Chapter 2
It was late afternoon by the time Richard left the tourney and changed out of his ceremonial robes into a simpler emerald doublet.
The crown of gold, however, stayed upon his brow, pinching against his ears as he strode through the castle’s corridors.
This High Council meeting was bound to be tiresome, and he’d need to remind the councillors who their king was.
Their last meeting had been before his journey to the Nightbourne Realm. No doubt, his generals would be restless, demanding that soldiers be moved west to guard the veil. They’d bemoan how only the veil kept Gloamvarn’s fell forces at bay, and how once it collapsed, war would strike.
“We must be ready to defend, Your Majesty!” General Barlow would thunder. “We must show those vermin our full might!”
But Richard could not strip Ardenia’s other three borders bare. Not when they knew nothing as to when the veil would fall. Not when their army likely numbered a fraction of the monsters that’d spill through. Why could General Barlow not understand it?
Richard rubbed his temples. What he’d learned from the Nightbourne Queen had been as chilling as it’d been hopeful.
He’d disseminated the information to the council through the Lord Chancellor, but had sought out his Chief Mage personally.
Dianara had listened intently as Richard explained how the Threads were, in truth, roots of the First Tree, now infected by Rot—a cosmic corruption spreading beyond the veil.
The only cure lay in the hearts of the six First Creatures, which were scattered far and wide.
Already, the Gloam King had conquered the unicorn’s heart.
It granted Galdran greater powers to travel through dreams and, on occasion, through the veil.
Dianara had nodded solemnly, their large sun earrings dangling, then leapt to their feet and proclaimed they had to hurry to the western border. Their letters, since then, had been brief but suggested something big might be unearthed soon.
Richard could only pray for good news.
He slowed on entering the fifth floor of the north wing. From the arched windows, the vast back garden sprawled below, resembling a small forest. Richard spotted Tomas, one of the horsekeepers, and a pretty maid from the kitchens giggling as they ran through the trees holding hands.
Young things, Richard mused as he turned down a more secluded hallway.
Had he ever been that young? He paused before an ornate mirror between two tapestries.
The face that stared back seemed well-carved by the thirty-five years he had lived.
High cheekbones, piercing dark eyes and black hair—the same shade his siblings, too, had inherited from their mother—combed to the side.
And yet…
Richard hooked two fingers into his collar and tugged it down. The tattoo fitted neatly over his carotid. At its centre was a tusked elephant’s head. The sigil of House Haramont, belonging to Kaelen and his parents, Lord Commander Dain and Chief Healer Selwyn.
It’d been Briony’s idea. Kaelen’s shield would protect him, she’d whined, and in part, she had been right. Seeing the shield eased something within Richard, as if a chestplate were being strapped on. But branded beneath it was the Lumeron. Galdran’s binding mark.
Selwyn’s bleak words resounded in Richard’s head.
“The recipient of such a mark is called Lumethain, light of the bearer’s life.
The mark is meant to act as a conduit. It targets and magnifies all the Lumethain’s existing desire of flesh, however buried, however denied, and redirects that attraction toward the Lumethaid alone.
It creates a dependency for…for physical intimacy. ”
Richard stifled a shudder. What a relief that his aberrant absence of desire made the Lumeron useless.
In these last two months, he’d been free of Galdran.
No dream intrusions, no harpy messengers, no veil breaches.
Memory, however, proved almost as invasive.
At times, he still felt it. Hands caressing his chest, fingers fondling and stroking where they did not belong.
Galdran’s mocking laughter and veiled promises.
“I promise, beloved, after we wed, I shall teach your body to crave pleasure as all beings do.”
Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, let out a slow breath, and forced his shoulders down. “Enough.”
In brisk steps, he reached the interim council room. Usually, council sessions took place in a large chamber of the western wing that overlooked the sprawl of High Ardenia’s bustle. But the blood-troll’s attack had shattered the walls, and repairs were still ongoing.
Chatter simmered into quiet as Richard pushed open the oaken doors. The councillors and generals stood and bowed.
Richard moved to the long, rectangular table’s head. The room was a modest one, without the grand windows of its predecessor, but the councillors’ finery made up for it. Spread along the walls, a handful of scribes held their quills ready.
“My lords and ladies.” Richard gestured. “Be seated.”
He sighed to see that while Elara sat on his right, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, Corwin was slumped against the table, snoring.
Likely worn from the jousting tournament just two hours earlier.
But that was no excuse when Kaelen sat straight-backed and bright-eyed with the generals in the table’s midsection.
“Corwin.”
The sharpness of Richard’s tone was enough to stir the boy awake. He stirred, then snapped straight, banging his head against the chair’s back.
“I wasn’t asleep,” Corwin mumbled, rubbing his head.
Elara grinned at him. “Would you like a pillow, little brother?”
Corwin scowled, but Richard rapped his knuckles against the table before he could retort.
“I know,” Richard began, seating himself, “that it has been too long since we convened.”
Sitting by Elara, Malgrin’s beard twitched, clearly itching for an opening. Richard barrelled on.
“The city has required every hand. We have rebuilt houses, streets and temple statues. We have buried the dead. We have paid for stone, timber, and grain. We have endured, and now we reap our hard work.”
A few heads dipped in agreement.
“As you all know, I sought allyship and knowledge with the Velari that we could not find in our own libraries.” Richard steepled his fingers. “You will be disappointed to know the Nightbourne Realm wants no part of our battle against Gloamvarn.”
The generals blanched and exchanged glances.
“And so,” Richard continued, “we shall seek our allies elsewhere.” He nodded to the portly man seated by Corwin. “Lord Steward.”
Byrom jumped to his feet, a monocle hanging precariously at an eye. He fumbled a stack of papers, dropped a few, and scooped them up again with a cough.
“Y-yes, Your Majesty.” He adjusted his monocle with trembling fingers. “As the king has said, allyship must be pursued with urgency. Therefore, in two weeks’ time, we will host a Summer Ball here at the castle.”
The chamber erupted.
“In two weeks?” spluttered Lady Treasurer Kestrel. She’d just turned thirty-two, and yet bore deep wrinkles around her eyes. “And how will we finance such a venture? We have bled the treasury dry with repairs and provisions—”
“And the kitchens?” Lord Gregory of Granaries interrupted. The handsome, dark-haired man had taken post after his predecessor suffered a nervous fit after the blood-troll attack. “How will they conjure feasts with meagre supplies?”
“What of our schedules?” Brast, Lord of Housing, wheedled. “I am due to visit Duke Jenkins to arrange refugees in his spring manor.”
Richard lifted a hand, and the clamour hushed. “There is nothing more important than gaining allies. Not comfort, not your preferred schedules, and certainly not your fear of hurried work.”
A few scowled while others looked chastened.
“The Summer Ball,” Byrom ploughed on, “will be held in the Great Hall. We will drape the rafters with red and gold sashes. The floor will be polished by the end of next week. The masons have assured me the windows can be made presentable within ten days. We will require additional servants, and I have distributed notices throughout the city. The guest chambers are being aired and re-bedded as we speak.” He glanced at his notes.
“As for food, we have received fresh shipments of meat and vegetables this morning. Menus are being carefully considered for we do not wish to offend any—oh, which brings me to—”
He straightened with a beam. “I am pleased to report that Naradesh and Frostheim have already accepted our invites, and their royal envoys shall soon be on the way.”
A surprised murmur rolled around the table. Lord Physic, a sallow-faced man who oversaw sanitation strategies, gaped. “Naradesh? You are certain?”
“W-well, yes. Quite. Their reply was written in our tongue.”
Lord Physic shook his head in wonder. “There has not been communication with them since…well, at least not in my lifetime.”
Richard smiled. “Which is why I sent Lady Agnes as my envoy.”
The wizened Lady of the Libraries had been half-asleep over a tome when he’d told her she was to travel to Naradesh.
She’d squinted up at him and muttered, “Throwing me to creatures of the deep, are you, Your Majesty? Well, I might as well drown proper. Let the fishes have me instead of all the dust amongst these books.”
Yet, there’d been a spark of excitement in her wrinkled eyes, and when the carriage was ready, she’d hobbled to it faster than Richard had ever seen.
Malgrin combed knobbly fingers through his beard in aggressive strokes. “You sent that woman? Your Majesty, she is nearly a hundred and, frankly, eccentric to the point of liability. We’d surely appear foolish before an ancient kingdom like Naradesh.”
“A wrong impression,” said Lord Warden Wycliffe. “Why, they might think us a joke by the manner she speaks.”