Chapter Fifteen #4
A woman, who Ethyr could only imagine was the head cook, stepped forward with a slight bow. “Are you sure, Your Divinity? That bread is peasant f—”
“I’m sure,” Ethyr cut her off. “And I want barley porridge with my breakfast. I assume you have the skills to make it?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Of course, Your Divinity,” she acquiesced, voice tight.
“Good. I expect this to be implemented by tomorrow.”
She dipped her head a little lower. Ethyr, satisfied, left them to their work and returned to the hall, facing down the guards.
“Take me to the palace library,” he ordered. If he was going to have an entourage, he might as well make use of them and their knowledge of the place.
The library entrance was a small, unassuming door, but the two guards stationed to either side of it told of the value it held.
They gave no hint of protest as Ethyr went inside.
It was exactly as Poyut had described; a room full of books and scrolls.
One of Ethyr’s guards took a lantern off the corridor wall to light the way, as the room had no windows or light fixtures of its own.
Ethyr walked through the shelves as the guard followed, casting flickering light over the rows of books and stacks of scrolls.
“How do you know which one is which?” he asked.
“The Head Priest knows. If you want a specific book, she is the one to ask.”
He hummed, picking one at random to open. The pages were filled with endless words that Ethyr could hardly decipher. Though he could read well enough now, the faded, stylized handwriting was too obscure for him. He closed it and put it back.
“I was told the previous king enjoyed reading.” He looked at the guard when there was no response, and she startled a little, having not realized the sentence was directed at her.
“I wouldn’t know, Your Divinity. I did not see him much.”
“He didn’t have a supply of rotating guards following him around, you mean?
” The woman compressed her lips at that.
Ethyr continued deeper into the room. In the back corner, books became clay tablets.
He lifted one to see its surface covered in symbols that were much clearer to read, but because of that it was obvious that this was not the writing he’d been taught.
“What is this?” he asked.
“It looks like a tablet, Your Divinity.”
Ethyr scoffed. “Yes, I know that. I mean this language.”
“Is it different?” The guard stared at the tablet flatly. Ethyr was hit with the realization.
“Can you not read?”
“Why would I?”
Ethyr didn’t have an answer to that. He carefully put the tablet back. “Can Poyut read?” he asked tentatively.
“I have no idea, Your Divinity.”
He bit his lip, looking around. “All of the palace guards report to Yorith, don’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Including Poyut?”
“Yes.”
“But she’s ranked higher than you, isn’t she?”
The guard seemed taken aback at this, offended almost, but conceded, “She is King’s Guard. So yes, I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Ethyr repeated, confused.
“Is it not clear cut? I thought the point of military ranking was to be unambiguous?” The woman kept her mouth shut and gaze averted.
Ethyr understood then—any respect the position usually afforded was diminished due to the fact that the current king was a peasant. How unfair to Poyut.
“Why was she chosen to be my guard?” he asked. That earned him a baffled look.
“How would I know that?” she asked, remembering a second too late to add, “Your Divinity.”
Ethyr sighed. “Nevermind.” He left the library, any hope he’d had of learning useful information dashed two times over.
His evening meal came with dark bread. It wasn’t exactly like his village bread, but he was overjoyed to have some semblance of familiarity, and the creamy soup tasted ten times better with hearty grain than with that useless fluff given before.
Life was immeasurably better when Ethyr told people what to do.
He got a linen nightshirt, was given the food he wanted, took breaks as he pleased during lessons, and could wander the palace grounds freely so long as guards were with him.
Yorith didn’t seem particularly thrilled with the newfound assertiveness, but he didn’t care enough to inhibit it.
As long as Ethyr kept his demands reasonable, Yorith never had them refused.
To his immense surprise, it wasn’t long after that that the guard shadows stopped.
The first time Ethyr left his room and there were no guards waiting for him, he stood for a long minute thinking there must have been a mistake.
It almost felt wrong to walk around without them.
But none of the stationed guards along the corridors said anything about it, and no one ever came to join him or reprimand him.
There were still two guards below his balcony every night, but the constant vigilance outside his door or on his walks was abruptly stopped with no explanation.
He didn’t seek out an answer as to why, worried it would just start up again, but it brought a nice peace to his days.