A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden (34 page)

Kezra’s shrewd eyes narrowed into slits. “I hate to break it to you, but I
am
a girl.”

Gib floundered, hands waving wildly. “I know that! I mean, you don’t usually look like a girl—” Wait. That still didn’t sound right. He opened his mouth but didn’t know how to fix it. “I mean to say, the dress and jewelry—”

Kezra rolled her eyes and gestured down toward her body. “This is a sari from my mother’s native country, Shantar. They really don’t teach you anything in Willowdale, do they?”

“There’s more than one kind of dress?” Gib winced at her poisonous glare and struggled to find something more to say.

Joel clucked softly in his ear. “I think now would be an excellent time to apologize and stop talking.” Tarquin and the mage trainee both laughed.

Gib wished a hole would open up in the floor beneath him and swallow him. “Chhaya’s bane. I’m sorry, Kezra.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Gib took a long drink from his chalice. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Best only take one glass. It’s strong,” Kezra warned, eyeing the wine chalice.

“Strong but delicious!” called out another newcomer.

Prince Didier was making his approach. The group of friends bowed to the prince.

Diddy blushed. “Oh, rise. All of you. I wish you didn’t have to—we’re friends. I hate that you have to bow to me.”

Joel chuckled and put a hand onto his cousin’s shoulder. “Formalities. You can’t change them. They’ve been around forever.”

“I know. Father tried once but apparently the council shot him down.”

Joel laughed, taking a sip from his goblet. “My father told me King Rishi also tried to get rid of his crown once—the council out-voted him then too.”

The prince smiled and absently touched his own crown, a thin silver band around his head. “He told me. Though Father wears his more now to cover his graying hair.” The two cousins laughed.

Gib found it surreal to hear of the King in such informal terms and took another drink from the chalice. “It was odd to see your family just now. It’s like meeting the characters from a story.”

Diddy turned his expressive, dark eyes onto the sentinel trainee. “Oh, Gib, you must meet them in person. I’ve told them much about you. They would like to meet you, I’m sure.”

A lump rose up into Gib’s throat. Him? Meet the royal family? “O–oh. I don’t know. Aren’t they busy? Surely they have more important guests to attend to.”

“Nonsense! My mother has asked about you more than once. You must meet them. Come with me, please? All of you!”

Gib looked around at the others but found no help. Tarquin was hanging off every word Diddy had to say, and Kezra seemed to have no opinion whatsoever. Gib could tell he had no polite way to decline so grudgingly began to follow. He stopped only when he realized Joel had hung back. “What about you?”

Joel’s smile was not entirely convincing. “I’ve met my cousins before, Gib. I’ll stay here with Nawaz’s drink until he manages to escape Heidi.” His laugh sounded hollow. “Besides, you’re entitled to your friends. You needn’t drag me along with you.”

It felt like a slap in the face, and Gib physically reeled. “I like doing things with you.”

Haunted blue eyes drank him in. “I know, but Liro is across the room, just there.” Joel nodded vaguely, his voice a ghost of a whisper. “He’s been watching us and—I think it would be good for your image if you were to enjoy the company of your friends for a while.”

Gib locked his jaw. He didn’t dare look for Liro. He nodded hesitantly. “All right. But I’ll be coming back for you.”

Joel’s smiled was pained. “I’ll be here.” Gib wished he could kiss the older boy.

The sentinel trainee followed his friends, mind in a fog. He hated the politics of highborn life. Were they always watching? Did they sit and plot whom they would tear apart next? Was banishment how they punished others for being anything less than perfect? Was this what it meant to be highborn? He frowned and followed Diddy, taking note of how the people parted for the prince and his friends.

As they approached the dais, a servant came to attend Diddy, and Gib wondered belatedly where Gideon was. Perhaps he wasn’t well enough trained to be present for such a formal event. Diddy dismissed the servant and instead went before the table where the King and Queen were seated. The prince bowed low, and Gib followed suit even as Tarquin and Kezra did the same. They rose only when the King told them to do so.

“My King and Queen,” Diddy began in a poised voice. He spoke to them as though they were not his parents, but complete strangers. “I would speak openly if you would allow it.”

King Rishi nodded and waved a dismissive hand. “Speak.”

As soon as permission was granted, all pretenses melted away. The prince morphed into the boy Gib had met in class on their first day. Smile wide and crooked, Diddy made his introductions. “Mother, these are my friends from class, Lord Tarquin Aldino, Lady Kezra Malin-Rai, and Gibben Nemesio of Willowdale. They are the ones I’ve spoken of.”

Queen Dahlia’s dark eyes sparkled when she smiled, and Gib found himself liking her. “Didier has told me so much about you. I thank you all for being hospitable to him.”

Who wouldn’t be hospitable to a prince?
Any laughter Gib might have had died in his throat when he realized the Queen’s eyes had landed on him. Dahlia continued to smile. “Gibben Nemesio and Tarquin Aldino, you’re the two who train with Didier regularly, aren’t you? You both deserve praise for your sacrifice. You give much to spend time that could be used on your studies.”

Tarquin responded without missing a beat. “Oh no, my Queen. It is an honor to assist the prince. You are too kind.” Gib nodded in turn, hoping the gesture was a suitable response.

King Rishi glanced toward Koal, who was sitting to his right. “The short one is your son’s roommate?”

Gib’s mouth fell open as Seneschal Koal bit back a smile and replied, “Yes. Gibben. He’s one of the ones you met in the arena.”

The King waved Koal into silence. “I know that.” He frowned. “The kitchen should feed him more. Maybe he’ll grow if they feed him.”

Diddy’s face twisted in horror. “We’ll take our leave now, Your Highness.” The edge to his voice reminded Gib of what embarrassed children used with their parents. King Rishi smiled like a wolf, incisors sharp and eyes narrow, as he dismissed the youngsters.

“I’m so sorry, Gib,” the prince apologized as soon as they moved away from the dais. “He’s like that with everyone. He doesn’t care if I’m embarrassed or not—”

Gib laughed. “It’s all right. Really.”

“No, it’s not. His behavior is abominable. Just because he’s the king—” Diddy sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

No more was said as the four walked away. Gib tried looking across the ballroom to see if he could spot Joel, but too many people were dancing. He noted that Nawaz and Heidi seemed to have moved on. They were nowhere to be seen on the floor.

Gib glanced around and didn’t see anyone else their age on this side of the ballroom. These were all learned men with careers—politicians and masters. Highborn elite. A sinking sensation settled in his gut. Someone here was bound to notice he wasn’t what he looked like in these fine clothes.

Tarquin’s pale face screwed down into a frown. “Kezra, my father is talking to your father.”

Kezra looked up, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “What does Anders want with your father?”

“I have no idea, but we’re being called over.”

The tall, sturdy man Gib recognized as Tarquin’s father was motioning for his son to approach. A second man stood nearby, engaging him in conversation. “Tarquin! There you are, son. Come here for a moment.”

Gib thought to sneak away but couldn’t think of any way to excuse himself without sounding rude. Grudgingly, he followed behind Tarquin, Kezra, and the prince.

As the group of friends closed in, both men stopped their discussion long enough to bow to Diddy. The prince told them to rise and bit his bottom lip. Gib thought he’d also feel tired of being fawned over if people bowed to him everywhere he went.

Straightening, Tarquin’s father picked up where he’d left off. He was speaking to another tall man with dark hair and eyes. “Tarquin, this is Councilor Anders Malin-Rai, your friend’s father.” He gestured vaguely toward Kezra, who frowned and folded her arms over her chest.

Gib looked up at Anders. The councilor’s pale, drawn face and cold eyes brought to mind Neetra Adelwijn’s foul personality. Gib glanced at Kezra, only to find her backing away. Her typically shrewd eyes were low and clouded. She reminded Gib of a wild animal, trapped by hunters, as she looked around as though contemplating escape.

Tarquin’s tenor voice brought Gib back to the moment. “Greetings, Councilor. I have the honor of training with Kezra daily.”

Anders Malin-Rai stuck his nose in the air as he scowled. “The honor? You would call it an honor to play at sword fighting with a girl? Kezra has forgotten her place.”

Gib’s stomach clenched into knots. So many things made sense now. Kezra’s tough exterior and no nonsense approach to her lessons were
defensive
in nature. She was strong willed, yes, but Gib had never considered that perhaps she wasn’t supported by her family. After all, she was highborn. He’d thought highborn privilege allowed them to do as they wished without facing scorn—but then again, Joel was also persecuted for not fitting in.

Tarquin locked his jaw and his face went a blotchy crimson. His voice, however, remained regal. No doubt he’d been trained his entire life how to remain polite in awkward situations. “I assure you, Councilor, Kezra plays no games in the training arena. I’ve carried the bruises to prove it.”

Anders only narrowed his eyes further. “Then perhaps it is you who needs more training.”

Tarquin’s father shook his head. Like Tarquin, his voice was as even and polite as ever, but his frown suggested his displeasure. “Actually, Tarquin is one of the selected students who has been training with Prince Didier.”

At the older man’s prompt, Diddy jumped into the conversation. “Yes. I owe much to your son, Councilor Joaquin. He has taught me quite a bit.”

Gib smiled smugly, glancing back to Kezra. Surely this would be enough to silence her father. But she was still looking at the ground and fidgeting with her hands. His smile fell away. He’d never seen her so out of sorts.

Anders Malin-Rai seemed undaunted by the high recommendations of Tarquin and his daughter. He swilled down the last of the drink in his goblet and rolled his eyes. “With all due respect, Prince Didier, it was the opinion of some of the council that you should have been trained with grown men. What can fellow students teach you?”

The prince was even better at keeping his temper where it should be. He smiled. “The King felt it best to allow Weapons Master Roland to train me in the way he fashioned. I think you’ll agree that Master Roland’s experience is unquestionable. I’m in the most capable of hands.”

Unmoved, Anders shoved his empty cup at a passing servant. “Fill that,” he ordered. Fixing his cold eyes on Diddy, the councilor continued. “Were I you, I would pray the King made the right choice. The loss could be great if he were to—miscalculate.”

The blood rushed to Gib’s face. How could this man, noble or otherwise, get away with speaking so lightly of the King?

Joaquin Aldino cleared his throat. “Well, out with it anyway, Anders. Why did you want me to call my son over?”

“To get a look at him,” Anders snorted. “He’s of the right age to begin thinking of marriage. I have too many daughters to count. What say you, Joaquin? Have you made a match for him yet?”

Tarquin’s mouth fell open, but he closed it at the severe look from his father. Without missing a beat, Joaquin lifted a goblet from another beverage tray as it passed by, handing it to Anders. “Marriage? Tarquin only turned fourteen last moonturn. He still has three years of schooling ahead of him. He wouldn’t make much of a husband yet.” The two politicians headed away after that and the air instantly felt less stifling.

Tarquin glanced to Kezra, his brow knit tight. “S–sorry about that.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m used to Anders being himself. It’s you who is unaccustomed to his foul mouth.”

Gib wished he had something comforting to say to her but his words had dried up like a shallow well in the heat of summer. He could say or do nothing to take back what Kezra’s father had said. Doubtless, he didn’t know about many things she’d experienced. How many slights had been made over time by a father who clearly disapproved of his daughter? Gib doubted he could say anything to ease the pain of such rejection.

“Didier, there you are.”

Hasain had found them again. He walked with Nawaz and Joel flanking either side. Gib smiled but clenched his hand at his side when instinct told him to reach for the mage trainee. Joel was strictly off limits while under the scrutiny of the public eye.

The young prince nodded to his elder brother. “Here I am. Is everything all right?”

Nawaz took a long pull from his goblet, grinning from ear to ear. “The lighting ceremony will be starting soon. He wants to make sure you don’t get lost between now and then.”

“What are you doing over here amongst the councilors, Diddy?” Hasain pressed. “Shouldn’t you be dancing or drinking?”