And then it dawned on Marcus. Kelvin didn’t know! Zyll had seen Fredric’s murder in his divining bowl, but that didn’t mean Kelvin or anyone else understood what had really happened.
They must all assume Fredric died of natural causes, Marcus realized. Kelvin has no idea he’s in danger.
“We wanted to come to help you, Kelvin,” said Marcus finally. “We’re family. We should be together in times like this.”
Kelvin absentmindedly fingered the Celestine medallion strung on a leather cord around his neck.
“Is that Mother’s seal?” asked Marcus.
Kelvin glanced down at it. “I always keep it with me,” he said. “It reminds me of home.”
Marcus had first seen Ivanore’s seal, or a fragment of it, during their quest. Later, once the seal was restored, Marcus had held it on several occasions, but both he and Zyll had agreed that Kelvin was its rightful owner. Marcus had not seen it since Kelvin left for Dokur more than six months earlier.
Marcus was about to ask if he could hold it again, just for a moment, when they were interrupted by the arrival of Kelvin’s young page. The boy dropped to one knee and, head bowed, held out a scroll.
“A courier brought this for you, Your Majesty. He’s waiting for your reply.”
Kelvin rose from the settee and took the scroll. As he read it to himself, the expression on his face grew taut with worry.
“He’s here? In the courtyard?” Kelvin asked the boy.
“Shall I tell the courier to invite him in?”
Kelvin considered this a moment, then replied, “No. I need to meet with Chancellor Prost first. Tell him to return for dinner instead. I think that would be more appropriate.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” said the page.
The page left the room. Kelvin remained where he stood, still holding the scroll in his hand.
“Is everything all right?” asked Marcus.
“Yes,” answered Kelvin a little too quickly. “Yes, why do you ask?”
“You seem upset.”
“Do I? I suppose I am. You know, Marcus, I had intended eventually to take over for our grandfather, Fredric, but this has come far too suddenly. I am trying to be a good king, though.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“I’ve had to make some difficult choices, and there are those, even some who are quite close to me, who don’t agree with what I’ve done, especially in regards to the Agorans.”
In the fireplace, an ember popped. Kelvin still held the open scroll in his hand. This he tore in half, and then half again, tossing the pieces into the flames.
“Unfortunately, I have to cut our time together a little short,” he told Marcus. “A matter of some urgency has come up, and I need to consult with my advisor. Can you find your way back?”
“Of course,” said Marcus, hoping his face did not betray his disappointment. He stood and walked to the door. He glanced back at Kelvin and was surprised at how small his older brother appeared. Gone was the carefree confidence Marcus had once admired. Instead, Kelvin seemed fearful and troubled.
“Will you and Grandfather join me for dinner tonight?” asked Kelvin.
Marcus nodded, though he wondered why they had not been invited before now. Kelvin looked away then, his gaze focused on the fire. Marcus opened the door and let himself out.
Thirty-nine
The hall outside the great room was empty except for two guards farther down near the throne room. Marcus headed toward the staircase, which led to the lower floors. He paused at the top stair to look at a familiar door at the end of the hall. When he had last seen the entrance to the dungeon prison, it had been in splinters after he forced it open with magic. Kaië was with him then, as were Bryn and an Agoran named Eliha whom they had freed from the prison below. They had burst through that door and fought off armed guards in order to escape. Bryn had chosen to stay behind, willing to sacrifice himself for their freedom. Marcus again felt relieved Bryn had survived that day.
The door, which had since been replaced with one made of iron, now stood unattended. As Marcus neared, he saw that it was locked with a heavy bolt. He remembered the dark, damp stairway that led to the cells below. Marcus tried the lock, but it was secure. Not that he wanted to go back to that dungeon. He laughed at himself for even considering the idea. Surely Kelvin would not keep anyone in such a place.
Marcus lay his palm against the metal door. Strange, he thought, how warm it felt beneath his skin. He curled his fingers and rapped lightly on it and then turned away.
A sound so faint he almost missed it reached him through the door. Had he really heard something? Marcus paused and listened. Nothing. His mind was playing tricks on him. That was all. He lifted his foot to take another step, but—there it was again!
Marcus pressed his ear against the door. He held his breath and waited. He heard the sound once more, a low rumbling followed by what could only be described as a moan.
Someone was down there!
Marcus grabbed the bolt and tugged at it with all his strength. The thought of anyone, even a criminal, locked up in that horrible place made his stomach churn. How could Kelvin have allowed it?
The lock, solidly fastened, might as well have been a stone in his hand. The sound came again. Yes, thought Marcus, someone was in there, moaning in misery. Marcus pounded on the door with his fist.
“Hello down there!” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”
A sudden, deafening bellow rolled up from below like a thunderstorm. Marcus jumped back from the door, his heart thumping wildly. Then, without warning, something deep down below exploded with a fury unmatched by anything Marcus could describe with words, as if the entire Fortress had been shaken to its core and threatened to collapse around him. Marcus dropped to the floor and covered his head with his arms, but the Fortress did not collapse. The hall was quiet again. Marcus lifted his head to see if anyone had come running, but no one had.
Marcus stood up. Only then did he realize he was shaking. His legs felt weak. He reached out his hand and timidly approached the door again. He touched his palm to the door as he had before but immediately jerked it back from the pain. The door was so hot it had burned him.
Forty
So far dinner had been a grave affair, with little more than the tinkling of crystal and silver to offset the uneasy silence. Marcus had tried to start a conversation, but neither Kelvin nor Prost had paid him any attention. Zyll had left Xerxes in his room this evening (using Marcus’s shoulder for support instead), so there wasn’t even the walking stick’s sarcasm for entertainment.
As the soup bowls were being cleared, a guard appeared at Kelvin’s side and whispered something in his ear. Kelvin’s already grim expression became even more serious.
“Would you prefer to have him wait in the throne room?” asked the guard.
Kelvin shook his head. “No. I’ve been expecting him. See him in.”
The guard bowed stiffly and exited the room.
Prost leaned back in his chair, lacing his bony fingers together. His lips were pursed in a sour expression. Marcus couldn’t help but wonder if his mouth was naturally formed that way.
“Not to worry, Sire,” Prost said. “Remember, our motives are just.”
“I’m not worried,” replied Kelvin sharply.
A moment later the guard appeared again. “Jayson of the Agoran,” he announced.
Marcus stood up the moment he saw him, nearly knocking his goblet to the floor. He flew to his father’s arms. Jayson greeted him with a firm hug.
“What a surprise! I hadn’t expected to see both sons today,” Jayson said, his gray cat eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“Zyll and I got here a few days ago,” explained Marcus, nodding toward his grandfather, who was savoring a bite of the braised boar the servants had just brought in. Zyll lifted his fork and waved a little hello.
“Hello, Father,” said Jayson, and to Kelvin, “Your Majesty.”
Prost carved off
a small slice of meat with his knife. “Well, what a family reunion. Jayson, you did come to see your son, didn’t you?” he said, slipping the bite of meat between his lips. “Or have you come on more pressing business?”
Jayson glared at Prost, not hiding the hatred in his eyes. He then looked at Kelvin, who had not yet spoken. Kelvin met his father’s eyes only briefly, then dropped his gaze.
“No greeting for your father, Kelvin?” said Jayson, extending his hand. “Well then, how about a simple hello to a former travel mate, eh?”
“I know why you’ve come,” said Kelvin, keeping his hands on the table.
“Do you?”
“You didn’t come to visit your long lost son, so please don’t insult me.”
Jayson reached over the table and picked up a polished apple. He studied it a moment before biting into it, then chewed and swallowed. “All right,” he said, “I’m here because of the rumor that my eldest son has abandoned his people.”
“The Agorans are not my people.”
Jayson’s face remained calm. “Their blood—my blood—runs through your veins as much as your mother’s human blood does,” he said.
The servers came to whisk away the plates of the half-eaten main course and replace them with dessert. As one server removed Zyll’s plate, Zyll struck out his fork and managed to skewer the remaining morsel of meat, which he then popped into his mouth.
The tension in the room was thick, and Marcus tried to think of some way to ease it a little. He tasted the pudding.
“This is really delicious, Kelvin. Is there nutmeg in it?”
Kelvin stared at Marcus with a blank expression. He blinked a few times before responding, taking the signal to change the subject.
“Yes, and cinnamon. I’ve been told the recipe has been in the family for generations. I’m glad you like it.”
“I do,” replied Marcus. “You really should try it, Father.”
“Yes,” added Kelvin hesitantly, “please join us. Server, bring another dessert.”
“By all means, Jayson, do have some pudding,” added Prost coolly.
Marcus took another mouthful.
“I did not come for pudding,” said Jayson, his voice becoming angrier. “I came to Dokur for one reason and one reason only: to make sure you honor Fredric’s promise to the Agorans.”
“What is he talking about, Kelvin?” asked Marcus, his spoon poised for another bite of pudding. “Have you broken your promise to the Agorans?”
Kelvin stood abruptly, his jaw and teeth clenched. “I made no promise!” he said.
“What about Fredric’s oath to give them back their lands?” said Jayson. “What of Dokur’s debt to them for spilling their blood in defense of this city?”
Kelvin stood still as stone, his face reddening under the questioning glares of everyone at the table. But it was Prost who answered.
“My dear Jayson. No one is keeping from the Agorans what they deserve. Kelvin is only doing what is best for Dokur and for the entire Isle of Imaness. We are preparing for war. As you well know, our navy was destroyed in the mainland’s invasion earlier this year, and it has taken a great deal of time and money to rebuild it. We are in no position to just hand over half the kingdom.”
“You stole that land from them.”
“Not I, Jayson. You know full well that Fredric moved your people off their lands and enslaved them in response to your betrayal. So I suppose in some way you could say you are to blame for all this. Now, won’t you sit down and have some pudding?”
Jayson hesitated, then stomped to the opposite end of the table and dropped down into a chair. A server promptly set down a bowl of yellow pudding in front of him, but he did not eat it. Instead, he glared down the long table at his Kelvin.
“I thought you’d make a wise ruler,” said Jayson after an uncomfortable silence. “I believed you’d do great things. I never imagined that you would deprive anyone of what is rightfully theirs.”
“I might change my mind,” said Kelvin, “if the Agorans were an honorable people. So far it seems they are nothing more than a bunch of beggars and criminals and don’t deserve to have any land other than the swamps my grandfather gave them when you were a child.”
Jayson fumed. “How dare you say such things about my people!”
Kelvin threw his napkin onto the table. “Over the past few weeks, your “people” have done everything in their power to sabotage our preparations for war against the Hestorians. They somehow sneak into court and destroy my property. They write threats across the walls with the blood of my own guards. And shortly before you all arrived in Dokur, they succeeded in setting one of my royal navy ships on fire. It’s gotten so that I go to bed at night fearing for my life!”
“How do you know the Agorans are to blame?” Jayson asked.
“Because a week ago one of my guards survived an attack. He saw the man’s face, though he nearly died for the privilege.”
“No decent Agoran would do such a thing!” Jayson rose to his feet.
Kelvin stood as well, pounding both fists against the table. “And I do not believe that Agorans are decent! So until your people stop their attacks, I will not fulfill Fredric’s decree!”
Through the entire conversation, Zyll continued to eat his pudding. His bowl now empty, he pushed his chair back from the table and gave a loud, satisfied belch. The argument came to an abrupt end. Everyone gazed at Zyll, astonished.
“Pardon me,” Zyll said with an embarrassed chuckle, but Marcus wasn’t fooled. His grandfather had intentionally interrupted their dinner. If he wanted Jayson and Kelvin to stop fighting, thought Marcus with approval, his scheme couldn’t have worked any better.
Forty-one
The mood in the dining hall immediately lightened, and Marcus noticed the slightest of smiles on everyone’s lips. Zyll rose from the table and motioned for Marcus to give him his arm. “I’ve left Xerxes in my room. Would you be so kind as to help an old man to his bed?”
Marcus helped Zyll to the door. Zyll paused long enough to pat Jayson’s shoulder. “Where are you staying, my boy?” he asked.
“In town at the Seafarer.”
“Good. Good. I have business to attend to tomorrow afternoon. We shall visit you then. It warms my heart to see you.” Then addressing the room, Zyll added, “Goodnight to you all.”
“Goodnight, Father, Marcus,” said Jayson.
Marcus gave Jayson a quick embrace. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, addressing his father and Kelvin both.
Kelvin replied with an abrupt but gracious “Yes, goodnight.”
Marcus led Zyll down the hall. He was not entirely happy to have left the dining room just then. He wanted to hear more of the discussion between Kelvin and Jayson. As though sensing his thoughts Zyll said, “Some conversations are not meant to be overheard.”
They walked slowly toward their rooms. Marcus noticed how frail Zyll’s hand looked, pale and creased with age. He knew that Zyll’s actual age was far younger than he looked, but years of conjuring magic spells had taken their toll and left Zyll ever more feeble. Marcus would never do anything to upset him, but he could not keep silent any longer.
“Grandfather,” he asked, careful not to sound angry, “why haven’t you told Kelvin how Fredric died?”
Zyll took a few moments before answering. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “I suppose I’ve been waiting for the right time.”
“The right time?” replied Marcus with surprise. “Don’t you think he ought to know he’s in danger? You heard about the attacks in the Fortress and on the ships. What if the Agoran rebels—”
“Fredric was not killed by an Agoran.”
This revelation angered Marcus. His grandfather must have seen in his divining bowl who killed Fredric. Why keep it hidden?
“Another secret,” said Marcus.
Zyll looked at his grandson, his eyebrows arched in an amused expression. “Another secret?” he asked.
“Yes,” an
swered Marcus. “You collect secrets the way you collect all those trinkets in your chest back home. Like how you gave me the key, letting me believe it had some special power. Or never telling me about my father, or who my mother was.”
If Marcus’s comment surprised Zyll, he did not show it. Marcus went on, fueled by Zyll’s silence.
“I know there are many things you haven’t told me, things I ought to know. You think I’m too young or too vulnerable, but I’m not, Grandfather. And neither is Kelvin.”
They reached their rooms and paused at Zyll’s door. Zyll stood without speaking for a few moments, lost in thought.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said at last. “You are no longer that little boy in need of protection. I do have much to tell you, but the hour is late, and I am weary.”
Marcus felt a little guilty for losing his temper with his grandfather. In all his life, Zyll had never been angry with him. Marcus lowered his eyes, feeling ashamed.
“I just think we should tell Kelvin the truth about Fredric, that’s all,” he said.
Zyll nodded thoughtfully. “Do what you feel is best, my boy.”
Hearing their voices through the door, Xerxes squawked angrily. “It’s about time, old man! Leave me alone for hours with only this rude nightstand to talk to! What dreadful company!”
“I think Xerxes is a little upset,” said Zyll, his eyebrows raised. “Perhaps he’s afraid I might die and leave him without suitable companionship.”
“Don’t say such a thing!” said Marcus. The image of Zyll in the vision came flooding back.
“Well, I have to die sometime. And when I do, who will look after him?”
“You know I’d take Xerxes. Though I’m not so sure he’d want me to.”
“Perhaps,” replied Zyll, laughing. “You might like to know that Xerxes will not always be as he is now.”
“You mean a critical, snobbish sliver of wood?”
“Precisely.”
“Precisely what?” asked Marcus.
“Well,” said Zyll, lowering his voice, “he will probably always be critical and snobbish, but on my death he’ll be transformed from wood to flesh.”
The Last Enchanter Page 10