challenged.
Nilanis pursed his lips, glancing at Alvena with narrowed eyes. “I cannot tell you.”
The soldier heaved a weary sigh. “Lord Nilanis, please escort yourself from the palace.”
Alvena stood, balancing under the pile of clothes teetering once more in her arms.
Nilanis did not move. “I demand to see the king!” he raised his voice commandingly. “My daughter will soon be the queen. Inform Hairem that I am here! I am certain that he will want to see me!”
Al
vena snorted. As if titles mattered much to Hairem. She smiled slightly to herself, basking in her personal relationship with him. Why, she could see Hairem whenever she wanted!
She turned down another hallway, the shouting dying down. ‘I wonder what is so urgent?’ she pondered. Nilanis had certainly looked disheveled. A little pale, too. She dropped the clothes beside the wash basins and leaned out of the room. His voice was still echoing softly down to her.
Perhaps it was something to do with the meeting Hairem had held about the general. She raised her brows thoughtfully and then nodded to herself. Yes, that was quite probable. Why, just the other day, Hairem had said that the council was angry about the general’s troops.
She knelt down beside the pool and slid the clothes into the first basin. As the last garment sank below the surface, the door behind her opened and a young female hurried in to the other side of the water.
She knelt down breathlessly and quickly bowed her head in apology. A tussle of blond curls bounced once about her narrow face. “Sorry I am late, Alvena. Lardol wanted me to pull weeds around the steps. I just finished! Or at least, I hope I did. Gods know it’s far too dark to see a thing out there right now!”
Alvena narrowed her eyes in rebuke, wiping a hand across her brow and feigning exhaustion.
“Really I’m sor—”
Alvena grinned and waved a hand dismissively. She liked Mirwen. The female was a few decades older than she, but had just begun work a few weeks prior. As such, even younger, Alvena had found she held a level of command over her. She pushed the silk gently down into the cool water and rubbed it softly with her hands.
“Did you hear the shouting from the hall?” Mirwen asked suddenly, leaning forward. A loose curl twisted into the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Lord Nilanis is quite distressed.”
Alvena looked up as she transferred the garment to the next basin. He was still there? She cocked her head at the female.
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