It had been a long day already. She was tired, but reminded herself that for many the day was just beginning. There was so much to do, so very much to do. Keeping everything perfect, or as close to perfect as possible, meant that even in the wee hours of the night someone somewhere was working in support of the household.
When she began she vowed that she wouldn’t forget the night workers as Sedrick Bever had done. Sure, the day cooks, stewards and workers were the ones whose labor most directly impacted the king, his family, honored guests, and the like, but the night staff had their place too.
One of her first official actions as housemistress had been to double their daily copper. She had gained important allies in doing so, but that had not been her intent. She saw no reason the night staff made half as much as their daytime counterparts. They were no less important. Their work no less meaningful.
She was dressing when the knock came on the door. She looked up, called out, “Enter, please.” She blushed when she saw it was Princess Adrina, blurted out a quick apology. “What brings you to my door, Dri?”
Adrina smiled at the familiar childhood name. It always brought memories, even for Myrial. “Everything,” she said. “Everything. I’ve never seen him so shaken. It was as if all the world fell away and he was left standing alone on a mountain top.”
Myrial helped Adrina to a chair, pretended for Adrina’s benefit that she knew nothing. She called out to Garette. He came running into the room. “Where’s Anri?” she asked. Anri was the only member of the lavish personal staff of the former housemaster she had retained. “Send for him. Tell him we need food and drink.”
Garette hurried away. She called after him, “Drink, first. Something warm, but not hot.”
“We’re alone now,” Myrial whispered. “I’m here for you.”
“I’ve never seen him like this. It’s like… like…” her voice trailed off. She sat quietly until the refreshments arrived. Myrial didn’t push for more information.
Myrial thanked Anri, nodded to the drink. She poured the deep black kindra-ale into two cups. One she handed to Adrina. As Adrina sipped the drink, the color returned to her face. “You’ve been walking the gardens,” Myrial said, “You’re likely to catch a chill that way. Winter’s here. I can feel it. The snows will come early.”
“I’ve lost him.”
“Valam will recover. I know he will.”
“Not Valam, Emel. He’s really gone this time, isn’t he? This isn’t like High Road. There was no promise of return.”
“I think he is,” Myrial said solemnly, “I think he is.”
“One man comes back into my life, another goes. Does it always have to be that way?”
Myrial didn’t get a chance to respond. A loud alarm sounded throughout the palace. The two could hear the tinny gongs from the main level, followed by those spreading the alarm below. The clank clack of armored feet running down the halls followed.
Garette Timmer raced into the room. The open door provided a view into the hall. Adrina could see lines of guardsmen hurrying down the hall, weapons in hand.
Garette’s face showed unease. To Adrina and Myrial the alarm meant little more than the rousing of the guards, but Timmer understood the signal within the alarm. The beats had a meaning. Each series carried a message.
Adrina and Myrial looked at each other anxiously. They followed Garette down the crowded hall. He had enlisted four other guardsmen as their escort. Two of the guards cleared a path in front of them, two brought up the rear.
To onlookers it might have seemed that the palace was an ant hill suddenly come alive. In many ways this was true. The entire palace guard was on alert. The palace was sealed. No one allowed in. Only guards were allowed out. They poured out of the palace and into the streets of Imtal.
“The king has been attacked,” went the whisper in the hall. This set Adrina’s heart and mind on fire. Myrial tried to calm her, tried to remind her that she must find control, keep her composure, act like the princess she was.
Adrina couldn’t. Her world was collapsing around her. Suddenly it seemed she was the one standing alone on a mountain top, the world in chaos all around her. It had taken years to come to terms with her mother’s death. What would she do if something happened to her father? She couldn’t cope with that pain. She didn’t want to have to.
She stopped abruptly. Garette nearly collided with her. She started screaming hysterically. Everything and everyone around her stopped as if frozen in their places. Heads turned, eyes met hers.
Myrial grabbed Adrina’s arms, smothered her in an embrace, all the while shouting, “Go on, go on! Get out of here!”
“Look at me, Adrina,” Myrial said, “We can get through this. We can get through this.”
“You don’t understand,” Adrina said through sobs. “Not again, I can’t. I can’t go through this again.”
“You’re strong, Adrina. Be strong now.”
Alarms began to sound again. Myrial looked to Garette. “Assembly,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“Captain’s muster, the Hall. We must hurry.”
Myrial turned back to Adrina. “We can do this together, you and I.”
Adrina nodded absently. They started walking. Within minutes they were standing outside the great hall.
“Are you ready to do this?” Myrial asked, knowing what Adrina knew. If the king sat on the throne, he lived; if Valam sat on the throne, the king was dead.
Adrina’s heart pounded in her ears. The doors opened. Her worst fears were realized. She had a direct view of Valam. Their eyes met. It was all she could do to stand.
The weight of the world crushed her.
She couldn’t breathe. Her face flushed. Her knees buckled. Only Myrial’s arm locked in hers kept her from falling. Everything seemed surreal as if she looked in on another’s nightmare.
For an instant the iris of Valam’s eyes flashed white. It was as if Adrina had a window into his very soul. He stood beside their father’s throne. His arm rested on top the thick dark wood on the mighty chair’s back. He wore the crown jewels, and the great green jewel atop the crown glistened in the waning light of the day.
Beside Valam stood a woman Adrina had never seen before. She wore a circlet of gold. The color of the woman’s thin silk dress was matched perfectly to the olive color of her skin. She looked like a queen, though Adrina knew she wasn’t. It wasn’t until the woman turned to look at her that Adrina saw, really saw.
She understood then, but she didn’t want to. She started to scream. She wanted to scream.
A voice called out to her. The sound of it as if the person speaking were far away, far away in another time and place. She gasped.
Feeling light-headed she put her hand to her face, closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes moments later she found she was still standing before the closed doors of the great hall. “Would you like to sit a moment?” a voice asked her. She nodded. She did need to sit.
Garette and Myrial helped Adrina to a chair near the hall’s entrance. Adrina closed her eyes and breathed. All around her the palace was in an uproar. Alarms continued. Guards ran along the halls. Doors opened and closed. People shouted.
Someone handed her a cup, bade her drink. She put the cup to her lips and drank deeply. The bitter liquid went down poorly. She spit what she couldn’t swallow back into the cup. “That’s awful!”
“Stout,” said a strong, clear voice. “The bitters clear the mind.”
Adrina made face, looked up at Garette Timmer. “That’s awful,” she repeated.
Garette grinned. “Good to see you’ve regained your senses, princess. Trying times test a person’s mettle. What kind of person are you?”
At first Adrina was taken aback by his directness, outrage followed. How dare he speak to her as if she were a commoner. How dare he speak to her in that tone. Her friends could speak candidly but Garette Timmer was a stranger to her. “Guard your tongue,” she shot back, her face flus
hed with emotion.
“She’s regained her senses, all right,” Myrial said, winking at Garette. “We can sit here, or we can go in.”
Adrina understood. She took Myrial’s hand.
The three walked back to the doors of the great hall, their four-guard escort only a few steps behind. Adrina looked directly at the door guards, each in turn. They opened the doors in unison. Adrina led the way into the hall.
Her feet held steady when she saw Valam standing on the raised dais directly in front of the throne. He turned to look back at her, disquiet showing clearly in his eyes. She caught a breath in her throat. He took a step toward her, opening the view to the throne. It was empty.
Chapter Nine:
King’s Decree
Valam saw Adrina enter with Myrial and the young guardsman, Garette Timmer. His heart beat faster and faster as he took a few quick steps toward her. His hands were raised as they met. “This isn’t what you’re thinking,” he said matter of factly, “The city has been ordered sealed. The garrison and palace are on full alert. The king’s decree.”
“Father?” Adrina asked, “He’s…”
“Of a mind to tell Lady Isador Froen d’Ga to return to Imtal.”
Adrina turned, looked at the speaker. She smiled, found herself at a loss for words. Her father, King Andrew Alder, sat at a long table with Father Jacob and Keeper Martin. Across from him sat high-ranking palace and garrison commanders.
“Now then,” King Andrew said turning back to the commanders, “the heir to the throne and my daughter stand before you. There is no foul play.”
“The messenger,” protested Chancellor Volnej. “He is without question a man of honor.”
King Andrew stood. His eyes seemed to catch the last of the sunlight streaming through the window as he spoke. “And yet my children stand before you. There’s been no kidnapping, no murder, no attempt.” His eyes had been fixed on the commanders, but now he turned and looked directly at the chancellor who stood at the far end of the table. “You are dismissed. Return to Council Hall, bring this message—those responsible for this folly will be dealt with. Judgment will be swift; retribution, final.”
To Valam and other onlookers it was hard to tell whether the old chancellor collapsed or bowed so deeply that he got himself into a position that age simply wouldn’t allow him to recover from. Either way, he had to be physically escorted out of the hall.
King Andrew turned to Adrina then. “My daughter, light of my life, listen carefully and speak truly. Has anyone made an attempt on your life or the life of your brother this day?”
Adrina didn’t turn away from his piercing gaze. She answered directly and without hesitation. “No father. Who would say such a thing? I’ve been with Housemistress Myrial discussing matters of household, and to the market.”
“Who indeed?” said the King, turning back to the commanders. “We must end this. The rabble rousers must be shown their place. We will have no more discord, no more dissent in council.” A jeweled sword lay on the table in its sheath. He picked it up, drew the sword and raised it high, purposefully, so that the fine steel blade could catch the last of the sun’s rays.
Valam knew what the sword signified. Commanders were warriors at heart, and warriors understood strength. The king wasn’t as old and weak as the whispers. He could still wield the sovereign blade, play it in the air as if it were a toy.
But then the king did something that surprised everyone. In one swift motion, he lunged across the table and drove the blade into the chest of the man across from him. The blade easily sliced through the man’s breastplate, finding his heart. Before he could draw a breath or scream, the man lay dead atop the king’s blade.
Captain Imson Adylton who had been sitting to the left of the dead man, gulped at the air as if he were a fish out of water. Only the fact that he was the king’s staunchest supporter brought quick words to his lips. He said, his voice a whisper at first, “For king and country… For king and country!”
Others joined the chant. Some hastily, others reluctantly.
As Valam watched there was a clear shift in the room. Some of the commanders who moments before had been haughty and arrogant now found themselves at a loss. Others who were loyal supporters of the king clearly felt vindicated. King Andrew wasn’t weak. The reign of his line wasn’t at an end.
The whispers were baseless. The king, who stood before them wielding a sword, slaying the chief whisperer, wasn’t weak. He was strong and true, unafraid to confront those who were afraid to confront him. His justice was as true as his sword arm.
Valam and Imson pulled Captain Atford from the table, dumped him on the floor near the exit doors. As Valam passed Adrina on the return, he squeezed her arm, whispered, “Be strong, if ever, now.”
Adrina took a deep breath, checked her demeanor, whispered to herself, “Be strong, if ever, now.”
King Andrew pounded his fists on the table. “Let the word go forth from this hall with your own lips. The House of Alder stands. All who oppose it will find death at the hands of a just king.”
It was a dismissal. The commanders knew it. They fled the room as though their feet had wings. Only Imson Adylton lingered. He had been there in Quashan’. He understood the treachery that had been at hand then and he understood what was happening now. He put a hand on Valam’s shoulder, spoke clearly, “There is nothing you can’t ask of me. Ask and it shall be done so long as I live and breathe.”
Adrina followed her father as he called out to her and Valam. They went out the rear doors of the great hall and made a direct path for the council. Keeper Martin and Father Jacob flanked her father and behind them were a dozen of the King’s Knights. Myrial and Garette followed the others out the front doors of the hall.
The Battle of Quashan’ had hardened Adrina and, to be sure, the death and madness all around her had changed her forever. Wars changed people. There was no going back. No finding the person that had been there before. She had a new and profound understanding of life and death. The value of life, the finality of death. But a battle and a war hadn’t taken away her pain—she had. She had found a way to look inside herself and find a way past the pain.
None of that had prepared her for what she had just seen. Her father had killed a man before her eyes, in a room full of people who had simply accepted his meting out justice.
She loved her father beyond doubt. She could sense the danger. She understood Valam’s warning. Still, that didn’t mean she had to accept everything that was happening. If she couldn’t understand what was happening, how could she accept it?
The palace was in chaos. It seemed the madness of the last few days was spreading to everyone and everything. She was scared, trembling.
She fought to find control. She couldn’t show fear in front of the council. She was an Alder.
Her private thoughts ended when they reached Council Hall. The doors opened. The king and the entourage that she was a part of swept into the crowded room. She could see that both houses of the council were assembled as well as representatives from the noble houses.
The king took his place at the far side of the triangular table that dominated the room. Father Jacob and Keeper Martin followed, each taking their place at the table. Chancellor Yi indicated that she should stand behind her father, next to Valam. She did.
Voices that had been raised in anger and outrage as the doors opened fell away to quiet whispers. Eventually the whispers fell away as well.
It was when the hall was absolutely quiet that King Andrew stood, surveyed the hall. “So you’ve come,” he said after many long minutes of uncomfortable silence. “Word goes out. Whispers spread through the realm. You come as buzzards to the kill.”
One of the council members jumped from his chair. “You misunderstand, majesty. You don’t—”
“I don’t what?” interrupted King Andrew. “Speak quickly now.”
The councilor sat back down without another word.
One of the noblemen
seated in the high seats to the right of the table stood. “I am Peter Eragol, the seventeenth Peter of my line, Baron of Eragol, of Family Eragol.”
“I know who you are,” said the king.
Peter Eragol turned his eyes about the room, then stared directly at the king, his gaze unwavering as he spoke. “There are some who say the House of Alder has lost touch with the people, forfeited its power and the right to rule.” Gasps crisscrossed the hall—Peter Eragol spoke treasonous words.
Adrina did more than gasp. She nearly lost control. The Eragols were one of the most powerful families. They were the Wardens of the Mouth of the World. Their fleet in Eragol Bay was the largest in the Kingdom. They controlled shipping along the Krasnyj River, shipping lines that brought the majority of supplies to Solntse and Imtal.
Valam reached his arm around Adrina to steady her. His movements were subtle, making it look to any who had their eyes on them that he was simply reaching out to his sister. Adrina recovered nicely, the evident dismay in her expression fading as she regained her composure.
Chancellor Yi was the first to speak when the murmurs quieted. “I wonder, Peter,” he said walking toward the baron. “May I call you, Peter?” The baron was obviously taken aback by the familiar greeting and mocking tone, but said nothing, so the chancellor continued. “I wonder if you’d be so bold if you knew what I know.”
“And just what is that?” snapped the baron, his tone showing irritation. He didn’t like being addressed by the king’s underling. Clearly he wanted the king to respond—no doubt he had planned the clever rebuffs that would help drive home his point.
On the chancellor’s signal two guards dragged in the body of the dead commander. The baron’s hauteur quickly fell away. He stumbled back into the chair behind him—there was no one to catch him. Any supporters he may have had were probably busy thinking up clever denials.
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