He looked up at her entry and, upon receiving her questioning glance, gestured to an empty chair positioned across from the mysterious woman.
“What’s going on, Cal?” Kiren asked, squeezing between the table and the wall. She reached the chair, but decided to stand behind its tall back.
“Sit.” Callum’s voice hit the growl that he seemed to reserve for moments of great sorrow or disappointment. In the past two weeks, Kiren had been on the receiving end of the tone more than once.
Forcing out a breath in frustration, she perched herself onto the edge of the chair, though she kept her mind and feet active, ready for a hasty escape. Kiren eyed the mysterious woman sitting across from her with a blend of fatigue and hostility. No doubt, she imagined, this woman was here to mete out some obscure punishment for her role in Harvey and Roy’s disappearance
Without an ounce of visible malice, the woman looked up from her lap, seeming to drag her tired pale eyes to Kiren’s face.
A gleam of recognition pricked through her brain as she swapped gazes with the woman. There was an innate playfulness to her facial features, however hidden it may have been by grime, sadness, and stress. The woman suddenly looked familiar, as if she were a distant relative to someone Kiren knew dearly. Pale hair, a mix of blondes and greys, fell straight to her shoulders. And while the stranger wore a frown as well as anyone Kiren had known to call the streets home, her silken gown and the smatterings of gold jewelry on her hands and dangling from her ears betrayed the woman as high-born.
A fine fur coat draped precisely on the back of her chair, exuding both heat and luxury. Kiren’s own clothing, in comparison, sat muddied, torn, and clung wet to her thinning body. Thinking of the fur made Kiren realize her own hands were still numbingly cold, so she rubbed them together to will life and feeling back between the bones. She heard the tantalizing crackle of a fire from the hearth in the adjoining room. The thought of relaxing before the blaze evoked a shudder that rippled down her spine.
Callum’s voice tore her from her daydream. “This is Nora,” he said, as though saying the woman’s name would alleviate the tension.
Kiren forced her gaze up to match Nora’s and she was sure that the woman wore a mask of desperation. What promises had Callum made this woman? “Who is she and what does she want?” She addressed her question to Callum as though Nora was not mere feet from her.
“I’m Roy’s mother.”
Chapter 4
An overtired guard led Skuddy to an enclosed area close to the raised dais where the council would preside. After the long ascent up to the castle, he felt his bones quiver in fatigue. The guard should have offered a chair, but as far as he could tell, any chairs that had not been destroyed in the castle’s fire, were being saved for dignitaries and the council. According to the guard, there were only two civilians bringing a complaint before the council that day, and he was one of them.
A moment later, the other complainant was led in. Skuddy glanced at the man for a moment before averting his eyes.
He looked to be a laborer of sorts, as betrayed by thick, rough hands, and thin scars reminiscent of ropes crossing his bare arms. He smelled faintly of the call of the sea. It was as though the man had bathed in salt water, applying it generously onto the same pulse points where others would dab a fine perfume. The man seemed to sense Skuddy’s scrutiny, but offered no indication of being offended. He nodded his head in the way one would to an elder. His hands though, betrayed the man’s inner thoughts. They shook with a violent, fanatic-like frequency. In a vain attempt to restrain them, the man clenched and unclenched his fists, driving the blood from his knuckles.
A company of newly ordained guards entered the room and took up an impressive stance at precise intervals, circling the chamber. Looking up, Skuddy could faintly spy the morning blue of the sky through rips in the tarps stretched over holes in the roof. He thought it odd to have the council meeting in the late king’s castle. Not only did the council have their own court, separate from the keep, but, if rumors were to be believed, Providence’s audience chamber was where Gnochi single-handedly killed six guards, as well as the king himself. Workers on shoddy scaffolds worked to clean the soot from the walls and repair structural damage that the fire caused.
All the furniture, including the original dais, and the extravagant rugs that lined the floors were either destroyed, or damaged to such an extent that they were removed. The room stood barren. Heavy floors no longer accented by rugs met in sharp corners to walls no longer decorated with gaudy tapestries. All the windows remained boarded, and as such, the musk of smoke hung heavy in the air.
Adjacent to each chamber guard stood a tall lamp, which radiated electric light. The sight of electricity coursing through the room intrigued him. Like any social Blue Havenite, Skuddy had heard the rumors of electricity and other first age amenities in the late king’s castle, but to see so many, so brazenly obvious for everyone to behold, made him think they no longer cared if people knew. Despite the glow emanating from the lamps, the room, surrounded still by harsh stone, felt dark.
A commotion broke out from the gallery of pedestrian observers who stood well behind him. Looking up, he saw the councilors beginning to shuffle in. One by one, they stepped onto their dais and sat, looking out over the crowd.
In an effort to quell the fear gnawing away at his stomach, Skuddy averted his eyes to the cold slate floor beneath his feet where he spied a dark stain that had yet escaped the cleaning crew’s efforts. He pictured a guard lying in a puddle of their own blood beneath him, Gnochi’s hand the cause of such gore. It made little sense to him to even consider Gnochi culpable for such acts, though he would not be here today planning to plead before the council if his friend was not guilty in the eyes of the law.
“All rise,” a page announced.
Skuddy looked up, surprised at the intrusion, to see a handful of the lucky councilors who had chairs, stand.
The page glanced over the crowd, consisting of a few dozen citizens, with indignation. Because there were no chairs for the commonfolk, it must have appeared to the page as though everyone had ignored his command. He tapped his slipper with impatience, then announced, in a voice unnatural to his small stature, “Lords, ladies, and good folk. May I present, His Majesty, King of Lyrinth, Dorothea Providence-kin.”
A rippling gasp tore through the crowd of civilians; rumors of Dorothea’s secret coronation had not yet extended down into the mercantile or labor circles. That ended today.
Skuddy watched as Dorothea strutted across the council dais, assuming all attitudes of a king. A bitter lump rose in his throat. He still remembered the morning, close to two years ago, when the squat man barged into Nimbus and commandeered wagons, tents, horses, and his elephant.
Dressed in gilded robes dyed bright blue, Dorothea announced plainly for all to see, whether he meant to or not, that he no longer mourned his brother’s passing. He smiled and waved to the crowd as though he stood before fervent supporters. Turning, he gave a slight nod to the council, his uncharacteristically plain circlet of gold catching light from a few of the closer lamps, creating a glowing halo around his head. The councilors all bowed before him, some obvious in the generosity of their doled loyalty; others, more discrete.
Skuddy watched the page whisper into Dorothea’s ear and point to where Skuddy and the other complainant stood. A stab of what looked like fear flashed across Dorothea’s beardless face as his eyes roved over the other man.
Glancing to the complainant on his right, Skuddy noticed the man’s face split by a deep smile, the tension that shook his hands before, long gone. After a moment, he felt the iron presence of the king’s gaze and he reverted his gaze back to the dais.
The king’s recognition of Skuddy, though not as immediate, came and left the monarch smirking. He offered his open hands to the complainants in a gesture of placation and peace. “Gentlemen, I hope we can get to the root of our issues before this council is out.” Dorothea’s eyes danced
between Skuddy and the other complainant.
In response, Skuddy offered a silent bow, though the other man made no such move.
Finally, Dorothea turned his attention to the crowd gathering at the back of the room. “Welcome, everyone. I know that things have been muddled over the past weeks, so my first decree will be to set the record straight on what happened.
“Two weeks back, a man. A rogue. One who was outside of the guidance of any one group.” Dorothea paused and looked knowingly at Skuddy, who for his part, kept his face stoic. “This man infiltrated the castle and assassinated our lord Providence. In this very room in fact.” A few hushed murmurs rippled through the crowd. “He fled into the night under the guise of a servant and was squatting in an inn when I happened upon him. He is now in our dungeon awaiting execution.”
Skuddy sucked in a quiet breath, feeling a rod of pain jab through his gut.
“Of course,” Dorothea continued, “I cannot discuss an ongoing investigation, but rest assured, justice will be served.” The king clapped his hands together, then retreated from the front of the dais to the makeshift throne upon which he sat.
Hanging above the throne was a polished recurve bow. Skuddy remembered Dorothea wielding the bow when he came months back and commandeered the wagons and supplies from Nimbus. He wondered if the king had it there for fear, or if he would string it and shoot into the crowd, should it turn unruly.
There, high up, Dorothea looked down upon everyone before him. “You may be seated. Councilors, you have the floor to debate amongst yourselves what you will. But just know that we must leave time for our complainants to make their pence.”
Perhaps in part because of the condescending tone, none of the councilors moved to speak. Dorothea sat picking his teeth with a bejeweled finger as the council and the chambers remained in awkward silence. “If no one has any—yes, please go ahead,” Dorothea said as one of the councilors, a man representing the Luddites, raised his hand.
Skuddy rarely saw the cult’s members among his audiences, so naturally he found it hard to draw his attention away from the Luddite. Distracted, he did not hear what the Luddite said in his address to the council, but he imagined it was humorous because Dorothea erupted in boorish laughter.
“I’m sorry about that—what did you say your name is?” Dorothea asked, fanning himself, trying in vain to suppress his mirth.
“Floyd, your highness.”
“Floyd. Unless I am mistaken, am I not the king here?” The Luddite nodded, his eyes trained on the floor. “Good. And as the king, I have every right to have as many lights on as I want to! You don’t like it? Leave. Next time I’m in your home, you can have as many candles lit as you want. Hell, we can even sing Kumbaya around a fire if you want. You know who taught me that?”
The king’s eyes darted for a moment to Skuddy, who felt a rush of chilled blood pump through his chest. Despite the glutinous heat in the chambers, he shivered.
“A very wise man taught me that. Granted, he was crazy, but still wise. The point is, my house, my rules. Actually, your house, my rules too. I’m still your king.” Dorothea belted out another bout of laughter. “Now, unless you have any comments besides how I choose to decorate my throne room, you will sit down.” Dorothea’s voice boomed, his final command echoing through the quiet chamber.
Skuddy watched Floyd sit down abruptly, his face, pale as frost on a windowpane.
The page leaned over, whispering into the king’s ear. After a moment, Dorothea shouted, “I don’t care that Providence ran things differently. His ways allowed a viper the space to slither right up next to his fatty bosom. Speaking of—guards, please bring in the late king’s wife.” Dorothea snapped his fingers.
One of the guards flanking the perimeter of the room exited and returned a few minutes later with a visibly distraught woman, her cheeks puffy and red from grief. She wore, from the bonnet on her head to the slippers under her feet, the black clothes of mourning.
“This wasn’t on the agenda, but we simply must decide the fate of our late lord’s heart. Frankly, she’s been doing nothing but moping in the hallways, and moping in the parlor, and moping in the dining hall. Every time I see her, I feel the need to apologize. Thoughts?”
One of the councilors stood to offer his remarks. “Lord Providence, rest his soul, has an estate along the coast of north Imuny. We could relocate her there until such time when her mourning is finished.”
Dorothea sucked his teeth in an obvious show of distaste at the idea. The councilor retained his composure at having his idea so faintly discarded.
“It’s an option,” Dorothea amended, realizing that he had offended the man. “But that seems too much like a prison sentence. I wouldn’t be so cruel as to send my own kin across Lyrinth on some silly errand just to have some more alone time. No, I’m thinking something more permanent.”
“I could arrange to have her placed in my home in the upper city. She’d be close on hand, should you need her, but out of your hair,” another advisor offered.
“That’s viable, but here’s what I’m thinking: nuptials.” A thick silence met the idea.
Skuddy trained his eyes on the widow and saw her dampen out a raging fire behind her tear-stricken eyes. “I’ll take her on as my queen. It’ll show normalcy to the peasants who live off drivel like that. And whenever I don’t need her, she’ll live in your house in the upper crust.” Before any debate could be had, Dorothea stood and said, “It’s settled. We’ll wed the day after next. Now, let’s get to those complaints.”
The man to the right of Skuddy stepped forward. The page’s voice boomed. “State your name before the king.”
“Ren. But he is no king to me. I serve one lord, and his name is Gideon.”
Chapter 5
Quiet enveloped the chamber. Skuddy felt the air rushing through his nostrils, and heard the echoes of blood thrumming in his ears. He tensed, preparing his body for some altercation between the crazed man next to him and the guards. Even Dorothea seemed to be at a loss for words.
“I’ve come to warn the council about you,” Ren said, pointing his finger at Dorothea. “But I see that you’ve already assumed control. I wonder how your council would react, hearing about this little coincidence. See I remember, Dorothea, when your soldiers battled mine in the desert town of Brichton. If my memory serves me right, the very same assassin who killed your brother was traveling with you at the time, under your protection.”
“An unfortunate coincidence,” Dorothea managed to say, before anyone else could speak. “I knew not that he was an assassin.”
“But you heard me call him out as a Silentorian. And despite this, you continued to allow him passage in your troupe.”
“You shot him,” Dorothea retorted. “He was taken to a healer in the Urtin mountains. I assumed him dead.”
“But what about the letter he sent you from the hands of two of your own men? Clearly that must’ve been proof enough of his living.” Ren’s words clearly surprised the king.
“It easily could have been written by his girl apprentice,” Dorothea stammered, his cheeks reddening.
“But you wouldn’t have believed that. Not only did you know him to be alive, but you withheld that information from your brother. You led a Silentorian assassin to your brother and practically gave him reign to this keep.”
“Sir,” one of the councilors interrupted, “make your claim, or leave.”
“My claim means nothing with Dorothea holding the strings.” Ren laughed.
“Guard! Take him to the dungeon before he can pollute this council with any more vitriol.” Dorothea stomped his boots with impatience as Ren struggled to free his arms from the restraints that the guards placed on him.
“You can still see the truth,” Ren shouted as he was being led away. “Dorothea had his brother killed. He is working with Jackal and his traitorous Silentorians.”
“Shut that man up!” Dorothea glanced up to the bow above his head, his fingers twitch
ing as if feeling the sharp tug of the bowstring.
Without further struggle, the guards led Ren out of the chamber. A minute of hushed conversation followed his departure. Finally, Skuddy dragged his eyes from the ground to the king.
Dorothea returned the stare, his eyes sinking into Skuddy’s face as his page yelled for silence. Without waiting, he rose and began stretching his stiff muscles.
The page looked to Skuddy, then recited, “State your name before the king.”
“Skuddy, sire, of the entertainers’ guild at Nimbus.”
“And Skuddy, what is your complaint to be placed before the council?”
“I wish to cease all harassment against my people by the hands of the Blue Haven guard. As noted by the king himself, the intentions and actions of the man who assassinated our late Providence were the assassin’s alone. He acted with no assistance from the entertainers’ guild, so for us to be treated as accomplices, untouchables, and criminals is outrageous.” Skuddy worried that his voice would waver from the nerves that wracked his body, but it held true.
One of the councilors who had thus far remained silent rose and spoke. “Is it not true that Gleeman wore the official cloak of a king’s entertainer?” A hushed murmur rippled across the crowd. For many, this was the first concrete detail of the assassination that they were hearing. “Such an item was allotted to you to bestow on an entertainer to allow them to serve the king. It seems to me, that you had a direct role in aiding that man in his assassination. Would he have even gotten into the castle without that seal? I doubt it.”
The Harbinger of Change Page 3