Cassandra had the painful feeling that Arkus had deliberately looked at her on his final words. She tried to ignore it, returning to her meal and accidentally scraped her knife loudly against her plate. Thane shuddered at the noise but Arkus didn’t flinch. A few seconds seemed to stretch out to an eternity. Then Arkus picked up his knife and fork like nothing was amiss.
Luckily, Thane had much more to say on the topic of his first weapon. Eyes alight with thoughts of swords and armour, he told them all about his hopes and dreams in entering the world of knights and heroes, as he saw it.
“One day, I’ll be as tall as Gellick,” he said. “One day, I’ll hit more marks than Balack. I’ll slay all the demons and I’ll take the black powder to Kar’drun and blow it up!”
Arkus laughed. “That’s not a bad idea, really.” Downing the last of his wine, he set the glass down beside his equally cleaned plate. Cassandra still played with her meal. With little food in her, the wine had hit her head and made her nauseous.
Thane yawned. “Is there anything sweet to come?”
“I have arranged for a pear tart,” Arkus said.
Thane pouted.
“It’s your sister’s favourite.” He looked to Cassandra, anticipating some reaction from her. She looked up eventually as if from a dream.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, good.” It was, sort of. She’d made a big deal over how delicious one had been once. It must have stuck in his mind. Arkus smiled warmly and she knew it was genuine. Despite her strained feelings, despite all the things she wanted to say to him, she didn’t have the heart to correct him and wipe that smile away.
“Yuck,” Thane said, sticking out his tongue.
“You don’t want it?” Arkus said.
“Nope.”
Cassandra gave him a gentle poke in the stomach. “I saw you scoffing two slices last time we had it. Don’t act up for Father.”
Thane gave her a withering look, a fine imitation of his mother to be sure. Cassandra followed up by tickling him. He squirmed, giggled, and clamped his hands upon hers to stop her.
“I just like rhubarb pudding so much better,” he said.
Arkus considered it. “Well, as we’ve had such a nice evening, why not indulge a little more. I’ll send word to have it made.”
Thane threw his fists triumphantly into the air and a knock came at the door.
Arkus frowned, turning in his chair.
“My will was clear. No disturbances.”
The door opened any way.
Olive stood straight backed like a solider the between the frame, seemingly unfazed by the King’s ire.
“Begging your pardon, my Lord, but I’ve come with Prince Thane’s medicine.”
Thane’s fists fell, and he made another face of disgust.
“Ah, yes,” Arkus said. “I’d forgotten the time, I admit. Do come in,” he beckoned with an inviting wave.
Now bidden, Olive bustled in with purpose, holding a vial of green-grey liquid and a tablespoon thrust forth like a cudgel.
Thane groaned but accepted the strange liquid with weary resignation. He winced as he swallowed it.
“Good boy,” Arkus said. “Olive here can take you down to the kitchens and the chef will make you whatever you like.”
Thane’s face lit up. “Thank you, father.” He hopped off his chair in excitement and was halfway to the door, before he returned to give Cassandra a breathy farewell hug. He hugged Arkus too, and the King kissed him on the head. They all smiled at Thane’s cheerfulness, even Olive, yet once the door clicked shut, and Cassandra sat alone with Arkus, those smiles morphed. He pressed his lips together in a thin stern line, while she pursed hers in defiance.
Arkus rapped his fingers on the table in a manner that foreshadowed his temper: pinkie to thumb and back again. He picked up the wine jug, poured what would be his third cup, but proffered it to Cassandra.
“No, thank you.”
Arkus accepted this silently, placed the jug down, leaned back, swirled the wine and sighed.
“What have I done now?”
Cassandra didn’t answer. She didn’t know if she dared speak and risk everyone else.
“I’ve left you well enough alone,” Arkus said. “No more fake engagements, no dangerous assignments, well perhaps today was a touch risky, but there were plenty of guards.”
Cassandra was at a loss. Did he really think this she was upset about that?
“It’s not how you treat me, but others.”
Arkus’ nostrils flared. “Not this again?”
“I can’t begin to imagine the strain that ruling has had on you, father, especially these recent years as Castallan grew more powerful while the dragons and fairies stood and did little. I know they aren’t perfect. You must have felt alone against insurmountable odds. It made sense to gather strength, to build high walls, to make new weapons, try to gain the power you needed to face those threats.”
Cassandra couldn’t stop herself now. Nor could she quite rationalise it. Seeing Arkus sitting a little slumped, tired, not wearing his crown, which was both a burden and the mask he hid behind, she thought she might reach out to him: the man behind it all. Arkus thumbed the rim of his glass, saying nothing. Yet despite all her reservations, despite all her flickers of fear and wariness, he was the only direct blood relation left to her and she didn’t want to see him cast down.
If she could make him listen, then there would be no need for secret plots.
She gulped before pursuing her final course. “Father, let the Kingdom know you mean to rule justly. Don’t print pamphlets that make people afraid of dragons but let them know about the troubles we all face. Speak in truths, not half lies. Don’t send armed men as knives to the throats of your lords. Don’t force them all to sign a charter they’ll hate you for. Don’t push Oranna away because she isn’t your first love—”
“Stop,” Arkus said. He spoke softly but it halted Cassandra mid flow, the breath catching in her throat. Arkus stared blankly at the tablecloth, his upper lip curling back on one side, trembling in grief or fury.
“Just stop. You can attack me on whichever front you wish, but don’t drag your mother into this. It’s not for her that… no. No that would be a lie.” He threw back the contents of his glass, seeming to work himself up to something. He looked his age right now, the grey hair a sign of the years rather than dignity.
“Arkus,” Cassandra said. “Father. I say these things to… well, I only mean to help you. I —”
“Does Oranna resent me so much?”
Cassandra had walked into dangerous territory now. How far should she go? A moment’s hesitation would give it away anyway.
“The last year has been hard on her as well.”
“Answer me,” Arkus said. “Does she resent me enough that she has you trained to mouth the opinion she herself won’t give?”
Cassandra felt cornered now. “She hasn’t been happy. But I think you’ve known that for a long time.”
“Hmmm,” Arkus mused. He poured another glass of red, the remnants of the wine sloshing against the sides of the emptying jug. “Do you know what today is?” He asked. “Of course, you wouldn’t,” he said, not giving her time to answer. “I’ll give Oranna the benefit of the doubt and assume she’s simply forgotten as well. Today marks the date of your mother’s passing.” His fingers shook, wine spilling over onto the pristine cloth as he took another drink. “Each and every year since this day has been cursed for me. A black mood comes over me. This year, I thought I might spend an evening with my family, my whole family,” he added. “That means Oranna as well. Yet she spends her time with her father and I cannot begrudge that. Who am I to rob a father of time with his daughter, when I was robbed of mine.”
Cassandra found herself at a loss. Where was this going? And did she want him to take them there, sinking into feelings
which had barely surfaced for herself yet might drown her if she fell right into them.
“You couldn’t even let me have one night free of my burdens?”
“I didn’t know,” Cassandra said. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. That wasn’t my intention.”
“D’you know how fragile this is.” His words bore a hint of the wine, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. He cast a hand around the room, then between them. “Not the palace or the power, but us, you, me, Thane and Oranna. It wasn’t fair, not fair at all that Thane should be born so frail. Was it so wrong of me to try and strengthen what I could? To protect what little I had scraped back from the world.”
“And now you have it all figured out,” Cassandra said. “You’ve won.”
Arkus got to his feet, knocking the table as he rose. “And because of that I have it all to lose all over again.” He raised his glass, but thought better of it as it touched his lips. Carefully, he set it down, withdrew his hand and pressed a fist into the table, knuckles turning white.
Cassandra maintained a steady breath. Now was not the time for sudden outbursts. Arkus was laying himself raw before her. She might steer him in the right direction, but anything too aggressive would put his back up stronger than ever.
“I fear, father, that in seeking to strengthen yourself you only made enemies you otherwise wouldn’t have.”
She expected him to deny it, to shout her down, tell her that she didn’t understand.
Yet Arkus frowned and nodded. “It might be you’re right. I may have gone too far. Though it was only ever in defence of the family I couldn’t bear to lose a second time. But,” he said, his voice lowering, “I have blamed the dragons also, and not entirely unfairly. For it is their war and their enemy and their failure that brought us to the brink of defeat. Yet I am not so deluded as to not realise that much of that anger comes from frustration, even jealously. Yes, jealously,” he said, in answer to Cassandra’s surprise. “Their King has unwavering loyalty. Always Draconess spoke, and his will was followed. Always Draconess had respect, and love, and never had to employ an ounce of fear, nor more generosity than he saw fit. And I saw his arrogant son, so full of pride it reeked, and I had to accept that one day he would be their King; that Darnuir would inherit that sword and rule effortlessly without a care to those under him or sitting across the table from him. I was jealous of them both. I nursed a quiet hatred. And in my darkest days, I turned to that for some comfort.
“I sought power for myself because I said it would make all of humanity stronger. But it was really for me. All so that I’d have something when everything else had been taken from me. Even now I am jealous of the boy King, for he has all the experience of a child and still his word alone is law. You ask me to give it up, the power I have gathered. Would it sicken you to hear that I do not wish to?”
Cassandra felt sick enough already. What little food she’d eaten wasn’t sitting well and she hadn’t a clue of how she should proceed.
Something in her made her stand and lean across the table to match Arkus. “It would sadden me greatly, if you became the very thing that your former friends feared.”
“Say it.”
“Tyrant.”
The word cut through the short space between them like a knife in the dark, unseen but piercing.
“Oranna says this?” Arkus said, a menace in his eye.
“I say it,” Cassandra said. “I say it. Oranna has nothing to do with this. It is I that you must satisfy, father. I say it. Tyrant.”
Arkus seemed unbalanced, both in mind and body. His mouth opened in a stunned gape, his hand slipped upon the table and sent the wine glass flying, so that the dark red liquid seeped into the cloth and carpet. He slumped back into his chair, hands grasping the armrests.
Cassandra remained standing, leering over him. Her hair framed her face like a black cloak, and her chest rose and fell with short breaths. She’d abandoned caution. Perhaps Arkus would only listen to threats.
“You need to start to make things right. It can be step by step, but you must. If you don’t, then one day, the kingdom will rise against you again, or Thane if he is King, and the cycle will run forever on.”
“What have you done?”
“Enough to set things in motion.”
Arkus collected himself and sat straighter, staring at Cassandra in new wonderment.
“And you’re just telling me boldly that you’re working against me?”
“You won’t hurt me, father. So listen to what I’m saying.”
She braced herself, ready for the fallout of her folly. She’d gotten worked up and had acted too soon. Fear that she’d misjudged Arkus’ feelings for her blazed white hot, and an image of a soundless dark cell below the palace flashed before her.
The crystal decanter of water was shaking powerfully. She only now realised it had been her trembling hand upon the table.
Then Arkus barked a laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud.” He laughed again, almost madly.
Cassandra breathed a little easier. “I said it before. I know you have suffered a lot over the years. But it’s all over. Now is the time to make a change.”
Arkus reached for the jug of wine and drank straight from it. Some beads ran down his chin as he gulped. When he reappeared, much of the tension had passed from him. He was even smiling.
“Never before have I had an enemy I did not wish to fight.” He considered for another long moment. Cassandra tapped her fingers, much like her father. Finally, he met her eye and said, “I’ll send word to Jasper to halt production of the Charter. I’ll even order them to be recalled.”
She heard the words but almost couldn’t believe he’d said them. But he had. And something about the way he looked at her left her stunned. She’d never been able to read his eyes before, but now they were wide and open and honest. He really meant it. He really had changed his mind.
“Hopefully, it’s not too late,” Cassandra said, but in the spirit of conciliation, she hastened to add, “but it’s a start.” She slumped back down as well, feeling fatigued.
The pair of them were breathing hard, as though a battle had been fought.
Neither had anything else to say.
Another knock came at the butler’s door and their heads snapped in unison towards it. The butler entered, nose up, face made of stone, ignoring the mess and the dishevelment of his King and Princess. Between his arms he held a tray that he brought to the table. A smell of pastry and caramelised sugar burst forth as the pear tart was revealed. The butler’s underling brought the serving slice, the bowls, the spoons, and cleared the remnants of the lamb away. Without a word, they left.
After a time, Arkus stirred. He cut a slice of the tart, slid it into a bowl with a grunt, as though even this small effort was exhausting, and pushed the bowl across the table to Cassandra. He dropped down a spoon beside it with a clatter.
Cassandra blinked. Her fingers felt numb as she picked up the spoon, not really registering the cold metal.
As she began to eat, Arkus cut himself a slice and quietly joined her.
When she had finished, Cassandra reached for another slice. Arkus did the same.
The only sound was of the chink of spoon on bowl, the soft squish of pear being mushed or cut, the crunch and churning of their chewing.
Slice by slice, in charged silence, they ate the entire tart.
Chapter 21
THE LOYAL SON
“Of the old island kings, it is said that when a storm approached a true Imar would smile.”
— From Tiviar’s Histories
Grigayne – Dalridia – Hall of Somerled Imar
IN HIS FATHER’S hall, Grigayne rubbed his hands over the central fire. The smell of wood smoke was a fine companion to the warmth, as was the rich amber glow from racks of whisky lining the walls. The heat, light and smoke
were comforting senses of home he’d not known he’d missed. Yet the hall was dull today, the servants keeping their heads low as they went about their tasks. The whole city had been subdued now that he reflected on it, and he’d been escorted in, not by islanders, but by Brevian soldiers.
That had not been so comforting. He’d brushed it aside, however, thinking them to be Arkus’ fresh troops who had been sent to the east and were merely stopping in Dalridia along the way. Even as he considered more disturbing possibilities, Somerled emerged from his rooms behind the King’s Rock. And he was not alone.
Five Brevian soldiers flanked him, only their uniforms differed from Arkus’ regular footmen. They lacked any mail, or even heavy padding, wearing a black coat with white buttons and trim. Propped up on their shoulders were, well, they were the strangest looking weapons that Grigayne had ever seen. At least, he assumed they were weapons, for they seemed like short spears to him with the blade removed – basically clubs, and not a lot of use if so.
The soldiers hung back as Grigayne greeted his father in a strong embrace.
“Ye look knackered, son,” Somerled said. His voice was deadened, not its usual high sharp bite. Between the two of them, Grigayne thought his father looked the more haggard. His face was grey, and his hair looked thinner.
“I’m just tired from my journey,” Grigayne said. “But why do you look so worn?” He eyed the soldiers suspiciously before continuing. “Listen, I know it is a tough thing to ask, but I return seeking more warriors and supplies to return to Aurisha with. Every man, woman, turnip and flank of mutton you can spare.”
Somerled scrunched up his lips then gestured with an open palm to the long wooden table underneath the King’s Rock.
“Let’s sit and eat first.”
A little puzzled, Grigayne sat. The King’s Rock rose sharply above their heads. Lord Somerled often made his speeches while standing upon it, placing his bare feet into the carved footprints like the Island Kings of old. Somerled continued that tradition, even if the line of Imar had long ceased being royal.
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