Chapter Thirty-Seven #2
“Cheers,” Namreth says, raising his goblet. When neither of us toast, he doesn’t seem to care. He shrugs and takes another sip.
“You were once a prince of Alarice, and now you are King of the Waste,” Dietan says.
“I had no choice,” Namreth answers. “When my brother passed me over in the line of succession to name you, his worthless grandson, heir to Alarice, I had to create my own destiny.”
“You were banished for learning forbidden magic,” Dietan says. “Grandfather didn’t trust you with the kingdom.”
“My brother is a coward. We could have used the Rings to make Alarice even stronger—to reshape the world—but what did he do with them? He gave them to your father, his son-in-law, to keep the kingdoms at peace. He entirely squandered such a precious resource, such an opportunity.” His voice is level, as if he’s discussing the weather, but I can tell by the way he grips the arms of the golden throne that his emotions are a storm ready to erupt.
“The Whisting is a gift to the land. It’s never been about greed,” Dietan says.
Namreth looks displeased to be interrupted. His lips curl into a sneer, and he leans forward. “Your mind is limited by your mortality. Such power must be wielded by those who are willing to use it.”
On the table, Dietan’s fist tightens, as if holding back the urge to use the Whisting on his granduncle.
Namreth leans back in his chair again, swirling his goblet casually. “The Rings of Fate are my birthright, and they were taken from me. So, I left, abandoned the home I wanted to protect, and sought power from the one place my brother would never turn to: Penrith.”
Dietan scoffs. “We know you went to the Usurper. My father and grandfather kept track of you. Did you think you were free all this time because we didn’t know where you were?”
Namreth looks a bit discomfited by that.
Touché, I think, proud of Dietan.
“So why are you here?” Namreth asks. Exactly what I want to know. I only know what Dietan’s told me. He’s surprised me many times on this journey by knowing of Veteria’s existence, Katharine’s name, and now Osian’s true identity.
Who is Dietan of Loegria, really?
“If you’re so smart, why don’t you already know?” Dietan chides. “I’ve come to destroy you, obviously.”
“Destroy me?” Namreth chuckles. “And how will you do that?”
Dietan shrugs.
“You think you’re my doom, are you?”
Dietan sighs. “Okay, I’ll admit I had other reasons for coming here at first. I thought you could be an ally.
Even though you left Alarice behind to forge your own path, maybe you would see the value in joining us to protect your new kingdom and the people of Old Estyrion against the Usurper.
I thought there might be good in you still.
My mother said that growing up, you were the bravest of the Vindar knights, the shining hero of Alarice.
Fighting men flocked to your banner, and the people threw flowers at your feet.
I wanted to see for myself how you’d changed, whether you are that Vindar knight still.
My father said it was a lost cause. My grandfather agreed.
But I will be king someday, and I need everyone’s help in this coming war against the Usurper.
I thought I should at least try to get you on our side. ”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, nephew,” says Namreth, not looking disappointed at all. “But I am loyal to those who are loyal to me.”
“The Usurper of Penrith,” says Dietan. “You would turn your back on your family to serve him?”
Namreth nods as he swirls the water in his goblet lazily. “I’ve chosen strength over weakness. You should, too.”
“Loegria and Alarice are not weak, and our kings serve no one but their subjects.”
Namreth looks thoughtful. If he’s angered by Dietan’s jab, he doesn’t show it. “Aren’t they, though? Our spies tell us that Loegria and Alarice are weakened. The treasure of the kingdoms, the Rings of Fate, are missing.”
If Dietan is shocked to find his secret so plainly revealed, he doesn’t show it. “Missing?” he asks with an eyebrow raised.
“Penrith has openly attacked the borders of Loegria, yet the king does nothing. Alarice is undefended; bandits and marauders control the Bandai Bridge. Both Donnel and Elgar appear in good health and of sound mind, so there can only be one explanation: your father no longer has the Rings of Fate.
“I know Donnel. He would never let his people suffer. If he hasn’t used the Whisting by now, he doesn’t have it,” he continues.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, but Dietan appears unrattled.
“The Rings are not to be used lightly—my father taught me that. The armies of Loegria and Alarice are more than capable of handling a few bandits and raiders. We were taken by surprise, it’s true, but our kingdoms are mobilizing for the defense of our borders against the Usurper.
You can depend upon that.” Dietan radiates princely confidence, but I can’t help wondering: Where are these promised armies?
Why isn’t King Elgar calling upon our farm boys and tradesmen’s sons to serve?
“Your armies may have stopped him when he first took the throne, but the disorder in your border villages suggests they aren’t ready this time. And Donnel would never permit such loss of life if he had the means to prevent it,” Namreth says, echoing my uneasy train of thought.
“Then why hasn’t the Usurper launched his attack?”
“Oh, we will, in good time. An army will rise from the desert and another from the ocean. Together, we will take all of Albion.”
Dietan frowns. “But you can’t—and you won’t. Not until you know for sure that my father doesn’t have the Rings. He can destroy you with a wave of his hand. Your power is nothing compared to the Great Rings of the Anemoi, forged by Skiron herself. You can raise a sandstorm but not a hurricane.”
Namreth scowls, and I wonder if Dietan has gone too far in provoking him.
“My scouts tell me there is a massive hole in the bridge between Loegria and Estyrion. Such destruction can only be caused by one who wields the Rings.” He swirls the water in his goblet and gives Dietan a crafty smile. “And here you are, dear nephew.”
“Here I am.” Dietan’s voice is calm and level, but he’s gripping his knees under the table.
“Come to destroy me, have you?” Namreth chuckles again.
“Since you will not be an ally, you are my enemy and an enemy of Albion. I don’t see that I have any other choice.” Dietan shrugs as if he is merely observing the weather.
“Well, you are a fool. After I was passed over, Alarice means nothing to me.”
“I suppose you have been my enemy for some time now,” Dietan says thoughtfully. “I know that you sent your raiders after me and that you tried to kidnap and kill my bride. And that you’re working with the Kilandrar.”
The symbol Lydia drew in blood wasn’t a mountain; it was Osian’s crest. The very same that flies high on the flags above the castle. She was clever till the end.
Namreth smiles. His teeth look like fangs. “You will tell me where the Rings of Fate are, nephew.”
“I will do no such thing. Ever.”
My heart leaps in my throat as Dietan stands his ground.
Namreth’s laugh echoes throughout the chamber. “You will give up the Rings of Fate, one way or another. I know you have them on your person. I can feel them on you. The Whisting calls to me.”
Shit, shit, shit. This is bad. I ball the front of my skirt in my fists under the table and glance at the guards, who stand motionless but alert around the room.
Namreth narrows his eyes on Dietan. “Tell me, nephew, how does it feel, knowing you’ve come so far only to fail in your quest?” He takes another sip of his drink, waiting for an answer. “I think I shall enjoy watching you suffer. Slowly.”
“Do what you will to me, but Aren has nothing to do with this. Let her go.”
Namreth puts a hand to his heart. “Now, why would I want to separate you two lovebirds? By the goodness of my own heart, I allowed you to share quarters last night. Did you not enjoy it? Am I not merciful?”
“If you are merciful, let her go. Aren is as useless to you as the desert to a fish.”
Here he goes, trying to get rid of me again, trying to keep me safe.
But I won’t let him. The Oracle told me to never leave his side for the good of Albion.
Did he forget that already? I want to shout at him, tell him he doesn’t speak for me, but Namreth shifts in the throne and leans forward, never taking his eyes off Dietan.
“Useless to me? I think not. She is very dear to you, isn’t she, nephew? And that is most useful.”
Dietan barks a laugh as if it is the most ludicrous thing he’s heard at this most surreal luncheon. “Aren? She means nothing to me.”
Excuse me?
I stare at him, body buzzing with alarm, and then slowly, I realize what he’s doing. He’s still trying to protect me. Trying to make Namreth believe a lie.
Right?
But Dietan doesn’t even look at me. His gaze is firmly on Namreth.
“Nothing?” Namreth’s smile is crafty. “A strange thing to say about your bride-to-be, isn’t it?”
“Aren and I aren’t really getting married. It was a cover so I could travel through the country without sparking suspicion. I don’t love her. She’s nothing to me. Just a country serving wench. I was just using her to get where I needed to go.”
Well, that’s harsh. He wants to protect me—that’s why he’s saying all this. Loveless marriages are common among royalty—just look at his own parents. But why would Dietan have admitted to the whole ruse?
I glance around the room at the servants. Surely, he knows it’d be disastrous for the truth to get out that the Wedding March was a lie from the start.
Hold on… Wait… My gaze flicks to the water in the goblet. So does Namreth’s.
No, it can’t be. But then I realize that my brain itches, just like it did in Katharine’s home.
She’s nothing to me. Just a country serving wench. I was just using her to get where I needed to go.
All three of us drank the henbane water.