Page 23 of The Ivory King

A soft rap pulled me from my melancholy moment, as I sat up slowly, threw my hair from my face, and beckoned whoever was outside to come in.

V’alor slipped through the portal, looking haggard.

“My lord Aelir, I hope you found some respite,” he said, blocking the doorway.

“Not much, but more than I wager you did,” I replied, and he nodded silently.

“I will head to the barracks when I know you are safe.”

“Has there been any word about the assassin being caught?”

“There has not. The noble council has been locked in the library all night. No word from them has been sent out either. There are rumors amongst the castle staff that the court healers suspect ground death weave mushrooms, which are only found on the Black Sand Isles so that casts a dark shadow on the Sandrayan contingency. Alas, anyone who visits the islands has access to that most deadly fungi, so they are truly no further ahead and are growing more frustrated by the hour. Speaking of frustrations, there is a pest out here that will not stop whimpering about dressing you for the first day of mourning.”

I dreaded the black clothing that was required of all nobility when a monarch passed.

“Fine, yes, let Joralf in so we can begin what will be a long day of prayers, fasting, and interrogations by the royal guard.”

V’alor inclined his head, his lips flat as if he wished to say something more but dared not.

He stepped to the side and Joralf ran into my suite, eyes puffy and red, to throw himself at the foot of my bed and wail.

“Morning bells will chime soon,” V’alor noted before easing back out of the room. The door closed with a snick.

“Your grief is deep, but we have no time for such a pious display.” I threw the tangled covers aside. As soon as my feet touched the cool floor, Joralf was at my side with a fresh robe.Within moments, servants were rushing in with buckets of hot water, V’alor watching from the doorway intently.

“Let me guide you into the tub. We will fix black nettles in your hair today.” Joralf, now feeling better for having given quaking young girls a firm shout for splashing water on the floor, was leading me to the tub with a hand on my elbow as if I were Umeris. I’d no sooner thought of my grandfather and he appeared. Limping into my room in ebony robes that carried the stench of dark herbs of mourning that had been burned, he waved a crooked cane of elder wood at Joralf. The young man dashed out of the room. Umeris looked over his shoulder at V’alor.

“Come inside. Close the door.” Umeris sat down on the bed with a long sigh, his face showing all of his hundreds of years of life. “The council is, as I feared, filled with idiots, toads, and vainglorious asses. Do you not have tea yet?”

“No, I was going to bathe then eat. There are some honey cakes from last night if you’ve not been fed.” I waved a hand at the plate of dried cakes sitting where it had been placed.

“No, no, they fed us, but my throat is as dry as parchment from arguing all night. I am glad we have called for a respite,” Umeris said, then looked right at me. “You do realize that you are, even with your headstrong ways and thoughts, the most capable one to wear the crown, do you not?”

I stood there in my robe, mouth open. “I…no, I am surely not.”

V’alor shifted slightly by the door, the clack of shield touching his armored thigh.

“Oh you are. The Mossbell offspring are a cripple who will never be able to produce an heir or two vapid whoremongers. The Dewfalls have an older leader, that is true, but his children are all half-blooded and ineligible to sit the throne, for the law states only a true nobleman or woman may lead Melowynn sowe would be faced with the same untenable problem all over again. I have been arguing for you all night and while the others are steadfast in declaring for their houses, they know that you alone are the best candidate. The major stumbling block for your ascension to the throne is that you are not officially betrothed or wed.”

I felt my legs turn to butter and sat with a thud on the small stool that I’d watched the sunset on just last night.

“I do not wish to wed anyone. I love V’alor,” I managed to say. “He is to be my consort.”

Umeris glanced at my love and then back at me. “Such sentimentality has little to do with the monarchy or lineage. Many noble persons marry for reasons that have nothing to do with emotion, most I should say. Such is the way of nobility. He may continue to come to your bed so long as you are discreet.” I heard V’alor grunt softly. “To that end, I have sent a raven to the sisters of Celinthe, telling them to ready Lady Raewyn and her handmaiden for the trip back to Celear. You will ask for her hand when you see her. She will say yes, and when you return to the capital, you shall be wed. When that is done, I will present your name to the noble council again and they will have no reason to argue against it, for I am sure that you will plant a seed in the belly of the Frostleaf heiress with all expedience so that this situation shallnevercome to bear again. The other lands are ridiculing us already and our king is barely cold. So, ready yourself, for you are to leave after morning prayers. Take three guards. Travel with speed and do not think to return to this castle without your future bride on your arm.”

Words stalled on my tongue. My stomach fell. I glanced at V’alor.

“We shall be ready to fetch the Lady Frostleaf at your command, Grand Advisor,” V’alor said, lowered his head, placed his fist to his chest, and then backed out of the room.

I stared at the door he had just guarded as I valiantly tried to bury the agony gripping my lungs.

THE RAINS CAME AND WENT THROUGHOUT THE MORNINGas great winds riled the Silvura Sea into a monster that tried its best to scale the steep, pale cliffs under Castle Avolire. Ebony banners of mourning flew from the highest towers, falling in wet lengths down the sides of the slick stone walls. Servants and guards wore black armbands. Even the beasts that called the bailey home seemed to sense the sadness aside from the geese flocks who enjoyed the soaking weather. I stood beside Atriel, my thoughts dour, as a light mist coated my traveling clothes, the smell of wet leather armor and damp horse lending to the grayness of the mood. To my left waited V’alor with his red roan gelding, Sirdal, and beside him, as always, Pasil double-checking provisions in the saddle bags upon his gold mare Gwedel. Tezen Plumwax, who had been cleared of any wrongdoings, had shed her ballgown to don her Stillcloud armor. She sat between Atriel’s ears. My horse was used to the presence of the tiny warrior, for Tezen had ridden thusly during Kenton’s heroic journey to save his people and the Verboten when I was a mere child.

I was no small lad now. I was a man grown and my heart ached like an infected wound, for I could see no way out of this unwanted situation. I had no wish to wed Raewyn or become the ruler of Melowynn. What did I know about ruling a nation? Nothing. I had been trained to oversee a vills, not a kingdom.Argue as I may have with Umeris before morning prayers, there was no changing his mind. Sadly, as much as I loathed the idea, I could see that his plan for me to wear the crown was sound. The kingdom would prosper under my steady hand, and the offspring that Raewyn and I would produce would be pure nobility.

I ran a hand over Atriel’s dappled flank.

A marriage. A wife. A child. I wished for none of those things, not now. All I had longed for was V’alor at my side. To announce him as my consort. And now that was dashed upon the slick rocks that the ocean thundered against for V’alor had already withdrawn back into that honorable shell he’d worn for so long.

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