Chapter 25 #2
His hands grip both arms of the throne, his fingers pressing into the teeth of the bears’ opened jaws. Then he raises his chin. “The Kingdom of Khotor is no more.”
“What do you mean?”
“Khotor remains under my rule, but it’s no more than a region now. At long last, the Seven Kingdoms have united.” His posture stiffens. “And I am King of the Light.”
My eyes widen, and I nod, trying to piece together everything that must have occurred for this to be true. What has happened to Rosomon’s family, I wonder.
“Congratulations, Your Majesty.” I bow again.
“I know that uniting the kingdoms was always your ambition.” I carefully choose my words.
Over the years, I heard bits and pieces of my father’s expansionist aspirations, primarily from eavesdropping on conversations between my older brothers—who all questioned his plans.
“You accomplished so much in only four moons.” I shake my head, hoping my show of admiration and amazement will cover up my distaste for how this might have happened.
“It took far longer than four moons.” Pride fills my father’s face. “Puzzle pieces were moved over many years.” His posture straightens. “But it is true that most fell into place over the past few moons—after your grandfather’s unfortunate demise.” An almost evil grin slips onto his lips.
I can’t help but wonder if my father had his father killed, and can’t help but realize that one puzzle piece that failed to properly drop was the royal marriage to unite Achotia and Khotor—the marriage between Rosomon and my grandfather.
“So, the other kings bent their knee to you? I’m impressed—but not surprised.” I’m very surprised, in fact.
“Former kings.” My father’s face settles into a familiar expression, his ambition and cruelty on full display.
“Some of the former sovereigns willingly pledged their fealty. Those who refused were imprisoned. And We—” his tone makes it clear that we now means him “—now control all that lies on this side of the veil.”
I grip my hands more tightly behind me, hoping to hide the anxious tremor that’s been building.
I want to ask about Achotia, about what’s become of Rosomon’s father and brothers, but don’t want to raise suspicions.
I don’t know how much is known outside camp about Rosomon and won’t do anything to put her in more danger than she already faces.
“And what of my older brothers? I’ve seen none of them at court.”
Father shifts again and keeps his gaze away from me. “None are currently at court.”
My unease continues to rise, and I pull on every reaction-hiding skill learned in childhood, plus all that Saxon taught me about calming myself.
Based on my father’s reaction, I suspect that at least some of my older brothers are dead and wonder which one is now first in the line of succession.
I must tread carefully. Likely anyone who utters a dissenting word loses his head.
I shift my stance, casually putting more of my weight on one leg and folding my arms across my chest. “And what of the attire at court,” I ask, as if it’s an insignificant matter.
“And the changes to the castle’s—decor.” I gesture toward the banners praising Othrix that hang behind Father’s throne, replacing the Khotori banners that were always there.
Father’s eyes flash with what looks like anger, and my chest tightens.
But then his expression turns blank. “Uniting the seven kingdoms was the will of Othrix. We could not have accomplished it without His divine intervention. As such, We are pleased to demonstrate Our thanks to Othrix.” He gestures toward the banners.
Father’s words sounded rehearsed. Even stranger, he was never religious.
Yes, he kept up appearances, as did we all, but he was never a devout follower of Othrix.
Not once in my life, did I see him praying alone in the chapel, or kneeling before any shrine, and he certainly never observed the holy days of deprivation—always freely partaking in food, wine and other frivolities on those days.
“Has your devotion grown?” I ask as evenly and casually as I can.
He glances side to side. Then leans forward, beckoning me closer. Mounting his dais seems disrespectful, and so I lean toward him instead of setting foot on the platform.
“The klericks proved very helpful in uniting the kingdoms,” he says.
I nod, hoping he’ll elaborate without me needing to ask more questions.
“The Head Klericks of each former kingdom greased the path for Our armies.” He closes his eyes. “In exchange, We struck certain…bargains with the klericy.” His eyes open, revealing more humanity than I’ve ever seen from my father.
He shakes his head. “Through the divine intervention of the Prime Klerick, I struck a deal with Othrix. A deal I now question.” He delivers this line with the pronouns of a man, not a king, and his head hangs for a moment as I absorb the information.
Then he abruptly straightens in his chair, as if the last part of our exchange never happened. Following his lead, I step back from the dais and adjust my posture, returning my hands behind my back.
“Prince Tynan.” His entire demeanor has shifted, and the coldness has returned to his eyes. “For what reason did you seek an audience?”
This is my moment. I cannot fail. “I come seeking a royal pardon for Dragon Master Saxon.”
Father frowns. “Of what crimes has this man been accused?”
“He’s accused of blasphemy. Of accessing Darkness.”
“Then he must die,” Father says, as if it’s nothing.
“I know this man,” I say calmly. “Master Saxon is extremely loyal to the Light. He’s been a valuable teacher and mentor to me. I know his heart. There is not a dark bone in his body.”
Not wanting to be caught in a lie that could lead to my own execution, I thought long and hard about how I should word this appeal.
I didn’t claim that Saxon never used magic.
And I used an alternate interpretation of the word dark—at least in my mind.
That argument may not hold up at a tribunal, but I’m skilled at debate.
“Dragon Master Saxon is a good man,” I continue.
“His leadership, and his skills with dragons are vital to the Kingdom of Light.” Saying Kingdom of Light feels strange in my mouth but should win me points.
“Saxon’s leadership is crucial to the riders, and essential to the ongoing maintenance of the veil. ”
“And yet, he ventured across that veil.” Father glares.
“As did I.”
Father’s glare deepens, and apprehension tightens my chest. Highlighting my involvement may hurt my cause. Especially now I suspect my father may have ordered the executions of some of my brothers. “We both had good reason to cross.”
He waits for me to elaborate, and then a realization flashes onto his face like a bolt of lightning.
“We heard about that blasphemous girl who mounted a dragon. You crossed the veil to expel her from the Light!” He’s so proud of his conclusion, so proud of me, that he doesn’t seek my confirmation.
“You and your dragon master banished the heretic. Banished her to the Darkness where she belongs.”
I maintain my stance and expression, not wanting to confirm nor deny his theory. In fact, it’s one I wish I’d come up with on my own.
“Your actions were clever and brave, my son.” My father’s face shows pride now—or something close to pride—and that’s as unusual as his earlier hints of humanity. “For this act, you will be rewarded.”
Relief and hope spread in my chest, along with a big dose of pride. I knew I could do this.
“In that light,” I say, with the right combination of confidence and deference, “shouldn’t the allegations against Dragon Master Saxon be withdrawn? Surely his heroic actions earned him a royal pardon.”
Frowning, Father pushes back in his throne, gripping its arms again. “This man is accused of heresy.” His eyes narrow, then he shakes his head. “His crimes are against Othrix. The klericks will never allow a pardon.”
Seeing a possible opening, I take it. “Who rules the Kingdom of Light? You, or the klericks?”
Anger flashes in his eyes, and I fear for my own life as much as Saxon’s, but then he loosens his grip on the throne.
“We will consider your request. The Dragon Master’s tribunal will be postponed until We decide.”
I draw a deep breath, letting in some relief.
“Due to the tragic deaths of your older brothers, during the unification of the Light, I hereby name you my heir.”
I blink at this news, more pride swelling inside me. With seven older brothers, becoming heir to the throne is not something I coveted. I never even felt envy for the heir, seeing it as more of a burden than an aspiration. But now that it’s mine…
“A celebration will be held in your honor,” Father says. “As soon as arrangements can be made, We will celebrate your bravery, your return to the Light, and We will formally recognize your new title.”
I nod, too stunned to speak.
“Once you are officially crowned as my heir, We will consider the pardon you seek. The man’s life will be spared until then.”
“Thank you.” I bow my head. I didn’t exactly get what I came for, but at a minimum I’ve bought Saxon some time. Even if he’s confined to his chambers, he’ll be more comfortable at camp than he would be if he were brought to Catha to face the Prime Klerick.
Father’s eyes meet mine briefly, but he quickly lifts his gaze. I’ve been dismissed.
I back slowly away, head bowed to show due deference to his title. If this celebration isn’t soon, Xendus and Surath will surely fly back without me—if they haven’t already.
But I’ve won this round of negotiations. Not only am I now first in line for his throne, the King may well grant the Royal Pardon to save Saxon’s life. Until he does, I’ll just have to wait.