Page 46 of The Ivory King

“They were hired by the Mossbells to kill me,” I said, the words sticky in my throat. His mouth fell open. A sight not seen often. Then he closed it with a firm clack.

“Do you have proof?” Umeris asked on a reedy exhalation.

“Only the words of a dying valet,” I confessed and retold the story of our trip, excluding nothing. When I reached the end, I stared at my shaken grandfather. “We sent an owl witha message warning you of the moose.” I glanced back at Beiro, hiding in the corner. The ginger nodded. I looked back to Umeris, who seemed to regather himself.

“No missive was delivered to me from you. I have gotten no replies of any kind.”

“Someone has been intercepting your mail, Grand Advisor,” Raewyn stated.

Umeris muttered something foul under his breath. “Forgive me, Lady Frostleaf, for such profanity.”

“No need for apologies. I say worse when I hit my toe on a dresser.”

Umeris gawked at my demure bride-to-be. He was in for quite an awakening about the pious Lady Frostleaf.

“Grand Advisor,” V’alor chimed in, leaving Pasil at the door as he neared, his head lowered, his fist resting on his chest.

“Speak, Silverfrond, and do not think that my mind has forgotten the fact that you and a handmaiden are also bound to my grandson, even though neither of you possess a drop of noble blood.”

“I think that this talk of blood and whose is better is best left for another time,” I interjected. Lady Raewyn and Tezen, a princess in her own right, agreed vocally. Umeris scowled. “Now, V’alor, say what you wish. You are family now.”

I feared that last comment might send Umeris into a vaporous spell, but he merely glared at his upstart grandson.

“Grand Advisor, I do not wish to overstep—”

“I’d say that it is far too late as you—and several others—are now promised to my grandson.” Umeris threw his hair over his shoulder, a show of his regal locks. I rolled my eyes.

V’alor let the snideness roll off his copper-plated back. “Our thoughts should be on the Mossbells, for they are seeking to remove Aelir as the prime candidate for the throne by any means possible. Our focus should rest on them and ensuringthat they’re brought before the elder council for their attempts on Aelir’s life.”

Umeris nodded, just once. “You always did seem a most practical man, Silverfrond. Pity your pragmatism did not rub off on your charge.” I looked at the ceiling and counted to fifty to keep from leaping into a word battle with my grandfather. “Someone needs to fetch Fylson from his chambers,” Umeris stated. “He has been sequestered in his room for too long now. Raloven is dead, ready to be placed in the royal tomb come the sunrise, and his input on who shall sit on the throne is needed now more than ever.”

“But with Raloven gone, who will give credence to his secretary?” I asked as I rose to pace the room.

“All in Melowynn. He is a war hero, a learned man, and a beloved icon,” Umeris replied with a sigh. “You boy, in the corner.” Beiro startled so loudly he gasped. Pasil smiled softly as he stood by the doorway. “You will take this note to Le’ral. Do not hand it to any other page or staff.”

“But I…” Beiro stammered but fell silent at the stern look from Umeris.

“Is there no one under the age of four hundred that willnotspeak back when spoken to?” Umeris grumbled before returning to his inkpot and quill. He scratched out a quick note and held it out. Beiro slunk from the shadows like a terrified cat, snatched the note, and made for the door.

“I shall accompany him if you give me leave, Grand Advisor. I know where Secretary Le’ral rests,” Pasil said and got a nod of affirmation from Umeris. They left quickly, the small note tight in Beiro’s hand, and Tezen feeling the need to accompany them. Probably to allow us a familial moment alone. I’d have preferred she stay, but this confrontation was better handled now.

“So, tell me about this muddled mess you have allowed your romantic heart to knot you into,” Umeris said as he turned fromhis letters to stare at me. “Please explain how you have returned to this keep with three people bound to you. Surely you do not plan to bed all of them at once, for even a young elf of your lineage would be hard-pressed to satisfy three lovers in the same bed.”

V’alor stood stoically beside me. I took his hand in mine. “Whom is in whose bed on what night matters not. The only thing you need to know is Raewyn and I will do our duty to Renedith and to Melowynn if the crowns come to rest on our heads by producing an heir.”

“Well, at least you have kept one tenant of import in your head,” Umeris huffed, easing his swollen foot up to rest on a small velvet-covered footstool. “You realize this is most uncommon and, therefore, will stir up the clerics and exalted cloisterer. A marriage is between two people, not four, and while I am pleased to hear you plan to ensure the Stillcloud name lives on, I will state that putting a seed into the belly of a handmaiden—”

“Will never occur,” I assured him. He seemed dubious, but he let the comment resting on his tongue melt away. “As for what constitutes a marriage that should be decided by those entering into it. The number of people, the sexes. A family is not just what the elders or the church dictates, it is what the hearts of those becoming a congress say. And yes, if I do sit upon the throne, I shall address this as well as many other archaic ways that have hindered our people for far too long.”

Raewyn took my free hand, and V’alor squeezed my right. Merrilyn grunted in what I assumed was agreement. My grandfather stared up at me as if searching for something long lost.

“You are your mother’s child,” he finally responded.

“Thank you. Change is inevitable, Grandfather. Even to those who live for centuries.” I felt empowered as never before.Perhaps it was the knowledge that I had faced so many dangers of late and came out alive, or perhaps it was the feel of V’alor’s hand gripping mine in front of Umeris.

A soft scratch at the door filled the tense room. Umeris called to enter. The doorway filled with the rumpled form of Fylson Le’ral, a man visibly shredded by the death of his true love. Pasil, Beiro, and Tezen moved in behind the secretary, who was clad in only his sleeping attire and woolen socks. His skin was gray with grief, but his deep brown eyes were as sharp as a kestrel’s.

“Is there a reason that you send your men to rouse me from my mourning?” Fylson asked, his voice thick with unshed tears.

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