Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden (9 page)

Joel looked over his shoulder in time to see Cenric rise from his stool. The envoy came to the door and peered out. His joyful demeanor hardened at the sight of the guards. “Gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

“Ambassador Cenric Leal, by order of King Rishi Radek, you’ve been summoned to the council room.”

“
Now?
”

The guardsman’s voice remained flat. “I insist you follow us immediately, Ambassador.”

A horrible chill found its way up Joel’s spine.
What is this about? Why the urgency?

Cenric’s mouth pulled back into a grave frown as he glanced at Joel. “Well, understudy, it looks like you aren’t going home quite yet. Come, let us see what’s so important that the King has requested my company.”
 

Cool winds gusted, blowing Gib’s hair all about his rosy cheeks.

Tarquin laughed and gave his friend a pat on the back. “Should have brought a bonnet. Your fair curls are looking a mess.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Gib pulled his cloak tighter. “Let’s find a cider stand and buy a drink.”

Tarquin followed close on Gib’s heels as the two friends wove their way through the crowded streets of Trader’s Row. The annual Harvest Festival was in full swing, and vendors had their carts lined up to sell their wares. Gib never had a lot of pocket money, but he had enough for a warm drink and some food.

“I can only stay out for a little while. Cal asked me to come help him with his reading later,” Gib said as they walked.

“How has his first sennight of Academy treated him? Does he like his classes?”

As tall and gangly as Gib was short and stout, Tarquin fumbled along while trying not to bump into anyone. Honestly, Gib had no idea how someone who’d completed two years of sentinel training could be so clumsy on his feet. He supposed it had to do with how quickly his friend was growing
up
but not
out
. Tarquin was currently all knees and elbows.
I just wish I’d grow upwards first. I’d even take the knocking knees
.

They stopped at a stand and purchased two mugs of steaming cider. “Oh, well enough. He’s making friends with his roommate.” Gib accepted and paid for his drink and then waited while Tarquin did the same. “He helped me write to Liza just this morning.”

Tarquin blew air on his drink before tasting it. “Any word from her yet?”

Gib shook his head, and silence stole across them as they drank. Being a soldier posted on an active border was no task for the faint of heart, and Gib knew he could receive word of Liza’s death just as easily as a letter from her hand. Calisto and Tayver knew too but, thus far, neither of them had said as much.

“No news is good news.” Tarquin’s voice was hushed as he spoke. “Asher’s been out there a time or two for reinforcements. He said the Nales border is more stable than Shiraz’s.” He was trying to be helpful—his earnest tone said as much—but Gib couldn’t help the churning in his stomach.

“That’s what I keep telling Cal. Liza’s better off in the north than to the east.” Gib tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that Asher Aldino, Tarquin’s older brother, had gone to Nales and made a safe return. But Asher was a politician and rarely saw the front line of any skirmishes.
Liza is fine. Until I have that letter in my hand, she’s fine
.

They finished their drinks without another word and handed the mugs back to the vendor. Blood warmed, Gib and Tarquin ventured back out into the busy street toward the Rose Bouquet. The music and entertainment there never failed to attract a large crowd. As they drew closer, the first upbeat notes tickled their ears. A smile passed between them, and silently the friends agreed not to discuss Liza or the borders anymore.

Tarquin gave a sly smile and asked, “Is Joel going to meet up with us?”

“I don’t know. He had to go visit Ambassador Cenric this morning. I barely got a chance to see him.”

“Really? It seems you’ve had all the time in the world to see him. Since his return, I don’t think you’ve spent a single night in our dorm room.”

Gib’s face burst hot, and he pounced on Tarquin rather than try to force coherent words from a stuttering mouth. The two friends laughed and staggered through the street as the music became louder with each passing step. Longer limbs eventually won the struggle despite Tarquin’s lack of grace, and Gib was forced to walk with his head under his friend’s armpit for several paces. When they reached the Rose Bouquet, however, Tarquin showed mercy and turned Gib loose.

As always, the owners knew how to throw a party. The music was festive and loud, amplified by the mages who worked for the tavern. Joel had mentioned before that while magery wasn’t an incredibly rare gift, it had varying levels of strength, so it only stood to reason the weaker mages might find themselves looking for less strenuous careers. Gib supposed if he’d been born with the ability, amplifying music wouldn’t be the worst job he could think of.

Tarquin had already begun to clap along with the rhythm. From under the wide brim of his hat, his pale eyes squinted toward the stage. “I like the singer. I heard she wrote most of the band’s songs herself.”

Gib had to stand on his tiptoes to be able to make out the performance platform. He could barely see the lead female performer dancing and singing on the stage. “I like this song. It’s the one about child soldiers. It created a stir last summer, didn’t it? I thought Neetra was going to have a fit. He wanted to arrest the entire troupe, but the King shot him down.”

Tarquin leaned in and lowered his voice. “Do you think he’s out here somewhere? The King, I mean. Do you suppose he’s listening, too?”

Gib laughed. “What? Hidden under a cloak and driving Koal insane by ‘not behaving like royalty’? Maybe in his younger days, but I doubt it now.” The smile left him, and he lost the tune of the song. “The council is so cross with him most days he doesn’t go anywhere without his personal bodyguard and an entourage of royal sentinels. He’s not even allowed to walk alone through the palace.”

“Father has told me as much.” Tarquin stopped clapping and shook his head. “He says he remembers when the King would openly defy the court and say things most unbecoming for royalty. He’d behave in ways Father wouldn’t fully discuss.” A small laugh escaped him. “Apparently there was always a strong distaste for the rules—”

“Sounds like a scoundrel. Anyone I know?”

Gib jumped in place when the new voice rose just behind. Hasain smiled down, looking for all the world like his father—from the wild glint in his eye to the dimples in his cheeks. He stood with a regal rigidity all his own, however—a reminder of his true nature.

Gib frowned at Hasain. “It would seem you have your own healthy disrespect for protocol. Shouldn’t you have a guard of some sort?”

Hasain opened his mouth but was cut off by rambunctious laughter. A moment later, Nawaz Arrio pushed his way through the crowd to join the group. He was red faced and smiling like a fiend. “Oh, you three better run! When she gets here she’s gonna—”

“
Nawaz Arrio! You miserable horse’s arse! Get back here!
”

Kezra’s onyx hair bristled and fanned in every direction, and her sentinel uniform and face were soaked as she tromped up to the group. At some point she must have wiped her forehead and smudged her bindi. The crimson diamond now looked like a terrible scratch across her brow.

Gib raised an eyebrow and attempted not to laugh. “What happened to you, Kezra? You look like a drowned rat!” He lost his battle then and snickered with Nawaz, who also appreciated the joke.

While they were enjoying a good laugh at her expense, Tarquin had already whisked the cloak from his shoulders and offered it to her. His face was cherry red as he held it at arm’s length. “H–here, Kezra. You’ll catch your death in those wet clothes.”

Kezra halted in her attempt to catch the troublemaker who’d wronged her. Looking down at herself and then back to Tarquin, who couldn’t hold her gaze, she seemed like she would decline his generous offering. But then her face softened just a little, and she nodded graciously. “Thanks. But now you’re going to freeze.” Kezra whipped around to snarl at Nawaz. “You could do with some common sense and manners like Tarquin!”

Blue eyes danced as Nawaz peeked out from behind a sour looking Hasain. “You looked bored. I came over to say hello.”

“And to dump a damned
rain barrel
over my head!”

“That was an accident—”

“The hell it was!”

Just as she was preparing to throw Tarquin’s cloak over her shoulders, Hasain sighed and stepped forward. “Enough of this. If you put that on, it’ll get wet, too.” He snatched the garment from her and tossed it back to Tarquin—who was still staring at the cobblestones—before pulling off gloves and muttering an incantation. As if it were no trouble at all, Hasain gestured toward her tunic, and Gib watched as the heavy fabric dried before his eyes.

“And to think I didn’t even know you were a mage for the longest time,” Gib laughed, staring incredulously at Hasain. “You wear your white robes so sparingly I guess I never noticed.”

Hasain was as smug as a cat with a feather on its lip. “Anyone born with the gift can become a mage. Extra training is required to be a politician. I choose to make the most of myself.” He gestured toward Kezra’s dry uniform. “Simple. Problem solved.”

If Hasain was waiting for thanks, he was surely disappointed when Kezra stepped around him and pointed at Nawaz. “I could arrest you, you know!”

Nawaz turned a devilish grin on her. “Empty threats, dear. You can shackle me if you want though. Just go gentle at first.”

“Ugh,” Gib groaned, falling back a step.

Tarquin had his back to them already, his crimson face reminding Gib of a pyre. Hasain made some strangled sound of discontent, and Kezra, of all people, laughed like a fiend.

Her mirth effectively covered the sounds of another man as he approached. Tall and slender, he swept through the crowd with precision and authority. His white mage robes billowed out behind him and his sour, haughty frown made people jump out of the way faster. Gib didn’t notice him until the man was an arm’s length away.

“Kezra! What the hell happened back there? Did you catch the guy who—oh, it’s
him
.” The man narrowed his emerald eyes and gave Nawaz a shrewd look. “I suppose this means he won’t be getting arrested.”

Nawaz ducked behind Kezra. “Sorry, Zandi. I didn’t see how close you were standin’ to her. I didn’t mean for you to get wet, too!” He chuckled and ruined any credibility he might have hoped to build.

“Well, that makes it all better then, doesn’t it?” The newcomer crossed thin arms over his chest.

Gib only then noticed how out of sorts the man looked with his mussed hair and wet uniform.

Zandi Malin-Rai was Kezra’s elder brother, and though they shared the same dark skin and green eyes, that was about where their similarities ended. He definitely took after their father for build and features as well as his cold disposition—though despite his icy words and detached nature, he wasn’t unhandsome.

Kezra waved off her brother’s concerns. “If you’d been doing your job and not bothering me then you wouldn’t have been in the line of fire.”

“That hardly makes his behavior excusable!” Zandi rubbed his hands together briskly before repeating the same magic trick Hasain had performed just moments before. Zandi muttered under his breath the entire time, still giving Nawaz death glares.

Gib shook his head. “You mages and your magic. I suppose I’ll never understand it.”

Zandi’s green eyes flew wide, and his cheeks went a shade darker. His hands came up to fidget with his long onyx hair as he avoided eye contact with Gib. Cutting his sister a vicious glare, he muttered, “You didn’t mention your friends were here. You should introduce us properly.”

It seemed a funny request. Gib had met Zandi before and was sure everyone else here had, too. With the exception of Gib, all those present were of noble birth and had fathers or step-fathers on the High Council. More than once they’d all crossed paths at formal events and holidays. Gib owed his good fortune of being Koal’s understudy as his means of attending these same gatherings.

Kezra didn’t even try to be discreet about her brother’s odd inquiry. In fact, true to the nature of any sibling, she had a smug look in her eye as she ridiculed him in public. “You know damned well who he is! Gib, this is Zandi. Zandi, that’s Gib—not that you didn’t know. You need me to remind you who Tarquin is? How about Hasain? Or Nawaz?”