Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
The Advisor
Things were returning to normal.
Or at least, Skyre had drunk enough to think so.
The festivities carried on for two full days, with his guests lingering in the wake of the Reaffirmation.
He was reminded of the joys he’d neglected, and was able to forget the miserableness of his wedding so long as no one mentioned it. After the first man who did so got a beating and the second was chased out by the Vaich’s little hounds, no one brought it up again.
The chamber was drowned in torchlight and filled to the brim with boisterous men.
Skyre was laughing again, and he savored it, watching his Féin making fools of themselves. Greyv had gathered some of the younger Aards and the pack of them put on a play.
“The Curious Tale of the Great Goose War!” He stood before the Vaich with his hands held wide. “Or how the good men of Bhabirn lost twice.”
“A clever man would only lose once,” Skyre said.
“Aye, but you didn’t see those geese.”
“How do you ken? You weren’t there!” someone called.
“You’re right,” said Skyre. “No man who lost to a fowl could stand here tonight.”
“Even if they were big fucking fowl!” cried Greyv.
The men paraded in obnoxious display and Greyv came and flopped down next to him.
“Look at this rich cunt playing entertainer,” said Skyre. “I should have hired you as a clown.”
“Lucky for you, I’ll do it free of charge.” Greyv reached over, grabbing the tankard from Skyre’s hand. “Now we’re even.”
Skyre smiled.
“Well, how does it feel? The king has his warband. Look at these marvelous bastards.”
It was all in good fun, yet Skyre couldn’t help but be startled. It was the first time in weeks anyone had asked how he was.
He didn’t know how to answer.
“The Aardm?t will need leave before break of Tírnach,” Greyv continued. “That’s soon.”
“Not soon enough,” said Skyre. He longed for the thrill of the road.
At least out there he could prove himself worth something.
He was tired of court life and ceremony.
“I want to smell the dirt again. Feel the sun. Saorla’s been cooped up too long.
The girl ought to run. She was born to do it, not spend her whole life standing in place. ”
“It’ll be just like we always said. Riding wild and hungry with your new heavy purse.”
Skyre chuckled shoving his arm. “Dinnae let the chamberlain hear you.”
“Or what? He’ll cut you off? His isn’t your father. You don’t have one—but you have coin. Think of all the fun we can buy.”
Skyre rolled his eyes as his friend slumped lazily in his chair, head tilting back as he traced shapes in the air. “There’s so many things for you to see,” he said. “Things I always wanted to show you.”
Skyre crinkled his brow. “Like what?”
“Like the stone bridge over the creek, or the kirk at Echr M?n.” Greyv smirked. “Or the bank on Old Blue where I took that midwife from Cohness.”
Skyre laughed. He had heard all about Greyv’s escapades when they were younger.
It was Skyre’s way of learning the world—the parts his books couldn’t tell him.
He couldn’t leave Righnach’Dúir, but through Greyv’s words, he’d gone everywhere.
They’d lie in the grass and the older boy would tell him stories.
Skyre would close his eyes and imagine skidding his knees on the backroads of Rhosyn where Greyv grew up, and hunting grouse in the weald.
He learned the names of a hundred people he’d never met, and knew everything about each of them.
He was never jealous. Not really. But sometimes when Greyv came back, he would look a bit more learned.
Skyre wondered if he looked that way, too.
“You’ll have to come for dinner,” said Greyv. “You’re twenty years overdue.”
“Another time,” said Skyre. “It’ll kill your poor mother to host an entourage.”
Greyv grinned, the dimples on his cheeks sinking deep. “Dinnae worry. She kens where to hide the wine.”
The door to the hall opened, and three familiar figures strode in. Rask led at the front, followed by Jor and, with a slower gait, Nacht.
“Back to business?” Greyv muttered.
Skyre sighed.
“You’re late,” Rask snapped. “We were to meet on the hour. You havenae moved a hair.”
“Were we to meet?” Greyv wondered.
Skyre only vaguely recalled the council meeting had been scheduled. “Now that you mention it…”
Rask fumed. “We’re to talk of the road. Stop messing around and come have a look.”
“Tedious old man, can’t I have a moment to revel?”
“You’ve done nothing but revel. Now, there’s work to be done!”
The celebration died down as the crowd turned to watch, and Skyre raised a brow.
“I’ll invite you not to accost me in front of my men.” It was a jest, but also a warning.
Rask pinked with rage. “Then come down and do your job.”
Frustrated, Skyre got to his feet, his eyes darting briefly towards Jor. Being in the prince’s presence was like displaying his back bare. He said, “Fine then. We’ll convene in my war room.”
The war chamber was blue with thickening evening. The scene was familiar, and Skyre not nearly drunk enough not to prickle at its memory. They gathered around the map. Everyone looked unhappy to be there, except Greyv, who had never enjoyed getting angry.
Nacht hadn’t said a word since the Reaffirmation, not in acceptance, and certainly not in thanks. Skyre was annoyed. He had three months on the road with his hero, and thought if he asked him for training, the man might fall on his own sword.
Skyre looked away.
“We’ll start in the south and end in the north. No one wants to spend more time than they must in Dunn Kennigh,” said the king.
“The place is full of ghosts,” grumbled Greyv.
“The southlanders may be unpleasant, but the venture is no less significant,” said Jor. “It will be to the Vaich’s benefit to appease them.”
“If for no other reason than to avoid being cursed,” said Greyv.
Skyre snickered.
“It’s no laughing matter,” barked Rask. “A smart man keeps his enemies close. You’d best be wary or see another Black Revolt.”
Skyre scoffed. “That was a lifetime ago.”
“A lifetime? You stand in the presence of its living memory! My father fought against the Dunn Laird, and his brother died on the grey fields. I would not see younger men sent off to kinslay.”
Skyre scowled. Such things were long settled. They had been for a generation. He would ride south and tell ?vain what he had told his men—the Vaich would not accept a rival. If the east and the south were getting loud, he would go and silence them.
“As I said, we’ll begin in the south—”
“It will be too long,” said Nacht from the shadow.
Skyre squinted at him. “Dinnae slink about, Aard Nacht. You’re an honored member of my Féin. Now, come here and say what is the matter.”
Nacht’s expression was unmoving. “His Majesty must begin in the north; it will be a swifter ride to Annath. The east is unchecked. The border untamed. You should not waste time. I told you—”
“Yes, yes… I’ll send your boys back east tonight.”
“If the Béig úil says it is precarious, then you ought to take it seriously,” said Jor. “The Dúnan Toor are restless. We shall see to them.”
Skyre snapped. “With what authority do you speak?”
“You named me advisor,” Jor reminded him. “Thus, I’ll advise. Unless of course, you are all word and bluster?”
“My word could not be more honest,” said Skyre.
But it was the word of another who had set that path.
“Good,” said Jor. “I have already drafted your proclamation.”
“On whose command?” he growled. “I appointed you advisor, not proxy.”
“I only wish to make your work short.” Jor placed the parchment on the table. “Aard Rask and I have spoken at length, and with Aard Nacht we both agree—this is the route we should take. All you need do is sign it.”
“You—” Skyre stilled himself, watching their expectant gazes. If he bit out now, the council would think him petty. It was but a route, a road to take. Yet, to be gone over on so small a thing…
Every speck of his control was being buffed away, till all that was left was a polished mirror, reflecting his cracking face.
Six stony eyes watched him.
“A simple matter,” he grumbled.
“Indeed,” said Jor. “No objections, I presume?”
“Of course not.”
Rask cleared his throat. “Then let us get on with it. We’ll prepare for the M?t.”
“Aye,” said Skyre. “We will.”
When the war chamber had emptied, Greyv turned to him and said, “It’s no matter. Just political humdrum.”
“Right,” said Skyre as his friend hooked an arm over his shoulder.
“It’s done with. Let’s head back to the party.”
But Skyre didn’t feel like partying anymore. He said, “It’s late and my queen will need supper.”
Greyv scrunched his nose. “Throw him a bone and be done with it. We’ll have something brought up to the hall.”
“That won’t do and you ken it.”
“Do I?” Greyv’s solitary laugh was filled with contempt. “He’s beneath you, Skyre. Your place is here. You’re a king, not a house husband.”
Not three months ago he would have agreed. Being Vaich meant a life of revelry… or that’s what he’d thought.
Skyre shook his head and shrugged himself loose. “Go,” he said. “Enjoy the night for me.”
Greyv frowned. “You really won’t stay?”
“Mm. Just like old times.” Skyre smiled weakly. “I’ll live through you.”
Night fell over Rhyd-hal. The king’s private chambers were warm in the amber glow of fire, yet Skyre was far from comfort as he slumped in his chair.
He’d read “his” proclamation at least fifteen times and still the words did not settle.
His mind was both too full… and too empty.
Every so often, his skin would stiffen as little yips bit into the silence.
The druid sat before the hearth; his skirts splayed over the bearskin.
The pups played about them, digging amongst the fabric, clambering at his legs.
Skyre watched them irritably, seeing their tiny tongues wag; their wide brown eyes desperate for affection.
And the druid—their silent provider—scratched their bellies as they rolled over to expose them.