“Oh, must we? That dreadful council!” Ilsevel complained good-naturedly, rolling onto her back and letting the covers fall away from one of her bare breasts. Hairem saw her smile broaden as she followed his gaze to it. “Or we could stay here,” she whispered, reaching a hand up to his face.
Hairem sat up slowly, kissing her fingertips before she drew her hand away. “Ah, such are the burdens of a king. I, at least, must go.”
Ilsevel smiled, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Then you shall not go alone.”
Hairem turned reluctantly from the gentle curves of her back toward his chest of drawers. ‘Clothes now, Hairem.’
“Who is that mute girl, again? The one that does your hair?” Ilsevel asked as Hairem pulled on his silk shirt and buttoned the cuffed sleeves.
Hairem leaned down and picked up an emerald vest, catching Ilsevel stepping into her undergarments from the corner of his eye. “Alvena,” he replied as she pulled a strap across her shoulder.
“Oh, I remember now. Well, I caught her spying and eavesdropping on the nobility at dinner the other night. She is a curious one, isn’t she?” Ilsevel nodded as though the name had been at the tip of her tongue. “Lovely girl—quite tragic that she is mute. Why is it that she cannot speak?” She pulled her dress over her shoulders, letting one of the straps fall to rest against her arm. She then pivoted, gliding across the marble floor to his side. Sliding a hand down his waist, she kissed his shoulder. “That vest is very becoming,” she whispered.
Hairem winked as he fastened the clasp of his pants. “I wore it to impress you.”
Ilsevel stepped around in front of him, leaning up and speaking softly, her breath warm against his lips. “You know what impresses me.”
Hairem tried to lean in for a kiss but she moved away, sliding her hand down his arm in a tease. He cleared his throat, stepping into his leather boots. “The clerics believe it is caused by a disfigurement of her throat: nothing of the mind. Come.” He reached out, catching her wrist as she attempted to swing toward the bed. “The meeting.”
Ilsevel laughed and allowed him to lead her out. She wrapped a hand around his forearm and took step beside him.
Erallus closed the door, silently following a short distance behind them.
*
The sky was overcast by midmorning, with only the edge of the sun daring to attempt to slip past the clouds’ defenses. The walk to the council chambers was a bit cooler than usual for late autumn, but Ilsevel bore it without complaint. Hairem led her up the wide steps of the council’s chambers and stepped into the building through the doors that Erallus parted for them.
“King Hairem, Queen Ilsevel,” Mikanum greeted with a nod of his head and a polite smile. His eyes flicked intently from one to the other, lingering on the queen as though still uncertain of to how to respond to her presence.
Nilanis ceased his conversation with Cahsari and stood as well, smiling broadly. “My Lord and My Lady, welcome.”
How vastly different their behavior had become since Hairem had taken Ilsevel as his wife. He nodded his head toward the two of them in acknowledgement and moved to his seat at the front of the room. Beside the white wooden chair engraved with a blue phoenix and embedded with gems was now a second chair of almost identical appearance.
Hairem allowed Ilsevel the honor of seating herself first before he followed suit.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Nilanis strode briskly to his place at the center of the room, raising his hands charismatically, and began to speak animatedly about the condition of Jikun’s division of plagued troops, as well as the most recent shipment of silks from the coastal cities. It was as though he had every ounce of energy invigorated by his newfound “power” in blood. And Ilsevel’s presence seemed to only spur him on.
Finally he turned his attention to the political matters of the city, twisting toward Hairem as he spoke. “My Lord, today comes a most grave matter. The son of Lord Cahsari was caught in the sin of whoring with a human prostitute from Ryekarayn. We know the sentence of the seized prostitute, but what, My Lord, should be done with Lord Cahsari’s son? Carnal debasement has long been a crime punishable by death, but… in this case…”
“In this case, you want me to make an exception,” Hairem replied flatly. His brow knit faintly as silence returned to him. He thought briefly of Erallus and Jikun and imagined them discovered in a similar situation.
His gaze flicked surreptitiously to the Helvarian council member. There was no emotion he could read from it. Instead, Cahsari seemed to have withdrawn, his lips pursed tightly into a hard, thin line. Was he mortified by his son’s crimes? Pained? Hairem couldn’t tell.
His eyes lingered on him a moment. He felt Ilsevel’s hand tighten on his arm and she leaned suddenly forward. “The law commands that partakers in such an atrocity shall both meet the same fate,” she reminded the room sternly. “This is not a matter for exceptions, high noble’s son or not.”
Hairem rested a hand on hers, pleased with her boldness. Yet he shook his head as he stood. “Release the prostitute. Return her to Ryekarayn. Fine her, brand her, and forbid her from returning.” He continued, ignoring the gasps of outrage. “As for Cahsari’s son, fine him as well, twice-fold for taking advantage of the state of the woman. Then release him as well.”
The council room fell silent, but Hairem could see the eyes of Ilrae narrow in disgust.
Valdor stood promptly. “A merciful decree for both, Your Majesty. However, what is the reasoning for the ruling against the law? Is this mercy to be shown to all infidelity against Sel’ari, even carnal debasement? What about two willing, non-wed elven lovers? For the law commands the punishment is the same.”
Hairem felt Ilsevel’s hand tighten again, as though she knew that what he was about to say could only kindle further anger, no matter how well it was spoken. Nevertheless, he forced his tension aside and raised his head calmly. “To foster a greater relationship with the humans, we must first see them as equal. This kingdom has seen enough death. And enough arrogance. There are greater evils in this city than the foolish selfishness of a woman and male. Their crime is severe, but a harsh fine should warn them of the consequences of such behavior. If there is a second offense, the male shall find himself on an extended stay within the prison.”
Mikanum stood, his eyes cold. “This is a long standing tradition that—”
Hairem smacked a hand down loudly onto the table, finding Mikanum’s grasp of tradition now shackling. “I do not care that it is a long standing tradition. This kingdom has seen enough senseless bloodshed. Soon we shall hear word of the general’s defeat of Saebellus. It is time we start defeating the bloodshed within our own city as well and foster a stronger relationship with our non-elven brethren. Starting with this law.”
Mikanum’s jaw slacked indignantly.
“Well spoken, Your Majesty,” Lord Valdor applauded, the corners of his one good eye creasing with his smile. It was the first Hairem had seen from the male.
Heshellon stood, his expression apprehensive. “Even I must say that this is a bit bold, Your Majesty. But the reasoning is sound—I shall support you in this change.”
Hairem surveyed the room, yet it was Nilanis his eyes focused on. The El’adorium’s gaze locked with Ilsevel’s. His mouth closed and he nodded curtly.
Hairem looked down at her, catching the warning in her eyes directed toward her father. He was surprised how much control she still possessed over him, even after the wedding ceremony.
Nilanis held up a hand against further debate. “This matter shall be written down for a formal vote in two weeks. Until then, the woman and male shall be dealt with according to the king’s command.”
As the words left his lips, relief flooded Cahsari’s face. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled audibly. As corrupt as the male was, Hairem could not help but feel compassion at his affection for his son. Perhaps the council as a whole would follow Nilanis’ example of obedience
and understanding—and even Cahsari would see that not all change was to be abhorred.
*
“What you did in there was bold,” Ilsevel spoke softly as they left the chambers. Her expression was difficult to read and Hairem found that it seemed more so that she was trying to read his own thoughts.
He raised his brows in a gesture of unmoved confidence. “Bold? For refusing to execute two wayward souls? I believe Sel’ari shall forgive me for my mercy.”
Ilsevel turned back toward the streets. “Yes, I suppose she, at least, may.”
Hairem frowned, studying the side of her stoic face. “…What does that mean?”
Ilsevel shook her head suddenly, smiling tenderly. “I just worry about you sometimes. I am proud of your fierce heart, but it does not cease my worry at your daringness.”
Hairem laughed, throwing his head back dismissively. “I am sorry to cause you worry.” He gestured up at the sky. The sun had pushed the clouds aside and the warm rays made the breeze obsolete. “Let me take you to eat. At the place where we dined when we spoke of Lord Valdor’s appointment. To take your mind off the matter?”
Ilsevel’s smile broadened. “I am famished,” she admitted. She nodded her head elegantly toward the side. “Lead on, my love.”
*
The balcony where they had once sat so many months before—discussing her childhood and Valdor’s appointment—had remained unchanged, but the courtyard was now devoid of flowers and leaves, decorated only by the bare branches of the trees, the fiery oranges and reds of fallen leaves, and the lush hedges below.
Hairem raised his glass as the servant stepped out of the deep red curtain to fill it.
“The change to the law—do you agree with it?”
Ilsevel swirled her wine thoughtfully for a moment. “I suppose I had never given it much thought before… but yes, yes I agree.” She took a long sip. “After all, Saebellus’ defeat is nigh and you were right: the bloodshed has gone on long enough… outside the city as well as within.”
Hairem raised his glass as well, pleased with her honesty. Even she had not been able to mask her surprise at his decision, and yet she did not jump to offense like the mulish council members. “Do you find some form of particular consolation at Saebellus’ imminent defeat?”
Ilsevel’s eyes dropped down. “You are referring to his murder of my brother, I presume.” She nodded once. “Yes, Hairem, I do. It eases my heart to know that the murderer will soon die. I wish him all the pain in the world, but I suppose a death at the hands of the military against which he rebelled is a just death, albeit swift.”
Hairem reached out a hand, resting it across her own. “Yes, your brother shall be avenged. Sometimes, it is not always the way we expected or wished. But I hope it will bring you peace as well.”
Ilsevel looked up, meeting his eyes as she forced a smile onto her full lips. “Yes, my love. I shall soon be at peace as well.”
They passed the remainder of their meal pleasantly, and Hairem felt himself nigh-permanently affixed with a contented smile for how matters were falling out. Ilsevel was the greatest gift in his life, and he constantly found himself amazed by her in new ways. When they had finished dining, he took her hand gently and led her out of the establishment.
“I have a few places I wanted to stop before I return to the palace,” Ilsevel spoke as they stepped out onto the cobbled street. “You go on ahead. They are a lady’s affairs. And—” she winked, continuing almost inaudibly, “perhaps I may pick something up for you to see later.”
Hairem blushed. “I will see you this evening then.” He kissed her hand before watching her vanish down the street.
“Back to the palace, my lord?” Erallus asked as he turned to face him as well. Although Hairem imagined that the male had heard the subtle comment, his face remained remarkably disinterested. As the male had said, he indeed had a character for apathy, but perhaps it was not as negative as he had originally projected. It eased the otherwise, undoubtedly awkward nature of their sudden pairing.
Hairem’s eyes lingered for a moment longer after her. “Yes, Erallus. To the palace.”
*
The rest of the day came and went with complacent normalcy. Hairem busied himself under piles of politically-laced parchments and was relieved when dinner brought them all to a close.
As he returned to his room, he breathed a sigh of relief to hear the doors close behind him. He looked around anticipatorily, but Ilsevel seemed to still be gossiping with the nobility downstairs.
The balcony beckoned as its curtain billowed out in the cool breeze, and Hairem obligingly walked out onto it.
The sun had dipped down toward the horizon, red as blood, filling the sky with hues of vivid oranges and yellows. Hairem inhaled deeply, leaning against the railing. The recent rain had left the air heavy with the scent of fallen leaves and autumn’s last prevailing flowers. The mountains in the distance were already dusted with snow as winter bore down on them. But in Elvorium, the weather would remain cool and pleasant, the snow vanishing with the grey skies to the north.
He turned his eyes to the darkened city below, the sunset’s warm orange hues lighting the gold-slated rooftops with an amber shimmer. He could still distinguish the white wedding banners waving in the distance from the towers of Sel’ari’s temple, as they would for the full year after his wedding to Ilsevel.
He found himself smiling. The kingdom was still full of life from the celebration of their wedding. Ilsevel was well-received—her charm, her honesty, her simplicity… Perhaps the people were relieved to find a politician less… masked. Hairem had held nothing back from her. She attended the council meetings with him, she addressed diplomatic matters… She even oversaw the city guard. As unprecedented as a female was in those positions, Hairem found the ability to share the burden of ruling both a relief and a joy.
The council’s obedience, a lady he loved… and General Jikun’s certain victory over Saebellus. He exhaled heavily. “Thank you,” he whispered to Sel’ari, watching the white banners twist sharply in a brisk breeze.
The door to the room opened suddenly and closed with a loud snap. He twisted around sharply in surprise.
“Ilsevel? What is it, my love?” he asked, pushing away from the balcony and reentering the room.
Ilsevel’s lips were tight, her face drawn. She straightened her dress, as though gaining composure, a crumpled piece of parchment clenched tightly in her right hand. He saw her eyes falter as she spoke. An unsettlement grew within his gut. “Hairem,” she began. “I have news from the south…” Her voice wavered.
Hairem felt his stomach twist into a sickening knot, dread filling his chest. “What is it?” Had General Jikun been killed in the battle? Or were the casualties great? How could he have expected a victory without such a terrible consequence?
“Hairem… General Jikun and his army… they were defeated. They…” she lowered her voice to one of deep, almost fearful sympathy. “They were all killed… Saebellus is marching on Elvorium.”
The world around him rang with deafening silence. He stumbled forward, putting a hand out almost blindly. Defeated? Dead? The words bounced blankly off his mind.
Ilsevel caught his arm to steady him. “Hairem?” she whispered. “Come, sit…”
He felt a tug on his forearm and slid his feet forward to follow her guide. His mind was numb. No. That was impossible. He had misheard. He had misunderstood…! The General… the plan. No!
“No,” he whispered in a struggle for breath as Ilsevel sat down beside him. “That is impossible. General Jikun… the army…”
Ilsevel shook her head slowly, empathetically. “No, Hairem. They’re gone. A messenger just arrived bearing the news. There is nothing left of his forces. Saebellus has killed them all.”
Hairem felt her slender hand slide across his and her grip tighten. His heart pounded in his chest as he fought the numbness back. “No. NO. We haven’t lost yet. We have the units left here. And I have allies
. Allies amongst the other kings. I will ask for their help. They will rise with us…” His voice cracked as emotions began to beat against the wall of numbness. “They will help us defeat Saebellus, if need be!” He found his lips were trembling, his hands shaking, even as a glimmer of hope flickered to life. He drew them up toward his face as fear and defeat fought to overwhelm him. No. They could still prevail! They had to—
“Sh, my love,” Ilsevel whispered, raising a hand to the side of his face, and pulled him down against her breasts. “Sh…” Her hand slid through his hair slowly.
And he felt a blade slice into his throat.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘Oh my gods… OH MY GODS!’ Lardol had told her not to spy and now she… what she saw! Alvena’s lips parted, her heart threatening to tear from her chest. It could not be real!
Hairem’s body flailed slightly and Ilsevel pushed him away. His eyes were wide. Confusion. Pain. Shock. A hand went to the gaping hole in his throat as blood gushed forth. He sank down to his knees.
No. The king. Hairem. Her king.
‘Hairem, no!’ Alvena screamed in her mind as her mouth spoke the silent words. She threw the door to the room open, her mind blinded by shock and grief. Hairem’s eyes locked with hers briefly before his body swayed and he fell to the side, his hand falling away from his throat.
His eyes glazed over as his body fell still across the blood-soaked tile.
Dead.
Alvena’s hand dropped from the door. ‘…Hai…rem…?’ She stared numbly at the body of the king, lifeless on the floor beneath her.
“HELP!” Ilsevel shrieked. “HAIREM, NO!”
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