Diomedes clenched his hands into fists under the table for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was better than biting the inside of his cheek—something he had learned from experience. Sore muscles in his hand were better than raw skin inside his mouth any day of the week.
He was unsure exactly how long he had been in the council meeting. It felt like a lifetime—a lifetime wasted, that was. And he had been so close to avoiding it. If only he had been more careful in the hallways. Despite knowing the ins and outs of the Cyanthian castle—his home—his plan to take a back way out of the castle had failed. He’d made the mistake of crossing one of the main hallways at the same time as Silas, one of the head advisors to his father, who had seen him and ushered him into the meeting.
However, out of all the council members, Silas was one of the better options to have found him. Unlike some of the men and women in the room, Silas had always seemed to want Diomedes’s input. But in the current meeting, Silas had remained just as quiet as Diomedes. The older council member kept his hands crossed in front of him on the long meeting table, and every once in a while his hands would tighten, probably in reaction to the arguments that sprouted up about nearly every topic discussed. Silas had also been around for most of Diomedes’s childhood as a marshal in the royal guards, but he had given up the position a year or two after Diomedes’s mother had disappeared in the middle of the night. His ice-blue eyes found Diomedes’s, and Silas offered him a small smile.
“It is unwise to allot more time to that section of the lower town,” the council member next to Diomedes said, drawing Silas’s attention away. His voice was high, like he had never quite reached full adulthood, but his graying hairs claimed a different story.
“But if we leave them to their own devices, they might cause issues in the neighboring areas. It’s better to give them the aid they desire instead of forcing them to seek other means of fulfilling their needs,” Silas argued from across the table, speaking up for the first time. “They’re looking to you for help in their time of need. You are a symbol of protection, Your Majesty.”
Diomedes rubbed his fingers across the arch of his nose, trying to give some sort of relief to the throbbing ache forming there. It was nothing, however, compared to the soreness in his back from the sparring match he’d had two days previous. He craned his neck from side to side, attempting to stretch his spine. All it did was crack.
The hair on the nape of Diomedes’s neck prickled, and though he wasn’t looking, he knew his father was watching him from his seat next to him at the head of the table. He kept his attention anywhere but his father.
Diomedes could’ve been with his friend Armannii, learning more about the country by getting up close and personal with its subjects. He knew the Phildeterre represented in the council meetings was a skewed version of the country and didn’t reflect the reality of life beyond the castle walls. What was the point of determining where resources should or shouldn’t go if none of the council members ever ventured into the lower towns of Phildeterre to see the need? He knew the lower towns needed the resources; he’d seen it for himself. But he also knew the lack of resources was merely a consequence of the real problem in the country, a problem he was all but barred from speaking about during the meetings.
“What do you propose, then, if we do not extend a hand to those in the lower town?”
The argument continued and would have grown in intensity, except King Butch must’ve decided he’d heard enough.
“We will send what resources we can spare to the lower town,” he said, holding his hand up to silence the argument coming from the council member next to Diomedes. “Let’s move on. We can’t spend all day on one topic. That isn’t wise, nor do I have the patience for it.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” The council members muttered under their breath, bowing their heads to the king.
Diomedes rolled his eyes. In all of the meetings he had suffered through, rarely had he seen a council member possess enough of a spine to stand up to his father. He narrowed his gaze toward the table in front of him, preferring to trace the scratches and lines in the wood—which had been worn smooth—instead of listening to the droning on of his father’s council.
The items they discussed were all pointless. There would be no fixing the state of the country or the relationships of the people until the main issue was dealt with. Diomedes’s lip curled at the thought. To bring up the war on magic would be pointless—unless the point was to turn all of the councilmen’s ire against him. Not that they would show it. He was, after all, the crown prince.
It wasn’t too difficult to picture their reactions if he were to mention how futile their efforts were. He’d seen it before. He’d been so bold in the past that he’d told them everything they were doing was in vain and would continue to be in vain until the war was put to bed. Just as they had then, they would stare at him. Their eyes would narrow as though they could somehow set him on fire, could wipe him and his “outrageous” ideas from existence. They would question him, ask him what right he had to end a war far greater than himself, a war that had been started by a wiser man than he. They would not dare speak poorly of him to his face, nor to his father’s. But when the room fell silent, Diomedes knew they’d be thinking he was inept and would never be fit to rule a country if he couldn’t stand to fight for what was right. He knew they’d send whispers around about his treacherous talk.
Silas might not, but Councilman Clive would certainly stand against him. He had been new on the king’s council when Diomedes’s father took the throne, and in every meeting Diomedes had sat in on, Clive had brought up the benefits of the war: the increased security that came with outlawing the evils of magic, the increased dependence on the governing power of Phildeterre, the influx of job opportunities as those with magic were eliminated, and, of course, the ability to avenge the deaths of many nonmagic people, including two of the three children of Diomedes’s great-grandfather, King Kylian.
According to Clive and so many others in Phildeterre, King Kylian was as brilliant as was possible for beginning the war because, as King Kylian was often quoted as saying, magic corrupted everything it touched. He had passed on the quote to his only remaining child, King Valryn, who had passed it on to King Butch, Diomedes’s father. However, King Butch had not passed it on to Diomedes. Instead, his council, or at least Clive, tried to do that.
But who were they to decide that the war on magic—a war that had lasted for three generations—was right? That it was best for everyone if magic was eradicated from Phildeterre. Diomedes’s jaw clenched, his back molars grinding together until it created a painful enough distraction from where his thoughts had been. He knew they were wrong.
“So you’re saying we need a new law to keep that from happening?” King Butch asked as he scratched his eyebrow. Lost in his thoughts, Diomedes hadn’t heard the next nonsensical issue they were discussing, and he tried to pick up context clues from his father’s questions. “Should we not give this offender a fair trial, as we have for over twenty years? Why does his action call for any change in the laws we’ve worked so hard to create?”
“Your Majesty,” Clive said, offering the king a fulsome smile as he stroked his narrow goatee. “As I’ve said before, if the punishment for using magic is not severe enough, people will persist in using it without fear of much consequence. We will continue to struggle with this upward rise of rebels preying on the weak.”
Diomedes held back a scoff.
“While that may be true, Councilman Clive, I do not see how punishing a whole family for one family member’s crime is the just thing to do.” King Butch’s voice came out crisp.
“Why don’t you explain to the rest of the council the extent of the offense so that we may all be privy to the information on this particular circumstance?” Silas said, and the king nodded.
“I agree,” King Butch said, gesturing for Clive to state his case.
“All right.” Clive stepped away from the table and began striding around it in a slow circle. He used his arms to gesture as he spoke, making everything appear more dramatic than it was. “Early this morning, the offender used a rune to break into a locked shop in the lower town in an attempt to steal.”
Diomedes grimaced. Stealing was one thing, but stealing by using magic was a death sentence.
“However,” Clive said, continuing his rant, “the shop owner was still awake and heard the offender. When confronted, the thief attacked the innocent man and tried to escape, but some of the guards patrolling the area caught the offender before he could disappear with his stolen goods.”
“Thank you, Councilman Clive,” King Butch said. His voice was tight, but he forced a smile to his face. “That’ll be enough. I’d like to hear what the council believes should happen.”
One of the younger council members, a woman who was probably in her forties, raised her hand, and King Butch nodded for her to speak.
“Your Majesties, council members,” she said, bowing her head in respect to the king and the woman who had replaced Diomedes’s mother as queen. Queen Evangeline sat next to her husband at the end of the table, and she smiled at the councilwoman as she began speaking. “Councilman Clive has suggested that the entire family be punished, but I did not hear anything about a wife or any children being involved in the crime. Was it not the father’s choice to use rune magic to steal?”
Diomedes shifted in his seat, tightening his grasp on the edge of the table. The criminal’s wife would lose her husband, and the children their father. His eyebrows furrowed, and he closed his eyes.
“Sire,” Clive said, his voice apologetic as he completely ignored the councilwoman and instead directed his response to the king, “the man used rune magic. He deserves none of your mercy. His children will most likely share in his wretched abilities and will undoubtedly use them against you some day.”
Many of the council members nodded in agreement. Diomedes did notice, however, that Silas and the councilwoman who had spoken up did not. They stared at Clive as if they could light him on fire. Diomedes joined them as Clive continued.
“It is best in this situation to write a new law to redefine the punishments for the use of magic. Or, better yet, reinstate the law you revoked at the beginning of your reign. It was good and solid, the law your grandfather set up. I believe now is the perfect time to bring it back, to show your kingdom that you will not tolerate magic in any way, shape, or form. To give capital punishment without trial would—”
“Thank you, Councilman Clive, but I believe we’ve heard enough.” Queen Evangeline shifted on the opposite side of King Butch, her voice brusque, and her tone sharp as a blade. As often as she was in the council meetings, she rarely spoke unless called upon by her husband. Diomedes looked up in time to see the king reach over and cover her hand with his. She inclined her head, a sign of respect.
Diomedes dug his fingers deeper into the palm of his hand, holding back a sneer. In her few years as queen, his own mother had never been allowed on the council. In fact, no woman had been on the king’s council until Queen Evangeline somehow convinced his father to change the law. And while Diomedes didn’t mind having women join in the political debates and happenings of the country, it lit him on fire from the inside to see his father show affection to another woman. She was not his mother. She had replaced his mother. And for most of his life, she was a symbol that his mother could never return—would never return.
The room filled with silence as the council waited to hear the king’s response. It was up to Diomedes’s father to place final judgment, especially on cases concerning the illegal use of magic.
Clive returned to his seat, and he stared at the king with a smirk on his lips. The councilwoman also sat back down after sending Clive a frosty glare. Diomedes snorted but covered it with a cough. It was a mistake.
“What do you think, Son?” King Butch’s voice rang clear in the meeting hall, and every muscle in Diomedes’s body tensed up.
It was a test. Diomedes was sure of it. Clenching his fists no longer kept his emotions in control as it had a few minutes earlier. When he raised his head to look around at the faces staring at him, he straightened his posture. He felt certain they wanted to see him fail, to see him make a fool of himself. He almost wanted to keep his mouth closed; it would at least spare him the humiliation of being discounted by the king’s council, a council he would inherit someday.
But this wasn’t about him. A man would die. A father, a husband, someone’s son. And if they reinstated the law Clive had mentioned, how many more people born with the gift of magic would face the same fate?
Most of the people in front of him had bloodlust in their eyes. They would cheer when the thief was put to death. They would probably cheer if the man’s innocent wife and children met the same fate just because of proximity. It was wrong. He had seen magic, had witnessed its power . . . and its beauty. The members of the council were wrong.
Diomedes glanced at his father, and though he could not see the same eagerness for the criminal’s death in his father’s eyes, he knew it had to be there somewhere. It had, of course, been King Butch’s grandfather, King Kylian, who had started the wretched war—the war that had led to the Split of Phildeterre.
Queen Evangeline watched Diomedes with a careful gaze, her chin lifted as if she could somehow earn her right to be in the meeting room with her perfect posture.
Diomedes couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d spoken in front of the council. He’d tripped over his words. His cheeks had burned. He’d nearly broken his hand after the meeting in the training room trying to get rid of the absolute humiliation by beating it out of a training target. The memory brought with it a sensation that his mouth was full of cotton, and he ran his tongue over his lips to put a stop to the feeling. How he wished he was out of the castle, free from the meeting.
“Son?” King Butch repeated, still staring at him.
“This is ridiculous,” Diomedes muttered, though he was unsure if he was referring to the topic of the meeting or the fear blazing through him at the thought of addressing the council. Before they could ask him to repeat himself or explain what he meant, he stood up, placing his hands on the table to stabilize himself for what he was about to say. “These laws, these declarations—they will not do anything. Not until you fix the heart of the problem.”
Clive raised an eyebrow, staring Diomedes down from across the table. “And what do you think the heart of the problem is, Prince Diomedes?”
“This inane never-ending war on magic.” Diomedes glared at Clive, knowing most of the other council members, and probably his father and stepmother, were scowling at him the same way Clive was. “So a man used a rune to open a locked door. Did you ever stop to think that maybe he had a reason for stealing? Did you even consider that maybe he was stealing because he can’t provide for his family? Did you give him a fair trial? Or does he not deserve one because of his heritage? All of this is because of the war on magic. Why don’t you see that the subjects are waiting for the end of it? Can’t you tell that you’re ruining more lives by keeping the war going? And for what? More wealth for those of you who are pulling the strings? Security from something that isn’t even a threat? Or maybe it’s—”
“Your Highness, you misunderstand.” Clive paused, tilting his head to the side. “The war will inevitably end. However, we must ensure those we have subdued will not come back to hunt us down when that happens. If we end the war before we have eliminated the threat of magic, we put all of Phildeterre at risk for those we’ve missed to strike us back out of pure retaliation. We must be stronger than them. They must fear us.”
“You’re a coward. All of you are.” Diomedes skimmed the faces of his father’s trusted council, skipping over his father and the queen. “If you would just open your eyes to see the damage you’ve created by keeping this war going for far too long, you would end it. This war is just a pathetic way for you to subdue the people.” Diomedes directed his glare at Clive. “You have no idea the kind of damage you’ve created by keeping this war going. I’ve seen the families struggling to find a full meal a day. I’ve seen the shutters close at the first sign of sundown because of fear. I’ve seen—”
“That’s enough, Diomedes.” His father’s clipped tone left Diomedes standing there with his hands balled into fists at his sides.
“You wanted to hear what I had to say. Well, here it is.” He flung his arms wide, gesturing so the whole room was watching him. “That man should receive a fair punishment for stealing after a fair trial, sure. But you go too far when you condemn him for his magic—when you condemn his family. That is ridiculous. The only people who deserve to be severely punished are the ones who think they are somehow justified in destroying the lives of people just because they are born with magic.”
When he finally stopped speaking, he risked a glance at his father. The king’s eyes were narrowed on him, and the room remained silent. Everyone was waiting for the king’s response. Next to him, Queen Evangeline’s gaze flicked between her stepson and her husband, yet it was the only part of her that moved. Otherwise, she remained perfectly erect.
King Butch took in a deep breath, raising his chin as he did so. “You may leave.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command.
And it was Diomedes’s ticket to freedom.