20. Chapter 20 #2
Of course, his council disagreed, as they had with Serra.
They were upset at the plan and upset he’d taken action toward that plan without their involvement.
They were also upset that he still held the two Serran princes, although Cyrus wasn’t sure what they wanted him to do with them because they’d also been disturbed when they’d first learned he’d considered killing them.
Essandra, on the other hand, seemed quite relieved he’d spared the boys, although not enough to forgive him.
It had been three weeks since he’d returned, and she’d spoken no more than a handful of words to him.
When she learned he’d lost his armor, she’d said nothing. No chiding, no scolding. Nothing.
And she hadn’t replaced it.
Her apathy worried him more than her anger.
He worried he’d ruined what was between them.
There was nothing between them , he corrected himself as he watched her during the council meeting.
Then he worried he’d ruined the nothing between them.
She ignored him—ignored his gaze, ignored his words—offering input directly to the council as if he never said anything at all.
As if he weren’t there at all.
He noted a new marking on her arm. She was still using dark magic.
He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t in a position to confront her.
It wasn’t his business or his concern. Except he was concerned.
Now that she didn’t see using Alexander as a viable option for bringing back her sister, no doubt she was searching for alternatives.
He’d thought a lot over the past few weeks—thought a lot about how he’d so easily passed the opportunity at his brother.
And he came to a realization. Cyrus couldn’t kill him.
If Alexander’s blood gave Essandra what she needed, if his life could be used as an anchor, Cyrus would give it to her.
But he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet. She’d see it as a gift given in an effort to dismiss her anger, and that wasn’t what this was.
So, he said nothing and let her pass by him without a word.
After he had sat long enough, he finally rose and left the council room too. When he stepped into the hall, the first smile in weeks spread across his face.
“Hephain,” he said as his newly appointed ambassador to Pryam strode toward him. Well, not quite newly appointed. Hephain had been in Pryam for over six months now, helping the young Queen Miriel under the guise of representing Rael.
Hephain grinned back but paused to bow. “King Cyrus. It’s good to be back in Rael.”
The dogs trotted over from where they’d been freely roaming about the halls and jumped around him, their hinds wagging. Hephain chuckled, giving them each an affectionate pat.
“How is Miriel?” Cyrus asked him.
“Very well.” Hephain straightened and held out a letter. “She sends this.”
He took it with a nod. It was thick, as if she didn’t write to him weekly. He couldn’t help another smile. “How long are you here for?”
“A week, maybe a little longer. I’ve come to consult with the masters of education and law for some projects back in Pryam, and, when convenient, update you on how things are going.”
Cyrus nodded again. “Come to dinner. Essandra will want to hear too.”
Hephain hesitated. “I’d love to, but I can’t leave Corwin to fend for himself his first evening in Rael.” He gave a small motion to a man behind him. Cyrus hadn’t noticed him. He wore white and gold, the color of Pryam, with the signature beauty of the Pryamese people.
“Forgive me,” Hephain said quickly. “Let me present Corwin Lewis of Pryam.”
“Lord Corwin,” Cyrus greeted him.
“Not Lord ,” the man said as he bowed. “Just Corwin, Sire.”
Not a lord. If not court business, Cyrus wondered what had brought him to Rael.
Hephain swallowed. “Corwin is a friend. I invited him to accompany me. I hope that’s all right.”
Friend.
Cyrus nodded as it dawned on him. Words escaped him for a moment, then he said, “Well, if Corwin is a friend, he’ll dine as a friend.
Bring him to dinner as well.” A conversation at dinner would be nice for a change.
It had been quiet during the past weeks.
Kord was busy with the army, so he wouldn’t be there, and Essandra still wasn’t speaking to him.
Corwin’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
Hephain shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”
“Sire!” a voice called to his left. Cyrus turned. A page. “Lord Everan requests you join him in the throne room.”
Cyrus had to go. He glanced back at Hephain. “I’ll see you both this evening.” And he struck out toward the throne room.
“What’s this about?” he asked the page.
“I don’t know, Sire. There are visitors. But Lord Everan and Lord Kord are already there.”
Cyrus couldn’t help a chuckle. Lord Kord. Everan and Kord had become lords in Rael after he’d taken the throne, although this was probably the first time he’d heard them called by their titles. Lord Kord. He chuckled again.
He made it to the throne room and strode in.
Only a small group of men were there. Kord and Everan waited patiently by his throne, the signal he should sit on it.
Cyrus stifled his previous amusement—he’d have to save his jesting of Kord’s rhyming title for later.
He turned his attention to the men now before him.
There were four. They were nicely dressed, not as fine as most lords from other kingdoms but nice enough to show them as men of status.
They all bowed, although only one stepped forward.
“King Cyrus,” the man in front said. “I am Vin Atari.” He was an older man, perhaps fifteen or twenty years Cyrus’s senior. He continued, “I am by trade a teacher, by heart an artist, and now a public servant to the people of Serra.”
These were freed men from Serra. Interesting. Cyrus hadn’t expected to see anyone so soon.
“I’ve come to ask that you ratify the decision of the people,” Vin said.
He bowed again and held out a stack of parchments in his hands.
“I’ve outlined my background, education, and history of service, which I submit to you for your consideration, so that you may decide if I am worthy of this position. ”
Cyrus frowned. “What position?”
“To lead the people of Serra.”
Cyrus could only stare at him.
Vin motioned to the men behind him, who stepped forward holding a large leather-bound ledger. “These men lead the Independent Trust and oversee the voting,” he said. “They have brought the sealed records for your review as well.”
Cyrus cocked his head to the side. He couldn’t have understood him correctly. “So, the freed people of Serra have chosen a man to lead them, you , and you want me to approve this?”
The man bowed his head again. “Yes, Sire.”
“Why? I’m not king of Serra.”
Vin leaned back on his heel with his mouth slightly agape. “Yes, you are.”
Cyrus stood from his throne. “No, I’m not.”
Vin glanced at the men who’d accompanied him, then back to Cyrus. They all shifted now. Clearly they hadn’t expected this reaction.
“Sire,” he said, “the people of Serra consider you our king. We’ve pledged our loyalty.”
“Loyalty to what?”
“To your crown! The position I put before you is the position of viceroy. I would act as your hand, extending your reach across Serra.”
But Cyrus didn’t want to extend his reach across Serra.
“Sire, it’s under your reign that Rael has risen again,” Vin said.
More like despite his reign .
“Serra can rise again too. Better. Like Rael.”
If this man knew Rael, Cyrus doubted he’d want Serra to be anything like it.
“And we’re committed to your cause,” Vin added. “You bring justice for our people; you right what has been wronged.”
Cyrus glanced at Everan and Kord. They said nothing, but he read it in their eyes.
He was barely running Rael; he couldn’t take on Serra.
And he’d already committed enough justice, if one could call it that.
He had to turn this man away. If Serra was organized enough to vote, they were organized enough to take themselves on a different path. A better path.
“Eleven ships have accompanied me,” Vin said. “And more are sailing as we speak. Regardless of whether you deem me fit for the position that I’ve shared with you, these men have come to join your army.”
Cyrus paused.
Eleven ships.
Thousands of men.
And more to come.
“They would need training, of course,” Vin acknowledged, “but they’re men of heart.”
More men to train, but they were still more men .
Kord leaned closer. “Cyrus,” he warned quietly, so that only he could hear.
But Cyrus was focused on Vin. These men would join him against the Shadow King.
“We have to send them back,” Kord whispered.
He couldn’t send them back. He needed every man he could get. And if Aleon engaged in the war to come, as Gregor feared, he’d need even more.
“Cyrus,” Kord pressed.
“I’ll approve this position,” Cyrus said. “Show me the records, let me see that it was a proper vote.”
Vin bowed. “Of course, Sire.”
“Get ready to receive these men,” Cyrus said to Kord.
It was late by the time Cyrus made it to the dining room. Kord strode beside him, silent. He didn’t approve of Cyrus accepting Serra. Neither did Everan, but they would help him. His brothers—he could count on them above all else, even if they didn’t agree with him.
As they stepped into the dining room, Cyrus stopped when he saw Hephain… with the friend whose name he’d forgotten.
Just as he’d forgotten he’d invited them.
At the time, it had seemed like a good idea, but with Kord in rare attendance, it didn’t seem quite as good of an idea now.
When he noticed Cyrus, Hephain stood from where he’d been sitting with Essandra and Visa, his face filled with warmth and laughter. Then he paled when his eyes caught Kord.
Hephain’s friend wore a broad smile, completely unaware. “King Cyrus,” he said, standing as well and giving a bow. “We were just hearing from Lady Essandra about the new schools.”
“Who are you?” Kord asked him.