Chapter Two #2
“See him to his suite, then stay with him in case he wakes. I’ll be up before the evening meal to check on him.
If something should happen…” Aelir paused and looked at the bowed silver head.
“I’ll be with the children. I feel as if I need some time with them.
Pasil, come with me, and Fylson, please. ”
“Always, Your Majesty.” I fell into step with the king, waiting at the doors until Jaska wheeled Umeris out into the hall. We followed them part of the way down the corridor. The winds from the ocean lifted thick tapestries from the white stone walls.
Fylson walked along on the opposite side of Aelir, his handsome face drawn in worry. We entered the king’s private library.
“Come in and close that door, please,” Aelir asked, and so I did, easing it closed gently and standing at ease beside it but always alert.
The king removed his silver day crown, tossed it onto a low round table, and fell into his favorite reading chair in front of a low, banked fire.
Fylson sat as well, facing the king. Aelir ran his fingers through his hair, a sort of self-calming that he did when his husband V’alor was not nearby.
I suspected that the queen and king had a sibling sort of relationship, much like I felt for Beiro, as they rarely touched in a loving way.
Their embraces were more friendly, caring, yes, but lacking that passion true lovers shared.
Those were only my thoughts. There were whispers among the staff, but none said anything out loud.
If the queen slept with Merrilyn and the king with V’alor, it was not for us to judge.
They had obviously come together at least once to create the prince and princess.
Duty done as far as the masses were concerned.
Heirs had been made. Where the king and queen lay their heads at night was not important.
“Would you care for something cold to drink, Your Majesty?” Fylson enquired and got a curt nod of a golden head.
He glanced at me. I rang for refreshments using the bell pull in the corner and returned to my station.
The windows facing the sea were wide open as Aelir preferred, and the sun shone warmly on walls filled with books.
Brown bindings glowed yellow. The air was sweet with the salty scent of the Silvura splashing on rocks far below.
“I’m saying this to you, Fylson, and you alone,” Aelir whispered, his gaze coming to me.
“And you as well. I know that what I say here will go no further.” I nodded, touched that my king had such trust in me.
I’d bent my knee and would give my life to protect his.
I would do no less for V’alor or the kingdom. “My grandfather is dying.”
Fylson and I exchanged a quick look. This was news to no one.
“I think his time may be coming to an end as well, Aelir.” The king nodded.
These two were close friends, the older elf taking the new monarch under his wing as if he were a son and not the man who stepped into the royal slippers worn by the man Fylson had loved and lost. “Would you like us to reach out to the Sandrayan royal house to request that the meeting with their envoy be postponed?”
“No, no, that meeting should go on as planned. The failing health of an elderly elf should not set back the passing of many moons’ worth of negotiations.”
Aelir sighed deeply, his sight moving to the window. “I wish V’alor were here. I could use his steadiness and insight right now.”
Fylson and I said nothing. What could one say to a man mourning the oncoming loss of his only blood relative while pining for his consort?
A soft rap on the door drew my attention from the king.
Opening it, I motioned for the servants carrying several silver trays to enter, holding a finger over my lips to signal they should be silent.
The young kitchen maids nodded in understanding, placed the trays on the various scattered tables, and then bowed deeply as they backed out of the room.
Aelir, who was generally quite polite to the staff, sat staring out the window throughout, his brow furrowed, his fingers absently rubbing a strand of long blond hair.
“Perhaps something to cool our throats and fill our stomachs will help,” Fylson suggested as he rose to cross the room.
Domed lids came off serving platters filled with all manner of fruits and crackers.
A tray with a shining brass pitcher and four mugs sat beside a dish with honey cakes stacked neatly into a pyramid.
I could smell the honey from across the room.
Aelir, always the one with the sweet tooth, availed himself of the honey cakes and a glass of chilled apple juice.
Fylson motioned me to the platter with a wave of a large hand.
I declined. I’d managed to sweet-talk Widow Poppy out of a basket of tarts and a crock of fresh butter earlier.
That would hold me until the midday meal.
“I’m sure your consorts and queen wish they were here for you during this difficult time,” Le’ral said as he retook his seat.
“But the work they are doing to plot and plan the dock expansion at Knight’s Way is crucial for the upcoming negotiations with the Sandrayan delegates.
The vahasi himself is quite happy to even be discussing this joint venture, so the queen’s presence, as well as the guard commander’s, meeting with the naval commission from Sandraya with the various dockmasters is vital. ”
“I know,” Aelir said between bites of honey cake. “As much as I butted heads with the cranky bastard over the years, my heart aches to see him leaving us little by little day after day.”
The king took a moment and then placed an uneaten half of his crumbly yellow cake back on its plate. He turned to me, bright blue eyes finding me where he always found me. At his back. “Pasil, are the security details in place for Ambassador Nouradi and his entourage?”
“They are, Your Majesty. We’ve brought in extra men from several outposts along the coast of Renedith and hired several dozen more new recruits. Those will obviously be on the walls or at the gates, with the more seasoned guards inside or with the envoy himself.”
Aelir nodded. “Good. I’d like you to personally oversee Ambassador Nouradi during his stay.
” I tried to school my surprise but must have failed as the king shook his head softly and gave me a tender smile.
“I know you are my own guardsman, but I am reasonably sure that I will be safe in my own castle.” I glanced at Fylson and caught his slight wince.
He, too, had thought the previous king and his love were safe within the walls of Avolire.
He, and all of us in the guard, had been horribly mistaken.
“Given the dislike of the Sandrayans here, I think it best that our guard captain provide the extra security the envoy may require. With the blessing of Ihdos, nothing will happen to upset this delicately balanced apple cart, but if an attempt is made on Nouradi, I know you would be best to handle it.” I opened my mouth to argue.
“V’alor himself proposed you take the position. ”
My jaw closed. How could I argue with the commander of the guard, husband of the king, and my longtime friend? I could not.
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” I replied, lowering my head as I placed my fist to my chest.
“Good, I’m sure he will be suitably impressed by having the bronze warrior himself at his side as he moves through Celear,” Aelir said, rose, and dusted the crumbs from his lap.
I did not care overly for that moniker, to be honest. I’d helped quell a few bandit uprisings two seasons ago.
And a small uprising of irate yetis that had rumbled down the mountains to attack a village at the base of the Witherhorn just last season.
Wild young yetis at that. None had been killed, but I did have to remove the arm of one that lunged at the sisters driving the cart from the lilac fields of Celinthe.
The band of upstarts had been swiftly dealt with, their intimidation tactics ending abruptly.
The leader of the yeti had proclaimed me a bronze warrior.
He gave me a club with a magic stone, or so I believed the stone to be.
I still had the club in my armoire and the silly name.
I did not consider myself a warrior. A guard, yes, but a battle veteran?
No. But the honorific stuck. “I’m off to see my children.
Le’ral, we will meet later tonight to go over the provisions being offered for the berthing spaces for our newest ship the queen is having built. ”
“I am at your service, Your Majesty,” Fylson said, rising and bowing to Aelir as I opened the door for the king.
Le’ral and I exchanged looks as I followed Aelir into the hall.
The king said little as we made our way outside, where his children were being given a reading lesson by their nanny.
The twins, each now four seasons old, saw their father as he entered the flowery space.
Sister Vilde closed the tome, her wrinkled cheeks rounding into a soft smile as Alfina and her brother Al’fur darted to the king.
Tezen sat on the bough of a shedding dark maple, her sight touching mine.
“Papa! Papa! Nanny Vilde was reading us a story about a princess who kisses a fat cricket,” Alfina, who always did most of the talking for her and her brother, shouted as the king swept the two pudgy blond heirs into his arms to kiss them on their cheeks.
“The cricket turned into a knight,” Al’fur informed his father, his arms locked around the king’s neck. “And they lived forever after happy.”
I glanced up at Tezen. She stuck her tongue out at me. I knew that her head had been filled with romantic fluff.
“Happy ever after,” Alfina corrected her sibling.
Both were rather grimy. Their play clothes were covered in dust and flower petals and they each had bits of dead leaf stuck in their shoulder-length hair.
The king didn’t mind the grime getting on his pristine white shirt, it seemed.
I stood under the tree as the king lowered himself to the ground, waving off the elderly nanny’s attempt to rise and bow.
The king spent an hour with his children that day. When a page arrived with a summons from the exalted cloisterer, Aelir sighed wearily, kissed his daughter and son, and slowly rose from the thick green grass.
“Shall we go see what the head of the church wishes to complain about now?” Aelir asked, and I, of course, inclined my head. “There are days I wish I were ten again and spending my days out of doors with Kenton showing me beetles and badgers.”
“There are days I wish the same, Your Majesty.”
In truth, I suspected every elf in Melowynn wished that very thing at least once daily.