He nearly groaned at the thought.
“A curse on the prophecy,” he muttered, making Sachin laugh. He looked to his friend. “They are wrong to put such stock in charms and magiks.”
“At one point in your life, you too believed the seers to be true and wise.”
He scoffed. “’Twas before I knew better.”
“You are most difficult, my lord.”
“I could have you beheaded,” Kabril returned.
Sachin merely snorted. “You could try.”
The people of his kingdom assumed their issues with conceiving were due to his reluctance to accept what they deemed to be destiny. Kabril wasn’t a staunch believer in the gods or of prophecy as he should be, but it came from being the one forced to accept a wife he did not want. As their ruler, it was his sworn duty to do what was best for the kingdom, regardless how much it pained him.
“My lord,” Sachin pressed, his reluctance to let the subject rest putting Kabril’s already taxed nerves on edge. The man would not cease his endless prattle about the subject no matter how much Kabril deemed he do so.
Kabril knew. He’d tried to decree it law not to speak of the ordeal.
Sachin simply ignored him.
As was the norm.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Kabril reminded himself of how proud he was, and should always be, of his people’s customs and beliefs. Although he was less than pleased with the Oracle—whom they held in such high esteem—choosing a bride for him. According to the prophecies, the Oracle would select a woman fit to lead his people, and he was honor-bound to obey. It was also said the union would produce children, something their kind sorely lacked. Once heavily populated, his lands were no longer bursting with the sounds of children singing and playing. In truth, Kabril could scarcely recall when the sounds indicative of children stopped, but he knew it had been far too long.
War had claimed the lives of many of his people. Still others, while immortal to a degree, possessed the ability to pass on to the afterlife should they so choose. There came a time in many people’s lives when they were ready to move on. It mattered not what the cause was—their population was low, as was morale. Riches only did so much to calm the people. They wanted families.
“Cursed Magaious,” he spat, not caring if he took one of the Epopisdeus’ names in vain.
Sachin clapped acrimoniously. “Bringing down the wrath of the bird gods will surely ease your burden, my lord. For if you curse one, they all rise to strike.”
“You push me too far, old friend.” Kabril smoothed his fingertips along the wood of his throne, ignoring the internal nudge to free his temper.
“You do not push yourself far enough.”
Kabril hated when Sachin was right.
Giving Sachin a daring look, Kabril let loose another curse upon the gods. He once again selected the god he knew Sachin honored weekly in hopes of provoking his friend. He was in the mood for a fight and Sachin was always a worthy adversary. The two often sparred until matins. Depending upon the day, Sachin would either continue the match or lay his sword down to go honor the gods. Kabril had long since given up his prayers to higher powers. “A pox on Magaious and those who follow him blindly.”
Sachin merely tipped his head a little and released an exasperated sigh. “Remind me again which of us is older? You seem to be acting like a fledgling, my lord.”
Arguing with Sachin would get him nowhere since it was clear Sachin was not going to take his bait. Damn him for being levelheaded. Kabril hungered for an argument, even a sparring match. Steel upon steel would settle the debate. For there was nothing more soothing than the clang of steel and the vibration up one’s arm from a good strike and an equally as good counterstrike.
Sachin would obviously give in to neither. Kabril truly hated when his advisor was calm. It took all the fun out of a good fight. Kabril drummed his fingers on his armrests, trying to devise a plan for avoiding marriage.
Especially to a human female.
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