Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  Groaning, Marc reached for the door handle. “He’s right. Waiting gives the demons time. Let’s just do it.”

  With a heave, the door was pulled open, and Gib watched as Marc and the King marched inside. The palace sentinels began to follow, and Gib quirked a brow. That was peculiar. He couldn’t recall a time the royal guards had been called inside the council room.

  Before the last soldier could cross the threshold, Aodan grabbed the soldier’s arm and snarled, “Remember, yer all to be watchin’ the King. This isn’t a time for a nap or screwin’ around. You have the Queen’s orders.”

  The royal guardsman bowed so low the crest of his helm nearly brushed the floor. “Yes, Master Galloway.”

  Aodan waved the sentinel off before turning on his heel. He narrowed his single eye at Diddy. “All right, let’s go.”

  Diddy wordlessly climbed the stairs that would take them to the balcony. Gib hesitated. What was going on? “All due respect, Sir Aodan, but why are you coming with us?” No answer came immediately, and he could feel his ears and cheeks beginning to burn. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to question these odd circumstances.

  It was the youngest prince who finally responded. Crowned Prince Deegan pointed at Aodan’s back. “Mother has agreed to allow me to sit in on the council meeting, but she gave express instructions for how I was to be guarded.”

  The curt look on the bodyguard’s face suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with the assignment. Aodan cut a glare back at them both but spoke directly to Deegan. “Aye, an’ just remember that I’m not wipin’ any noses or kissin’ any scrapes. This is a meeting of men an’ if ya plan on ever comin’ back, ya need to behave like an adult.”

  Prince Deegan’s face remained stoic while Aodan watched, but as soon as his back was turned, a devious smile flashed across the young royal’s mouth. Gib had to hold back a grin of his own. There. Deegan looked more like his father now.

  “Sit where Diddy tells ya an’ keep yer mouth shut,” Aodan ordered.

  Diddy scooted down to his usual seat and patted the empty one beside him. He kept his voice a light whisper. “Here, Deegan. Hasain’s seat.”

  Gib swallowed, trying to ward off the nausea rising in his guts. Was having the young Crowned Prince attend the meeting a way for King Rishi to prepare for the worst? Was he filling Hasain’s seat in the event his eldest son didn’t return? Gib tried desperately not to think about it too much. They’re going to come back. The envoys will be all right. Joel will be all right.

  Deegan stuck his nose in the air as the understudies of the other councilors watched his every move. As the prince took his seat with all the dignity of an overstuffed peacock, Gib could feel their eyes on his back, watching the Crowned Prince and his entourage. Gib had to wonder how the royal family tolerated such constant scrutiny.

  As if to answer Gib’s thoughts, Deegan turned a grave look onto their audience. “The show is over. You may pick your chins off the floor now.” With red faces, the understudies promptly redirected their gazes.

  Gib bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning even as Aodan swatted the back of the young prince’s head. “Enough sass!”

  Down below, Neetra Adelwijn’s pompous voice rose above the din. “Well, it is about time, Highness. You could have sent word to let us know if you wanted us to meet at a later time.”

  Any good humor in the balcony instantly died as Gib turned his attention to the council table. King Rishi’s features were set in a hard, emotionless veil, and his voice was but a sigh, tired and lacking any real fire. “Had I known you had more pressing matters to attend to, High Councilor, I would have gladly granted you permission to take leave. Even now the offer stands, if you wish to go.”

  Neetra snorted a haughty laugh. “I will not abandon post so easily, Highness.” He made a vague gesture toward Koal’s seat, currently occupied by Marc. “How is our seneschal? Have you received word from him recently?”

  King Rishi’s fist clenched tight on the table top, but before he could open his mouth to respond, Marc spoke up. “We have Seneschal Koal’s notes from the Northern Empire here. However, we’ll wait for everyone to be present.” He nodded toward an empty chair near the end of the table. “Has anyone seen Diedrick Lyle? It’s not like him to be late.”

  Gib frowned. Marc was right. That was odd. Always one of the first to arrive for council, Lyle had been punctual for as long as Gib could remember.

  “Lord Lyle is typically a very responsible member of our council,” Neetra huffed. “I trust he will have an excuse for his tardiness. Should we start without him?”

  The councilors glanced around the table at one another, and the general opinion seemed to be receptive to the idea, but even as they chose to commence without him, the doors swung open and a harried looking Diedrick swept inside.

  Red faced, he went to his seat immediately, uttering a vague and unsatisfactory excuse. “Apologies. I was held up.”

  Neetra’s smug voice carried above the table. “Well, we’re all here. Shall we proceed, Highness?”

  King Rishi’s face was white as he called the meeting to order. “Very well, High Councilor.”

  A mark hadn’t yet passed when a man appeared at their door to take them to the amphitheater. Joel’s stomach knotted as their guide led him and the other envoys through the palace gates and into the city. Sunlight poured through the magic veil above, but the rays felt harsh against his skin and did nothing to lighten his dark mood. No one spoke as they walked.

  The streets bustled with people. In stark contrast to the envoys, most of them chattered amongst themselves as they went about their business. Joel imagined he and his comrades must have appeared as though they were going to a burial service. He grimaced. Partially true. How many warriors will I be forced to watch die today? Joel tried not to think about it as he followed behind Cenric.

  A great fortress crafted from limestone and marble loomed ahead. Stone columns climbed so high they blotted out the sun and cast dark shadows across the city below. Great statuaries were carved into the rock, each depicting mighty Imperial warriors, dressed head to toe in armor and bearing longswords and shields. Their square, angled faces were sculpted with such fine detail they could have been real. Unblinking stone eyes stared down at the citizens of Teivel in the streets below. Joel sucked in a sharp breath of air. He knew it was ridiculous, but he felt as though those lifeless, marble eyes were reading the depths of his soul.

  The uncanny sensation finally ebbed when the guide led them through a tunnel at the base of the building. Torches lined the interior of the tunnel, illuminating damp, mossy walls. The temperature inside dropped enough that Joel wished he’d brought a cloak. At the far end of the corridor, light poured through an arched gateway. Joel nearly had to sprint to keep up as they moved straight toward the light source. His stomach rolled with anxiety.

  Joel’s mouth hung ajar as they passed through the other end of the tunnel. A vast arena lay below. A pit of white sand served as the performance area, surrounded by three tiers of seating and a brick wall dividing the arena from the spectators. Two barred gates on opposing ends of the playing field led below ground and seemed to be the only way in or out of the arena. Joel imagined once the gates were lowered, the only method of escape would be victory in the ring—or death.

  He shuddered and looked away from the pit, choosing to focus his attention on the spectator area instead. All around him, patricians dressed in clothing more aptly suited for a wedding or great feast conversed with one another. Servants bustled from one person to the next, offering wine and sweet treats from platters. Light, cheerful music drifted on the breeze, and Joel was shocked when he realized an ensemble of musicians played beneath a nearby awning.

  Disgust passed across Joel’s face as he looked from one courtier to the next. Didn’t they know they were about to watch people slay each other? Why were they acting as though they were attending a party? This wasn’t a time for food and music. It was a time for mourning! In a
matter of minutes, people were going to die. How could these spectators be so nonchalant? He didn’t have time to delve further as their guide motioned for them to follow him to the Emperor’s box.

  Emperor Lichas sat front and center on a dais above the pit. Adrian Titus lounged to the Emperor’s immediate right, and beside the Archmage were the two Shiraz princes and Chancellor Garron. To the Emperor’s left sat a beautiful young woman with elaborately woven blonde hair and a stunning lavender dress fit for a queen. The other members of the royal court lounged on plush, velvet cushions behind the Emperor’s party. A silk canopy tented them, preventing the midday sun from touching their skin and eyes.

  The guide stepped before the dais and took to one knee. “Your Grace, your distinguished guests have arrived.”

  Emperor Lichas lifted his chalice, and immediately a servant boy was by his side to fill it. “Be welcomed to the amphitheater, visitors from Arden. You’ve come to Teivel at the most opportune time. Thrice a year, our mighty gladiators battle for fame and glory within the arena, and today promises to be a match the people will talk about for years to come.”

  Joel bent forward, staring at the dusty marble steps as he bowed alongside the others. He could feel the Emperor’s cold stare pass across the group of envoys without needing to glance up, and a sudden fear gripped his heart. What if he couldn’t do this? What if he was unable to watch the match? Did he stand to get into trouble?

  “As always, your hospitality is most generous, Your Grace,” Koal said, rising to his full height once again.

  Lichas motioned to the woman sitting beside him. “This is my wife, Cassia.”

  The young woman rose to her feet, extending her hand to Koal.

  Koal took hold of it. His large, calloused hand dwarfed hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Empress. Words cannot accurately describe your beauty.”

  Cassia nodded regally and replied in a soft, well-rehearsed voice, “Thank you, Seneschal of Arden. I hope you’ve found Teivel to your liking thus far.”

  “We have, Empress.”

  “It pleases me to hear that, Seneschal,” she replied, her tone lukewarm. When Koal released her hand, Cassia bowed hastily and returned to her cushion. She did not once make eye contact with her husband.

  The Emperor cleared his throat. “Envoys, take a seat. The match will commence shortly—” He narrowed his eyes in Joel’s direction, and for a brief moment, the mage thought he’d done something to offend the ruler. But no, the Emperor was glaring beyond Joel, at someone else. “Ah, Alerio, there you are. Tardy, as usual.”

  “Your Grace,” Prince Alerio greeted, locking his jaw in a most stubborn display. He’d somehow managed to approach undetected, perhaps because no flock of courtiers hung from his arm today. The sunlight reflected off his golden crown and hair as he bowed to his sire. “Please forgive my lateness.”

  “You are forgiven,” the Emperor sighed. “Go take your seat.”

  Alerio’s shrewd eyes flashed toward the envoys. “May I propose Lord Hasain Radek and his peers sit with my party during the match?”

  Joel glanced at Hasain in time to see the young lord’s shoulders tense. Koal frowned as well but said nothing. Sit where? Is Alerio not sitting with the rest of his family?

  Emperor Lichas took a sip from his chalice, watching the envoys carefully from the corner of his eye. “If Hasain Radek and his peers desire to sit with you, they may.”

  Joel swallowed. The Emperor had phrased his words as though they had the option to decline, but did they really? Or was this the same as the Emperor’s invitation?

  “What say you, Lord Hasain?” Alerio asked. His smooth voice unsettled Joel’s nerves. “The other lords and I would quite enjoy your company. You as well, Lords Liro and Joel Adelwijn.”

  Hasain’s uncertain eyes flashed toward Koal, clearly seeking some kind of answer from the seneschal. Joel could feel his own heart racing.

  I don’t want to go sit with them. What if they mean to pry for information? Father told us not to discuss Arden with any of these Imperials. Can I refuse to answer questions, or will such behavior be perceived as rude? Joel stole a glance at Liro, doubting his brother would be able to contain his own personal opinions. This is a bad idea.

  Koal gave no spoken answer, but his pale blue eyes met Hasain’s dark ones, and some form of silent, mutual understanding passed between the seneschal and the young Radek. Joel thought he understood, too. This was Hasain’s decision to make. He was the son of the King. To ask permission in front of these Imperial highborns would have painted him in a bad light. In this instance, he couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

  Hasain straightened his back, voice steady and assured despite the wariness he surely must have felt. “It would be an honor to accompany you, Prince. We accept your invitation.”

  Joel’s pulse thudded in his ears, louder than thunder or violent deluge. So it was decided.

  “Very good,” Alerio replied, motioning for them to follow.

  Cenric touched Joel’s shoulder as he passed. “We’ll find you at the end of the match.” The ambassador’s tepid smile and gingerly spoken words did little to settle Joel’s stomach.

  He followed behind Hasain, Liro, and the prince. Leaving the dais behind, they climbed to the third and highest tier of seating, where a silk awning shadowed a private viewing box. Joel cast aside his worry long enough to gawk at the scenery. From way up here, the panoramic view of the amphitheater was incredible. He began to grow dizzy staring at the gathered courtiers in the stands below and had to focus his attention elsewhere.

  Two youthful, well-dressed men waited in the private box. They were as different from one another as night was from day—one stout with coarse, light brown hair, the other towering above his companion, with wispy blond hair and sharp azure eyes.

  Prince Alerio gestured toward them as he moved beneath the canopy. “Lord Balios Theron, son of Councilor Theron. And my cousin, Lord Stavros Sarpedon. These are Lord Hasain Radek, son of King Rishi Radek, and Lords Liro and Joel Adelwijn—our guests from Arden.” Both men nodded cordially and uttered quiet greetings, but Joel sensed no gregariousness from either lord.

  Alerio tapped the limestone bench. “Have a seat.” He flagged down a servant as Joel and the others seated themselves, and a moment later, wine was being poured for the party. Joel accepted a gilded chalice, if only to be polite. He grasped it between his fingers, thankful that by holding the goblet, he wouldn’t be tempted to wring his hands.

  Balios, who sat on the opposite side of the prince, glanced around his peer to stare at the foreign lords. “My prince has informed me this is your first visit to our grand empire. Have you found it to your liking so far?”

  “Teivel is extravagant,” Liro responded as he accepted a drink. “In comparison, Silver City looks like an unkempt hovel.” He chuckled darkly. “Of course, Silver is brimming with vagrants, thieves, waifs, and other undesirables. They serve no purpose other than to tarnish our otherwise beautiful city. I must say, I stand impressed when I look upon Teivel. It seems you’ve found a way to purge your streets of such uncouth company.”

  Balios nodded, his mouth twitching as the telltale signs of a smirk flashed across his thin lips. “The scum is kept outside the dome, on the outskirts of the city.”

  Joel held back the urge to glower. He knew it would be unwise to state his own opinion or scold Liro for voicing his, so Joel remained silent.

  “As it should be,” Alerio sneered. “Even still, the peasants are an ugly smear against our white walls. If I were Emperor, I’d have half a mind to send the Imperial army outside the dome to slaughter the whole lot of them.”

  Joel could only think of Gib and his family. Had they all been born here, Gib would be one of those “ugly smears.” Would Joel have held the same opinion as Alerio and his friends? Would he have been so cruel as to wish for Gib to be slaughtered simply because of his birth status? Joel’s chest ached at the thought of it.

  “It would free up
space for those more deserving,” Balios chuckled. “The dome could be extended once the filth was washed away.”

  Joel couldn’t take any more. He had to say something. His voice sounded foreign to him. “If not for your peasants, who would service your country?” Liro’s deadly glare burned into his brother, but he couldn’t stop now that he’d begun. “Surely you wouldn’t have your elite doing the lowly, mundane tasks required to keep your grand city afloat.”

  The prince’s eyes speared Joel as sharply as any blade. “Our best servants have long bloodlines, Lord Adelwijn. They are more than capable of doing any job an uneducated, unrefined vagrant could do.”

  Tense silence grew around them, and Joel locked his jaw to keep from saying more. He glared at his boots and wished desperately for the heat in his cheeks to subside.

  After a moment, Hasain cleared his throat, stepping up to make amends for Joel’s folly. “Apologies, Prince Alerio. Arden’s guidelines are so very different from your own. We haven’t enough servants to be rid of our lower class just yet, no matter how unsavory they may be.”

  Joel wanted to be offended. He wanted to shout at Hasain to take it back. Gib wasn’t unsavory! Nor were his family or friend Nage. Being commonborn was no crime, and it didn’t make a person less desirable. He wanted to fuel his rage but knew better. Hasain had just saved Joel’s neck.

  Alerio waved the wine server away and turned to address Hasain directly. “How fare the council sessions between our lands? You’ve been meeting for a moonturn now. I would hope to hear good news.”

  Hasain took a delicate sip from his chalice before gracing the Imperial prince with a response. “Despite our differences, we’ve made progress restoring harmony between our nation and yours.”

  “And what of Shiraz and Nales?”

  Hasain paused, his mouth pulling into a severe slant as he thought out his next words. “Old grudges die hard. But Arden is ready to cast these fears of war aside and work to make peace with both Shiraz and Nales. No one will benefit from bloodshed, but much is to be gained if we set aside our differing ideals and focus on how we can help each another instead.”