Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden (19 page)

“Yes,” the prince replied in a pleased voice. “My ancestors who constructed this fortress certainly had extravagant tastes. Though, of course, I’m sure the royal palace in Silver City is likewise statuesque. Arden
is
, after all, a child of our great Empire.”

“A child with a voice and mind of her own,” Hasain reminded him, voice as brittle as glass.

Alerio fixed his eyes onto Hasain. “I’m sure the son of a king would know all about the need to have his own voice and mind. It must be incredibly hard for you to walk in the shadow of your sire knowing you shall never overtake him. Tell me, Lord Hasain, since you aren’t eligible for the throne, what plans have you made for yourself?”

Joel could see Hasain struggling to stay collected and, for a moment, feared the young Radek lord might say something uncouth and put their mission in jeopardy.

Hasain clenched his jaw tightly. “I choose to walk in my father’s shadow so I may learn from his wisdom, and one day, when my brother is King of Arden, I shall be his right hand and most trusted advisor.”

“A noble goal indeed.” Alerio raised his goblet and took a long drink. “So, there are two princes of Arden?”

“That’s right. My brothers, Crowned Prince Deegan and Prince Didier.”

“And do you have sisters, Lord Hasain? Are there any princesses of Arden?”

“One. Princess Gudrin.”

Alerio leaned forward in his seat. He rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. “I see. Does Arden have any arrangements for her to marry?”

Joel’s heartbeat quickened in his chest.
He’s not suggesting what I think he is, right? He can’t be serious!

Hasain narrowed his eyes at the foreign prince. “No. Princess Gudrin is only nine years old.”

Alerio met Hasain’s stare abrasively, and Joel tensed his shoulders, wishing he could somehow disappear.
Please Hasain, not here. We’re not in Arden. Please remember that
.

The silence stretched on as the two men stared across the table at one another, sizing each other up. It seemed neither would be the first to relent, but finally, Prince Alerio broke eye contact.

He shrugged his shoulders and went on speaking as though the tense moment had never occurred. “I have a sister, too. Claudia is twelve—plenty old enough for the Empire to begin to seek out a marital alliance on her behalf. Perhaps it’s even possible this meeting between nations will conclude with the ringing of wedding bells.”

Joel winced even as he watched Koal sit straighter in his seat. The seneschal cleared his throat and flashed a warning glance at Hasain, who was so red-faced he looked as though he might burst.

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” Koal replied gingerly. “I don’t believe we came here with the intention of discussing marriage proposals. That decision rests in the hands of the King of Arden.”

Alerio’s left eyebrow ticked. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, Seneschal Koal, but did you not say yourself that while you’re here, your king has appointed you to make
all
decisions on his behalf?”

“The marriage of his children is something I
will not
interfere with. King Rishi would want a say in the matter.”

The Imperial prince shrugged again and motioned for a servant to refill his goblet. “I suppose it matters not. There will be additional options to explore when the envoys from Nales and Shiraz arrive. Perhaps they will be more open to such discussions.”

Joel reeled, nearly choking on his drink.
Envoys from Nales and Shiraz? What?

Time seemed to stand still as everyone at the table froze. Koal and Cenric exchanged worried glances, Hasain paled, and NezReth’s chest heaved as he let out a sharp breath of air. Even Liro’s typical expression of indifference had been replaced by wide-eyed surprise.

None of this went unnoticed by Prince Alerio. A smirk pulled at his mouth as calculating eyes flitted around the table, passing over each of the envoys. “Oh. You didn’t know? I thought His Grace would have mentioned the fact to you earlier.” Joel could detect smug satisfaction in Alerio’s voice and was certain it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others either.

Cenric was the first to recover from the shocking words. “Ambassadors from Shiraz and Nales are coming here, to Teivel?”

Alerio took time to chew the mouthful of roasted quail meat he’d just bitten into before replying. “Yes. They should be arriving any time now.”

Joel’s stomach twisted into tight knots, and his meal threatened to make a reappearance.
What does this mean? Will we have to see them? Will we have to talk to them? Shiraz has sworn Arden an enemy, and relations with Nales have been going sour for years. What will happen if we have to be in the same room as them?

“Why weren’t we informed about this sooner?” Koal demanded, sharp voice cutting through the silence like a sword.

Wisps of Alerio’s curly blond hair sparkled in the sunlight as he shrugged. “That, I cannot answer for you. You shall have to ask the Emperor when you see him. Save your questions for His Grace.”

Koal folded his arms across his broad chest. “That I will.”
 

After mid-day meal, Gib was summoned to Marc’s office. The bleak day had since cleared up, but Gib’s mood was hardly light. Despite the meal being as fine as any Academy had to offer, he couldn’t bring himself to eat.

Marc stood outside his office door, lacing up one boot. When he heard Gib approach, the dean offered a wide smile. Gib wished he could return it, but no part of him felt like smiling. As if Marc understood, he stood to his full height and put a firm hand on his underling’s shoulder. “It’ll get easier. I used to hate watching Koal ride off to danger and war when we were younger, but I grew to trust him over the years. I know you and Joel—” He faltered, looking for the right words. “Your relationship with him is different than mine and Koal’s, but know you’re not alone. Many of us are worried for them.”

Gib looked up, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. His instinct was to explain that he and Joel were no longer companions, that Joel had ended it, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Marc didn’t need to know. What could the knowledge possibly do other than cause awkward apologies? Gib nodded. “I know. Joel is inexperienced, though, and Koal isn’t a young man anymore.”

Marc thumped Gib’s shoulder and laughed. “That he’s not. None of us are these days, but you must believe me, Gib. Koal is a warrior.” Marc withdrew his hand and cocked his head to one side. “Have you ever heard the tales of his younger years? Did he tell you any of the stories of him, King Rishi, and Queen Jorja striking out to the different corners of Arden to strengthen the country?”

“No.” Gib shook his head. He couldn’t recall Koal sharing anything like that.

Marc began walking, gesturing for Gib to follow. “I’ll have to think of some of my favorites. Of course, those tend to be the ones where I was there, too. But maybe we can catch King Rishi or Aodan in the right mood sometime and they’ll tell other stories.”

Gib tried to process this new information. It sounded plausible that the King and Koal had been formidable in the past. Hell, they were intimidating now. He imagined the both of them being terrors when they’d still had youth on their side.

He followed Marc out of the academy doors, but it wasn’t until after the guard had allowed them across the bridge leading to the palace that Gib even thought to question their destination. “Is there a council meeting today?”

Marc shook his head. “No. That’ll resume tomorrow. Rishi, err—the King has declared he won’t be taking counsel today. Today we form our strategy.”

Gib raised an eyebrow as they entered the palace. “Strategy?”

“For how we’re going to keep the country afloat without our seneschal.”

They promptly passed the corridors he was familiar with and went into a different wing of the palace. More soldiers were here, all of them royal palace guards with their intimidating armor and scrutinizing glares. Gib swallowed and kept close to his mentor.

“What do you mean? Can’t the country run without a seneschal for a while?”

Gib looked at the walls as they passed, taking in life-sized portraits of the royal family and monarchs from the past. Several portraits depicted King Rishi—a couple even had Queen Dahlia and their children present. As they progressed, the portraits seemed to go back in time. The royal children grew younger and younger until they were gone. King Rishi stood alone in one picture, much younger and looking so similar to Hasain it was surreal. Beside it hung a full length picture of a different woman wearing the Queen’s crown. She held the hand of a young girl and had one hand placed on her pregnant stomach. “Who—?”

Marc stopped, and Gib nearly bumped into him. The dean chuckled and looked at the portrait with Gib. “Queen Jorja, the King’s first wife, and their daughter, Princess Nikki.”

Gib stared into the fierce green gaze of Queen Jorja. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a high bun inside her crown, and she didn’t wear a dress like Queen Dahlia did. The previous queen’s outfit looked more apt for riding than dancing. Gib looked at the young girl, and a knot formed in his gut. He’d never heard of Princess Nikki before.

“She died before she reached your age.” Marc’s smile was sad, memory heavy. “The Princess barely outlived her mother.”

Gib felt a heavy weight in his heart. “I didn’t even know of her.”

Marc shook his head. “Rishi doesn’t speak about her much. Losing his wife was hard, but to then lose their daughter so quickly—” He took a breath. “It was a dark time.”

He didn’t want to ask, but the question burned at the back of his mind. “And the baby not yet born in the portrait?”

“Stillborn. She’d had trouble since conception, and everyone knew the baby might not make it. She demanded the portrait be made while the child still lived and no one had the heart to stop her.”

“Why isn’t the King in this portrait?” Once Gib said the words, he thought maybe he’d been too forward, but Marc didn’t reprimand him.

“Times were different then. The King was only painted with male heirs, and the Queen with her daughters. There was less focus on royals being a family and more on the production of future kings.” Marc reached out and touched the very bottom of the canvas as if he could reach back through time. His smile wasn’t sad so much anymore, but sharp. “Rishi did away with that tradition when he took his new wife.”

Gib nodded, looking around at the other portraits. It was true. Kings of old were depicted with sons, not daughters, and Queens stood with their girl children or alone. “It’s almost sad to see.”

Marc’s hand was on Gib’s shoulder again, steering him away. “We go to plan now, lest all of King Rishi and Koal’s hard work go in vain. There are those who would still prefer the old ways.”

“Will you have to help the King keep Arden from slipping backwards?”

“Someone will. Koal’s boots are big. I don’t know if I could fill them—but Rishi cannot be forced to carry the full weight of the country on his own. No one person should ever be left with such a task.”

Gib’s head was full, but he thought he understood. The immensity of what was expected of mere men was daunting to him. He’d had his work cut out for him when he had to keep a farm and two children. How could one man be expected to run an entire country? Even with the council to help, it seemed impossible.
And the council doesn’t work smoothly. They bicker and halt progress for the sake of proving petty points. How is any king or queen supposed to rise above that?

They reached a corridor where they had to stop and declare themselves to the guards. Even from the entrance of the hall, Gib could see more sentinels standing watch at the other end. Marc didn’t joke with these men. He stated his full title and gestured for Gib to do the same before informing the soldiers of his purpose there. They let him pass, but the silence around them made Gib feel ill at ease.

They reached one of the only doors on the wing, and Marc knelt to take off his boots. “We carry them in with us,” he told Gib. “In Beihai, people don’t wear their shoes inside a home.”

“Home?” Gib’s stomach knotted. “Whose home is this?” He was sure he knew but couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

Marc flashed him a wicked smile. “The King has adopted many Ardenian customs, but he held onto this one from his native country.”