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Diplomacy: the art of dealing with issues and their affiliated people in a sensitive and effective way.
Diplomacy is the one thing that can’t completely be taught a prince. Each will find his own approach, because this skill is one that must come from within.
~Annals of Kings
Cahar, Muintir, Atsegenia
6044 AI
Cahar, Muintir
6126 AI
HEST FINALLY FOUND Siobhan leaning against a wall, her head back, breaths coming heavily. Tears traced their way down her cheeks. He’d caused those. If only he hadn’t pushed her. His boots squeaked, and her eyes shot up, startled.
“Sh, moor’neen, it’s me.”
She didn’t look pleased, but she didn’t bolt, either.
“I... I’m sorry.” He held his place despite longing to take her into his arms to comfort her. “I didn’t think.”
“No, you didn’t.” She blew out her breath in a long sigh.
What more could he say?
“’Tis why I wished to wait to discuss matters.” Siobhan lifted her hands and then dropped them. “Whether I like it or not, I gave my vows. So help me, I won’t break them, but...” Her grey eyes pierced his heart. “My trust will be harder to earn.”
“I... I understand. Truly.” He took a step toward her. “What if—” he cut himself off, wishing he’d thought through the idea before beginning to voice it.
She waited, obviously unwilling to let him off so easily.
He licked his lips and forged ahead. “What if you came with me to our courtyard and met Usheen?”
Her dark curls bounced as she shook her head. “Hest, our guests are back in the ballroom! We can’t just leave them.”
Hest didn’t bother to point out that was exactly what they had done. “Fine, promise me, one step you will?”
A noncommittal shrug was her only reply, but it was enough for him to see through to her true feelings.
“Why won’t you just say that you’re never going to want to come?”
She shook her head with a small smile still lingering. “Diplomacy is a habit I’ve been brought up with. And not a bad one to keep, I think.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, not between us. Diplomacy is just not telling the truth.”
Cocking her head in thought, she tilted her hand back and forth, as if weighing their opinions. “Nay,” she said slowly. “I think ‘tis choosing which truth to tell.”
“I don’t like it.” Hest let it go. After all, he’d come to make amends, not argue more. “We never thought it’d be easy.”
“I had hoped ‘twould be easier than this.”
He fumbled for words, but how could he comfort her when he didn’t know how to ease his own misgivings? “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s not all... all you wanted.”
She looked up at him and tried to smile. “’Twill be worth it in the end, I think.”
“To me, ‘tis worth it now,” he replied, a little crestfallen, “but I understand, and I will work to earn your trust. In the meantime, shall we return to our reception? I...” He licked his lips and then tucked them in, then offered her his arm, his heart fluttering uncertainly. “I was looking forward to dancing more with you this step.” He waited not daring to move—to breathe.
Her face was brighter when she answered. “Aye, moor’neen. I was, as well. But... please promise you will be with me—only with me—for this step.”
“I promise,” Hest said with solemn happiness.
“Thank you.” Siobhan placed her hand in his, and a warmth stole up his arm. “You’ll have to let me dance with Lugh, though.”
“That can be arranged. I’m sure I’ll need to rest eventually.”
“And I know you’ll be ready to escape the crowd in a span or so.” A flush filled her cheeks, which rounded with a coy quirk of a smile. “’Tis well enough—I’ll be wanting you to myself around the same time.”
***
HEST LAY IN THE DARK, trying to sleep. Siobhan lay beside him, the gentle rise and fall of her breath and her warmth, the only indications that she was there. Yet, it may as well have been a dragon beside him for how it disturbed his sleep.
He let out a sigh and shifted, his arm trailing against his wife’s. Even in the darkness, he felt the heat rush up the back of his neck at the thought of how they had come together, but it had been wonderful and confirmed in his mind that he’d never harm her.
If only she could see that. Maybe time together would bring her the assurance she needed. He ran a finger along her arm to her shoulder and snuggled up to her. Maybe being apart from her was the problem; perhaps if she was near, he could sleep. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of roses. How he loved it!
And yet, though he lay there for what seemed like spans on end, sleep would not come. At last, he crawled out of bed and pulled on his trousers, then slipped into his library and stoked the fire on the hearth. After pulling the chair close to the fire, he curled up in it, gazing into the flames.
“What are you thinking?” Siobhan’s voice startled him, and he spun around. “Hush, Moor’neen.” She came to him and draped her arms over the back of the chair and his chest, sending his thoughts skittering in all directions. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I... I couldn’t sleep.” He closed his eyes, reveling in her touch, as she trailed her fingers along his skin, then moved them to his shoulders, where she began to massage. A murmured groan escaped his lips. He hadn’t realized how tight the muscles were there.
“You’re all tensed up. Why?”
“It’s been an adjustment.”
“The dragon?”
He shook his head. “Becoming king.”
“King? But you’ve had all this time to practice, and you’re surrounded by good counsel.”
“So you say, but remember that a synod ago I was a horse trainer who mucked stalls.”
Siobhan leaned forward, her words a breath against his ear. “Then think of the council as a horse, and you’ll be fine.”
If only it was that simple, but instead of dwelling on that, he reached for her, turning in the chair and finding her lips.
“Hest!” Siobhan protested but allowed herself to be pulled into his lap where she returned his kiss.
***
HIS MOONSTEPS AS KING settled into a routine, but Siobhan’s sudden swings of nervousness around him and her persistent refusal to visit Usheen weighed heavy on him. Nothing he did changed things. He contemplated his options between every court session and council meeting, and each moonstep as he left Lugh’s study for the Rittider training field.
“Moregot!” Padraig’s call pulled him from his thoughts.
“Aye.” He slowed his pace so that the older man could catch up. “What can I do for you?”
“You said you wished to know when the fanka had been rooted out of that den we found.”
“What did you find?”
When Hest had rescued Finn and brought his sister, Leasha, to the castle, he’d seen firsthand the squalor of the river district and inner workings of Cahar. He’d wanted to forge a better way for the less fortunate, and perhaps locate Leasha’s killers in the process, but so far, the fanka had resisted his efforts.
Padraig shivered. “You can’t imagine the conditions they live in, Moregot. The filth, the rubbish, the... I can barely comprehend it, and I saw it with my own eyes.”
His words took Hest back to the moonstep when he’d followed Finn to what the lad had called home. He well understood what Padraig was trying to put into words.
“What of the fanka themselves?”
“Aye, Moregot. There were many living in one section. The guards rounded them up as you ordered. Some were merely boiwiths, while others were grown adults. You’ll have your hands full trying to get them to trust you. It took several soldiers to take down some of them.”
Hest sighed. He’d wanted to avoid that. “Where are they being held now?”
“In the barracks’ corrals.”
“What?” Hest threw his hands up in the air.
“’Twas the only place large enough for all of them, where we could keep an eye on them and they wouldn’t bolt.”
So much for not treating them like animals. The street urchins already felt like they were not wanted. This would only make matters worse.
“Take me to them, then, and call for Finn. He’ll want to be there as well, and he may have better luck winning them over than I will.”
By the time they arrived at the barracks, Hest realized he should have made a point of knowing when the raid had taken place. How long had these people been standing in the corrals? A half a span or longer? He shook his head.
“Like what you see?” one man called from the enclosure. “What will you offer for this fine specimen?” He held up his companion’s arm.
“Don’t respond to him, Moregot.” Finn whispered beside him. “’Twill only make matters worse. I know his kind.”
Against his better judgment, Hest listened to the boy’s advice.
“There!” Finn pointed, his features twisting darkly. “That’s one of them. I’d recognize that dark spot above his eye anywhere.”
Hest’s blood boiled, the way it did when Usheen saw injustice. A full-grown man, as tall as any Muintirian Hest had yet to see, had beaten a small girl for her food? He fought to hold his temper in check.
“And the other?”
Finn continued to look, while Hest motioned for Clancy to bring the man to him.
With a shake of his head, Finn sighed. “Not here.”
“At least we have the one.”
Finn lifted his head and nodded. “One is better than none.”
“Padraig, are the buildings ready for them?”
“Aye, Moregot.” His councilor stepped forward. “As you commanded, we didn’t bring them in until all was prepared.”
“And when exactly was that?”
“I came to find you as soon as they were here.”
That was a relief, but still the damage had been done. He’d hoped to do this differently, but he knew sometimes there was only so much to work with. He stepped onto a bench and called over the commotion.
“Listen, people of Cahar.”
“People of Cahar? I thought we were fanka!” called the same man who’d heckled him earlier.
Holding up his hand, Hest waited for silence—or as much silence as the barracks corrals stuffed with people would afford.
“From my understanding fanka is a term used for you in disdain. ‘Tis not something you were proud to wear.”
Several eyes turned toward him. He’d gotten their attention.
“Your name is what defines you. I view you as people of Cahar, with all the rights as any noble.”
“Would duene be penned up like animals?”
“Nay.” Hest stepped down and walked to the man. “What is your name?”
“Oh, now you wish to know my name, do you? ‘Tis only given to my friends, and you are not a friend.”
Clancy laid his hand on his sword hilt, ready to punish the disrespect, but Hest held up a hand. “I may not be a friend now, but I am asking for something to call you. What would you name yourself?”
The man gazed at him calculating. Then as if a decision had been made, he straightened. “You can call me Realtar Farr.”
“And do you speak for everyone here, Realtar Farr?”
“Aye.”
Hest looked over the group, who were confirming his claim with nods and small noises of agreement.
“Then I will speak directly with you first. I know you have no basis for trusting my word, but be that as it may, hear me when I say that this,” he gestured to the fence, “was not what I had in mind. If I had your word that not one of you would run off before hearing me out, I’d order the soldiers to release you. You’re not prisoners but are here as my guests despite appearances.”
Realtar Farr glanced around, seeming to measure up the situation, and perhaps giving himself time to assess Hest’s sincerity. “Maybe that’s true, and maybe ‘tisn’t, but now what? My people are scared and with reason. Most of them see the guard and immediately run. Their lives are such that they must break the laws to survive.”
“Aye, you’re right. What if I said that I have a plan to help you?”
“I’d wonder why. Why would a duene get mixed up in the fanka’s lives?”
“With just cause.” Hest turned to Clancy. “Have you offered them water?”
“Nay, Moregot, we were trying to keep them in line.”
“As I thought.” He bit his lip as he contemplated, then turned to Realtar Farr. “Tell your people to listen to the soldiers. We’ll move them in out of the heat and give them water.”
“Moregot?” Clancy’s concern showed in his tone.
“Move the horses out of the barn. Let the people go in. Give them water, while I talk with Realtar Farr.”
The man pushed himself up onto the rungs of the corral. “You hear that? We’re going inside for water; they’re saying we’re guests here, long as we don’t fight or mouth off. Sounds like a good deal to me, aye?”
A chorus of weak ‘aye’s answered him, which was apparently all he was looking for because he jumped down and stood in front of Hest. He nodded toward Clancy. “He called you moregot.” His offset jaw and intent gaze made it a question.
“Aye.”
“Rather young to be the king of Muintir. Thought our king was older.”
“And I thought the fanka kept up with local happenings.”
The man grinned. “Aye. So you’re not just another fop. Seems I’ve been misled.”
Hest wasn’t sure what to think of that, but he offered his hand. “King Hest. I have a proposition for you and the rest of your people.”
He led the way into the shade and took the water skin Finn handed him. After taking a sip, he offered it to Realtar Farr. The man paused and stared at Finn.
“Do I know you?”
Finn nodded. “My sister, Leasha, used to play with Ciara.”
“She stopped coming around about six cycles ago.” He scrutinized Finn. “How’d you end up here, and where’s your sister?”
“She’s dead.”
Realtar Farr’s face softened in a way Hest wouldn’t have thought it could. “I’m sorry to hear it, boiwith.”
“I’d probably be no better off if ‘twasn’t for the king. He took me in and accepted me as his scubhear.”
“A fanka?”
“Aye.” Hest nodded. “Not every noble is hard-hearted. I was an orphan as well, and know what it’s like to be aimless. We cared for Leasha to the best of our ability, and then I offered him a place here. I’m glad I could help, just as I want to help your people.”
“What do you think you can do for my people?”
“First, I’d like to offer them somewhere to call home. I’ve seen the places where you lay your head and would like to improve upon that.”
Realtar Farr laughed. “And how would you do that? Not a one of us has enough to pay for a room every night; otherwise, we’d have done it synods ago.”
“As I thought. What if I offer you the place for the cost of upkeep? Your people tend to the building. Show pride in it. Those who don’t, you deal with as you see fit.”
“Why?”
Wood siding pressed into Hest’s shoulder as he leaned against the side of the barn. “I have places on the outskirts of the river district that need good tenants. The more they sit unoccupied, the more that area becomes useless to the rest of the city. I can’t make jobs for you all, but I can offer you a place that enables you to be out of the streets and near what you call home.”
“Well, King Hest, I’m not sure what to say or think. No ruler has ever seen the fanka, let alone tried to help us. How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“You don’t.”
That sat the man back. Hest smiled.
“You’ll have to trust me—something I know is difficult for you. Too many people have hurt you, stabbed you in the back so to speak. Yet, you’re not strangers to risk. You’ll get hungry enough to steal from the market or tired enough to shelter in a building that could fall in on you. Why not be desperate enough to try me? Live in my building. Care for it, and make do as you can. If I can find jobs for some of you, I’ll try, but I won’t promise. It’s up to you. Are you willing?”
Leaving Realtar Farr to consider, Hest pushed off the wall and walked into the barn. The smell of hay and horses brought a grin to his face. It’d been too long since he’d been in the stables; he’d have to correct that soon. But for the moment, it was the people, not the animals who needed his attention. Walking past a soldier handing out water skins, he took an armload for himself and carried them down the rows offering them to his downtrodden people and sharing a word of encouragement with each. Some answered him; fewer displayed any gratitude. Most regarded him with mistrust, looking at the high stall doors like they would close and lock at any moment.
When he returned to the front door, he found their leader leaning against the jamb, watching him intently.
“Just take care of the place? That’s it?”
“Aye.” Hest leaned against the wall.
“What of order, rules? Who enforces those?”
“That’d be up to you as long as you aren’t doing anything the guards are obligated to respond to. But if you keep your people under control, my soldiers won’t have to. After all, when you had to pick a name, you chose Man Ruler, so let’s see if you can live up to it. If you can’t handle it, I’ll depose you myself.”
Realtar Farr smiled and held out his hand. “’Tis a deal. If they don’t like it, they have me to answer to, or they can go back to the streets.”
“Do you want to tell them, or shall we both?”
Realtar Farr didn’t answer right away, instead he looked Hest up and down with something like fascination or curiosity. “You make a man’s heart sing; ‘tisn’t what I expected of you. Maybe because you didn’t grow up training for this. Moregot, you have my allegiance.” Realtar Farr bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart. His green eyes twinkled as he rose. “Fanka listen up! The king has something to say, and if any of you give him any sass, I’ll take it personal!”
