Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden (20 page)

Gib’s head felt light as he bent to undress his own feet. This was the King’s personal quarters? In all the time he’d shadowed Koal, he’d never been brought here. He began to tell Marc this but realized the dean wouldn’t have explained about their shoes if he’d thought Gib had been here before. Head still swimming, he could barely get his mouth to work. “We just carry our boots around with us?”

“Yep. The King expects you to hold onto them the entire time.” Marc snickered but grudgingly gave up the ruse at Gib’s scowl. “All right. No. There’s a mat to set them on inside. And slippers lined along the wall for guests to use.”

“Slippers? Why take our boots off if we’re just going to put on slippers?”

“In Beihai, tables have short legs and people sit on cushions on the floor. Shoes that have been worn outside are seen as dirty and are left on the front steps. The King obviously doesn’t have front steps so he allows us to put them on a mat inside.”

“People in Beihai sit on the floor? Even nobles?”

“Yep. He was even more afraid of chairs upon his arrival to Arden than you.”

“Hey!” Gib gave the dean a narrow look, recalling his first day in Silver and being afraid to dirty the fine chair offered to him in the office.

Marc wagged his brows, and Gib lost what control he had.

They were sharing a good laugh and standing with their boots in hand when the King’s door flew open. King Rishi stood there, giving them a cool look. “Are you mocking me out here? If so, at least do it where I can’t hear you—like over in Shantar or down in Gyptia.”

Marc grinned widely. “Not sure that’s far enough. My voice carries pretty well.”

King Rishi stepped aside and motioned for them to enter. “I’m aware.”

Marc gave a mocking bow as he crossed the threshold, and the King groaned. Gib hesitated, looking down at his bare feet. What if they were dirty? Or smelled? Would he be reprimanded? Laughed at? It wasn’t like he’d known he was going to be coming to the King’s personal quarters.

King Rishi’s dark eyes glimmered with what looked like laughter as he studied Gib. “Are you going to stay in the hallway, Gibben Nemesio?”

Gib blanched. “I, uh—sorry.” He jumped across the threshold and was sure he heard the King’s faint chuckle.
Fantastic. I’m barely in the door and already looking a fool
. “Where should I—” Flustered, he let his question die off when he noted the rug where footwear was aligned in two neat rows.

Everything from elegant court shoes to warrior boots sat together in order from large to small, adult to child. Gib smiled at the thought of the youngest prince and princess placing their shoes alongside those of their parents.

The slippers were on the opposite wall, lined just as neatly. He picked a pair he thought would fit and fumbled to put them on. They were delicate compared to anything he was used to, and he didn’t want to risk ripping the fine material. Somewhere beyond him, he was vaguely aware of Marc and the King talking. He snapped to full attention at the mention of his name.

“Isn’t that right, Gib?” Marc’s voice was cheerful and his smile troublesome. He glanced at the King. “It’s like the first time I met him. He was afraid to sit in the chair.”

“Oh, so the slippers scare him? I see. By the time he gets them on, you’ll have to leave for supper.”

Gib gasped, mouth agape. He didn’t even know what to say to that. Marc and the King both burst into laughter upon examining Gib’s face. The words fell from Gib’s mouth before he could think to censor them. “I see what Seneschal Koal meant about always being surrounded by children.”

The King gestured for them to follow farther into his private quarters. “You’ll learn all too soon, Gibben Nemesio, that youth is fleeting. Immaturity, however, can be nurtured for a lifetime.” He was still laughing as he swept over to a chair by his balcony and perched as lightly as a feather upon it. Marc wasted no time in taking the seat opposite and making quick work of the pedestal between them. Gib ventured a step closer to get a better look.

It was a game of some sort, he’d wager, with a slew of small pieces for either player. Marc sorted the colors—pearl for himself and jade for King Rishi. The King, for his part, barely took notice as he was looking out the window. Gib trained his gaze in the same direction and realized King Rishi was staring down at the courtyard. Only marks before, Gib had stood out there beside Joel for what may have been the last time.

Grief wrung his heart and he looked away, still unwilling to dwell on the treacherous emotions seeking to undo him. He’d promised himself he’d find either Tarquin or Kezra later and speak to them about what he was going through, but he hadn’t yet found the time. For now, he placated himself with the lovely surroundings in the royal suite.

The architecture was much the same here as it was in the other parts of the palace Gib was familiar with, only this room seemed more akin to a home, with all of the shoes, several small toys on one shelf, and what looked like a child’s school things on another. The bookshelves themselves were of a more modest size and cluttered with too many books, nothing at all like the grand library near the council chamber or the one inside Academy.

Lush, crimson curtains framed each grand window but were pulled back to allow in what sunlight the day had to offer. The furniture was primarily made of dark wood and detailed with hand paintings telling stories of legends Gib could not place. One reoccurring figure was that of a twisting crimson serpent.

“The dragon of Beihai.”

Gib jumped. “What?”

King Rishi was watching from across the room. He gestured toward the serpent. “The red dragon of Beihai is the creature you keep looking at. There was a time when it was not a mere shadow of the Empire’s golden dragon. In its prime, it represented peace and prosperity. Now all dragons from the north are seen as conquerors.”

“I’ve never seen such a dragon,” Gib admitted. “It almost looks like a viper to my eyes.”

The King smiled, but it was a sad, tired mockery of what it should have been. “Yes. The Empire’s dragon casts a long shadow. Like the country it hails from, the golden dragon blots out all others who would stand with or beside it. It does not share its glory, only absorbs those smaller than itself in its undying quest to conquer all.”

Marc made the first move on the game board. His light mood from earlier seemed to have vanished. “Who are we waiting for?”

“Roland.” The King’s words were clipped as he made a counter move. “Aodan went for him.”

Gib watched as they continued their game despite neither of them taking any pleasure from it. As their pieces moved and were lost to one another, Gib gathered it was a strategy exercise but didn’t grasp what constituted a proper move and what did not. As their play wore on, he also deduced that either Marc wasn’t good at strategy or the King was exceptional.

Time passed, and the only sound was the clicking of the game pieces. King Rishi told Gib he could sit in one of the window sills if he wished, so he did, just to feel less in the way. Marc and the King were nearly done with their game when a knock on the door interrupted their play. King Rishi was on his feet in an instant, and Marc breathed a sigh of relief, looking to Gib. “Just in time. He’d nearly licked me—”

“Don’t lick Marc. He prob’ly tastes as bad as he smells,” Aodan Galloway called from the doorway.

Marc laughed. “I’d tell you where you could lick me, Derr, but I’ll keep polite in front of Gib.”

The bodyguard’s red hair fell in his face as he knelt to put on his slippers. Blowing a stray strand from his eye, Aodan offered only the barest of smiles—a somewhat frightening look. “Koal’s underling? He’s heard worse in ’is time. Council meetings an’ all.”

Marc shrugged but didn’t get to respond before a different voice grumbled from the hallway, “Move your arse, Galloway! I’m standing out here, shoeless, like some beggar.”

Gib smiled. It wasn’t often he got to see Weapons Master Roland Korbin anymore. After training under him the first two years at Academy, Gib had moved on to become Koal’s understudy. It was good to see his old weapons trainer again.

Roland’s dark hair and sun-worn skin didn’t look any worse for wear when he crossed the threshold, and Gib had to wonder if training new recruits helped keep the master young. Their eyes met briefly, and it was hard to tell what he was thinking behind his shrewd, hazel eyes.

The King didn’t offer to greet his new guests, and no one bothered to pretend their visit was for pleasure. As soon as the door was closed, Roland crossed his arms over his broad chest and went for the point. “So Marc’s here as well. I s’pose this isn’t lucky chance.”

King Rishi began pacing. Not an encouraging sign. “We need to be prepared to head Neetra off tomorrow. He’s going to push me even harder now that Koal is absent.”

“He’s bent on going to war with Shiraz.” Marc’s voice was cold, uncharacteristic for his typical good nature.

Roland groaned. “Neetra’s mad. He’d have us discharge our women soldiers before we even began to march. I don’t know how he thinks the army can handle war and troop thinning at the same time.”

King Rishi threw his hands into the air. “He’d simply lower the draft age again. Surely once a child is privy trained they can pick up a sword and shield for Arden!” His pacing grew more agitated by the moment.

“At least Neetra’s down a man, too,” Roland offered as he leaned against a bookcase. “He’s also lost his Right Hand in this.”

“Aye,” Aodan agreed. “That Liro is almost as dangerous as his uncle. It’s best to keep our watch on him.”

Gib bit his lip. This topic was scarcely ever breeched. Even in his short years in Silver, Gib had come to know how unpopular Koal’s elder son was. Despite the undying loyalty many felt for the seneschal, Liro was not extended such favor.

“Liro is still young and foolhardy, but Koal trusts him. He knows his son. We have to trust his judgment.” The King sounded tired, like he might not believe the words himself.

Roland shook his head. “I trust and respect Koal as much as any of the rest of you, but we all know his sight is clouded on that boy. Ever since he was born, Koal’s been skittish of ’im. He’s just not a good egg, Liro. Joel is Koal’s son as well, and look at the difference in them! I’d trust Joel in a position of power but Liro? No. He’s a snake.”

King Rishi silenced them all with the wave of a hand. “We’re not here to discuss Liro. Right now, he’s as far away as our seneschal. We need a plan to deal with Neetra before he manages to tip the balance in the council room.”

“You’re right. We’ll be down a vote with Koal absent,” Marc said. “This isn’t a good time for him to be gone.”

“There’s never a good time for him to be gone!” The King stopped next to the window, looking outside. He held his hands behind his back, and his blank face did little to conceal his unease. At long last, he issued a deep sigh and turned to look at the other men in the room. “I need one of you to be the acting seneschal while Koal’s gone.”

Marc and Roland both froze. The air felt stiff, heavy. Gib didn’t envy either man their positions. Filling the shoes of the seneschal was no light task. Both the dean and weapons master seemed fully aware of this as their eyes met.

Marc opened his mouth, but Roland beat him to it. “Well, don’t look at me. It’s a hell of a jump to go from training soldiers to becoming the Right Hand of the King!”

“I’m only a dean,” Marc lamented. “I can tell students what classes would benefit them most. Other than that, I’m a healer. I’ve next to no combat experience.”

“What good is combat experience in the council room? Unless I’m able to meet Neetra with a blade, I’m useless!” Roland countered.

Aodan chuckled darkly. “My vote’s for Roland then.”

Something dangerously like fire crossed over the King’s features. “I’m serious. Someone needs to sit in for Koal. Neetra will be relentless now. I’ll need someone there to support me.”

Both candidates fell silent for a time. Gib looked down at his hands as he twisted them together. He could see why neither Marc nor Roland were keen on taking the job, but the King was right. Someone had to do it.

Their voices were softer when next they spoke. Marc and Roland embraced a steel-like resolve and tackled the problem with logic instead of emotion. Marc pointed out that Roland’s war experience would be valuable if they had to dissuade the majority of the council from sending their troops to march on Shiraz. The King countered, expressing concern over General Morathi Adeben. Roland was only the Weapons Master—Morathi outranked him.

Gib cleared his throat, offering his own tentatively spoken input. “Morathi’s also already on the council. He has seniority in the eyes of the other councilors.” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to speak. Surely the King would have asked for his opinion if he wanted it. “S–sorry.”

Roland gestured toward Gib hastily. “See? Even an understudy knows more about the politics of the council than me! I’m not a member of the High Council. Marc, the politicians are more likely to listen to you simply because they already know you and would favor your experience.”

The King rubbed his chin as he paced. “It would be in our favor to pull you in, Roland. With Koal gone and Marc taking his place, we still lose one vote. If you step in, Marc can stay in his chair with his vote and you can fill in for Koal.”