Chapter Eleven #3
“Poyut?” She looked genuinely confused, concerned almost, glancing around as though looking for someone. Ethyr, just as confused, awkwardly pointed to Poyut standing right beside him. The woman blinked at her like she hadn’t seen her until that second.
“Your guard?” she scoffed. “A palace guard doesn’t know the forum like we do, Your Divinity. There’s no use relying on one.”
Ethyr stood silent for a moment, taken aback. He hadn’t expected derision, not directed towards Poyut. She was such a beacon in his life, it was disorienting to hear her service dismissed so flippantly. It took him a second to regain his bearings.
“No,” he said again, colder. “Thank you. I prefer my guard’s company.” He brushed past them, indifferent to their shocked offense.
Poyut strode beside him. When they were far enough away she leaned over to whisper. “That was the head of the treasury, Alania, and Justice Malor. You don’t want to get on their bad sides, Ethyr.”
“Why not?”
“They’re important and powerful people.”
“Isn’t everyone here?”
“Well… yes…”
“Then I don’t see what difference it makes. I couldn’t let them come with us anyway.”
Poyut tried to stifle her sigh but Ethyr heard it.
“Here.” She stopped by a door, painted white like all the others, but this one had a bronze plate on it featuring a hawk—the symbol of Catocus. Poyut rapped her knuckles politely on the wood.
“What is it?” a sharp voice called from inside.
Poyut opened the door and stepped aside, bowing her head. “Sir.”
A man looked up from behind a desk, and Ethyr was momentarily stunned.
He had been expecting someone closer to Yorith in age and appearance, but the man before him couldn’t have been older than forty, and looked rather a lot like an older Mikel.
The copper blond hair, soft brown eyes, strong jaw, and smattering of freckles across his face held Ethyr’s tongue.
Lyrian stood in a hurry. “Your Divinity.” He looked as surprised as Ethyr. “My apologies, I had no idea you were planning a visit here.”
His nose was different. Wider, and crooked where it must have been broken at one point. And his eyebrows weren’t as angled, his eyes not endearingly mischievous. Ethyr grasped desperately onto the differences to pull himself out of a stupor.
He cleared the lump in his throat. “N-no, it is me who should apologize. I know this is… unexpected.”
Lyrian watched him a second more, then gestured emphatically. “Come in, come in! To what do I owe this pleasure, Your Divinity?”
Ethyr took a few tentative steps inside, self-conscious of his jewelry clinking together. “Are you busy? I was hoping we could… talk.”
“Not busy at all! Please.” He grabbed a chair by the window and brought it to the front of his desk before returning to stand behind it. “What is the topic to be discussed?”
Ethyr glanced over his shoulder at Poyut. She kept her chin down and gaze on the floor, though she closed the door and stationed herself in front of it. So he sat in the chair, Lyrian taking his own as soon as Ethyr was seated.
He folded his hands in his lap and tucked his legs under the chair, trying not to fidget and failing. “You weren’t at the inauguration feast, were you?”
Lyrian settled back a little more into his seat, but it wasn’t from relaxation.
He watched Ethyr with a cautious interest. “Unfortunately not, Your Divinity. I was keeping on top of city security. Having nearly every government official in one place, getting drunk, tends to incite… well, more opportunistic insurrection.”
Ethyr nodded slowly, pretending he knew what that meant. It didn’t matter, he’d gotten the answer he needed.
“I’ve come to… understand… that my welcome was a bit different from previous kings.
” He dared a glance up at Lyrian. The man watched him with no change of expression.
When it was clear he wouldn’t offer any additional information, Ethyr had to ask directly.
“What usually happens when a new king is chosen?”
Lyrian laced his fingers, eyebrows raised, but Ethyr couldn’t decipher what it might have meant. It wasn’t surprise.
“There are city-wide festivities, lasting from dawn to dusk. The king is presented to the people from the raised amphitheater, and officially consecrated and crowned. The name of the new era is declared. After that is the inauguration feast in the palace with officials and important civilians, lasting all night, as I’m sure you learned.
Then, the following evening, the entire city is invited to follow the king to the temple and greet the priests waiting for him; one of the few times ordinary civilians are allowed to see the priests. ”
That sure was different, and a lot of new information to wrap his head around. Ethyr was glad he hadn’t had the entire city following him to the temple, though. It had been nerve-wracking enough as it was.
He didn’t know what to ask first. He settled on, “No one is allowed to see priests?”
“Not the order of priests, no. The High and Head Priests are the only ones allowed to interact with civilians or go into the city.”
“Why?”
“Because it could distract them from their true purpose.” Lyrian said curtly. “Dedication to the gods.” He leaned forward, lifting his laced fingers to rest his elbows on the desk. “Are you here for cultural lessons, Your Divinity? I can’t imagine I’d be your first choice as teacher.”
Ethyr pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath. “I… may have overheard a conversation between you and Yorith,” he confessed. Lyrian’s eyebrows rose. “No person I’ve met is willing to stand up to him. But it sounded like you would.”
Lyrian leaned back again, an incredulous smile tugging the corner of his lips. “Are you asking me to help incite a rebellion?”
“No!” Ethyr's gaze snapped back to his, horrified. “No, no, of course not!” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I just… if I have to be here, I want to be more than a decorated prisoner. But Yorith won’t let me, and he has everyone else under his thumb too. I thought if I had someone on my side who isn’t, I could get out from under it as well. ”
“And how exactly did you imagine I could help you with that?”
“I don’t know!” It came out as a whine. Ethyr grit his teeth with a frustrated exhale and steadied his voice. “I don’t know how any of this works or how it’s even supposed to be. I just… I need connections with someone other than Yorith and palace workers. I thought I’d start there.”
“Hm.” Lyrian watched him another few seconds before his eyes drifted down to his desk. “Well, Your Divinity, I understand your concerns. I hope you will allow me time to consider them before I make any promises.”
“Of course,” Ethyr said earnestly. “I’m not asking you to do anything, just… be open to associating with me.”
Lyrian nodded and stood. “I appreciate the extension of friendship, Your Divinity. Know that you have mine, whether or not we can form a concrete alliance.” He extended a hand.
Ethyr stood and accepted it with a smile. Lyrian’s palm was calloused and warm and nearly engulfed his. “Thank you. And thank you for talking with me.”
“Of course. Any time.”
He was quite pleased when he left. It had gone better than he had hoped, and he thought he had done quite well for not knowing what to say in the first place. He didn’t understand the troubled look on Poyut’s face as they made their way back through the building.