Chapter Twenty-Six

Robert rose before dawn, a habit from farm life made easier by anxiety and apprehension. He dreaded this day. Except for Sebastian as his concierge, he was alone. His mother would have already departed before his rising, eager to give chase after Franque and Krist. He understood the urgency but resented the timing. He wasn’t ready for her to go, leaving him to political wolves and knives forever aimed at his back.

A soft knock at the door let him know it didn’t matter whether he was ready for it or not.

“Come in,” he answered.

With a creak the heavy plank eased open and a timid Sebastian peered in. “I think I’m supposed to help you get ready,” said the former farmhand.

Robert shrugged. “What in Cinder’s Crack is a concierge, anyway? By the way, I don’t think you have to knock. You’re supposed to be able to come and go as you please, you know, in case I need my butt wiped in the middle of the night.”

Sebastian laughed. “That’s where I’ll draw the line.” He pulled out a small parchment, studied it, then frowned. “You’ve got a full day scheduled,” he warned.

“Is any of it mine?”

“Doesn’t appear so. Seems you’ve a meeting with the chancellor in an hour, followed by training with the Dreamers. They even scheduled in your bath before dressing again for dinner with the king.”

Robert grimaced. “I’m doomed to a life of politics and wealth. Dressing? I’ve no formal finery.”

Sebastian nodded. “They scheduled that, too. After dinner you’re to be fitted by tailors, so as… and it’s written here… never to again cause offense to the royal chefs by failing to arrive in proper eating attire.”

“Wonderful.” His skin crawled at the thought of all the poking, prodding, and scrutiny he would endure the rest of his life. “Sebastian?” he asked solemnly.

“Yes?”

“You do know this isn’t what I want, right?”

“I know.”

“I wish I could leave it all behind, catch a boat to New Weston and spring Tara from the clutches of her goddess.”

“Where would you go?”

“Anywhere,” Robert said but thought of their friend Marita. “Maybe we can work in the vineyards of Cargia. No one would ever think to seek us there.”

“I knew a man who tried that once,” Sebastian said sadly.

“And?”

“It didn’t work out for him, either. Duty brought him back.”

“I think fate’s inescapable,” Robert agreed. “Sebastian?” he pleaded, suddenly feeling very small but a little less isolated. “Please don’t leave me alone with either the chancellor or Cuyler. I’m not ready to do this on my own. Promise that, no matter what, even if we’re separated, you’ll find a way to be by my side.”

The concierge nodded, suddenly fitting into his role. “I promise.”

The meeting with the chancellor, it turned out, took place at the Dreamer Academy. The school itself was bigger than the palace, constructed across the Span. The chancellor had set up a carriage to carry Robert the distance, and he and Sebastian watched wide-eyed out the window while their escort chirped incessantly about the history of the new building.

“It’s not very old,” the man prattled, “only been open fifteen years. They built it right after the Brother’s War, when King Esterling defeated the combined forces of Fjorik and Pirate’s Cove.”

Robert exchanged a look with Sebastian who shook his head at the man’s ignorance. It seems very few people actually knew the truth about the king’s ascension and even less details about who actually fought who the war.

“Every stone was mined from the same quarry they used for the Span, that’s why it matches so perfectly.” They were passing the center of the bridge, a place called Unity Square, according to the tour guide. “Right here is where I saw the Queen Regent Crestal Esterling bless every harvest from Logan, and also where the pretender king sentenced the former chancellor to die.” He placed a hand beside his mouth like he intended to whisper, but added with a full voice, “The peasants tore him into pieces!”

Both driver and escort bowed their heads at mention of the incident, one neither Robert nor Sebastian had heard tell.

“The Academy actually serves as a bit of a war memorial since it was constructed on the site where the Dreamers and King Esterling defeated The Fjorik invaders. They say Braen Braston also killed his own brother at the very spot where the training grounds currently stand, though that detail is unconfirmed. Most of those buildings on the western side are dormitories and dining facilities, while those on the east and south are classrooms.”

The space in the center, Robert could easily tell, was a green lawn serving as the training ground. He and Sebastian looked on as five apprentices practiced their craft. One, a young girl, lost control for a brief moment and several others blew outward from their circle. Teachers blew whistles and rushed to the spot, tending to wounded and consoling the visibly emotional child.

“They’re mostly children,” Robert observed, sharing his thoughts with Sebastian. “Why is that?”

“So were we when Eusari’s crew rescued us. I think I once heard something about puberty affecting how and when it emerges.”

“But I’m nearly seventeen, I’m long past puberty. Why didn’t my ability emerge sooner?”

Sebastian shook his head. “You’ll have to ask Cuyler.”

Robert sat quietly the rest of the way, barely listening to the escort who now talked about the significance of each timber used in construction and how they were harvested from some place called Estowen’s Landing. Apparently the Dreamers had fought a battle there, as well. Sebastian knew of it, but refused to talk about it.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a large building, the tallest overlooking the training grounds. Robert recognized Chancellor Roan, not as elegantly dressed as the night before, but just as bald. The wisps of hair upon his head danced in the wind. He stood outside the building with a much younger man by his side, dressed in the robes of a Dreamer.

“That’s Cuyler,” Sebastian whispered, a mixture of fear and awe.

“Is he the most powerful? Is that why he leads the Dreamers?”

“He’s the second most powerful emotant I’ve ever met,” Sebastian replied.

Robert thought about this a moment, then asked. “Marita?”

His concierge nodded, smiling as if he thought of her currently sailing with Eusari. “She’s always been the strongest. I once witnessed Marita splitting her mind twenty times.”

“Is that a lot? How many can you?”

“It’s a lot, but emotants shouldn’t discuss such things in public. It’s dangerous and tells the enemy how many are needed to defeat each one of us.”

“I see,” Robert replied.

Sebastian sat silent for a moment, then whispered in his ear, “Nine for me, ten for Cuyler.”

Robert paused, then looked up with amazement. “So you’re nearly as strong as he?”

The concierge nodded, grinning away with pride. “I was, but that’s not to say he’s not found a way to become stronger. But I think it’s set. I’ve always been stuck at my limit.”

“I wonder how strong my father was,” Robert mused. He had hoped the man had been the strongest of them all.

Sebastian only shrugged as the carriage slowed to a stop in front of two men.

An attendant hurried to place a stool and swung open the door. Robert steadied himself with a hand on the frame as he stepped down, not as much for balance as to reassure his rapidly beating heart.

“Ah, Prince Robert,” the chancellor greeted with a bow. “I hope you slept well and that your short ride was pleasurable.”

Prince Robert, the title felt so odd. “I did,” he lied. It had been a night fraught with dread. “And I found the ride informative, thanks to a wise and knowledgeable escort,” he added with his best princely air. The man beamed with pride at the approval.

“Excellent! It’s my pleasure to introduce Master Cuyler, Lead Dreamer.”

The younger man bowed to Robert, then gave a nod to Sebastian.

Good, Robert thought. The respect between these two is mutual.

“Prince Robert,” Cuyler spoke calmly and with steady purpose, “I know you’ve been told you’re to be trained, but I must insist that you’ll never be elevated to Dreamer.” There was a sharpness to his words, but also a bit of compassion.

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad, Master Cuyler. I sincerely want to train but never gave thought to becoming a Dreamer.” The doors to the large building opened and Bearnard and Caroline emerged. Robert couldn’t help himself and added, “To be honest, I’ve not seen any reason I’d need nor want that title.”

The point was made and the lead Dreamer stepped away, swirling in his robes and making his way up the steps. “This way then,” he commanded. “I’ll show you to the conference hall.”

The chancellor turned to follow and beckoned for Robert to follow.

Sebastian leaned in close. “Don’t gall him, he’s a good person despite ambition.”

“Sippen says ambition is a sign of a poor leader.” Nonetheless, he followed the man into the building.

Sebastian hated that Robert had chided Cuyler. Of all the Dreamers he was one to look up to. That’s how he emerged as leader over the others besides his age. They all admired him, that is except for Marita. She never respected any of them.

I did too, she said in his mind, startling him out of his wits, I respected you!

Stop that! he demanded.

Stop what? she asked.

Reading my thoughts. It’s not nice.

It is when you think about me. You did that a lot when we were children.

I most certainly did not!

Well, I thought about you, and it’s nice to feel this connection again.

Her sudden arrival had distracted him, even if her words did not. He lagged behind the other men, nearly running to catch up, arriving just as two adepts pulled open two heavy doors. Cuyler led Percy Roan and Robert inside, but the guards put up a hand when Sebastian tried to follow.

“I’m concierge to the prince!” he explained loudly, hoping Robert would hear.

The prince turned and started to speak but the chancellor cut him off. “This is a highly privileged briefing,” he explained, “and certainly no place for a mere concierge. You may wait in the kitchens, um… Esteban.”

“Sebastian,” the prince corrected. “His name is Sebastian and he will accompany me.”

“Then this meeting is over,” Cuyler said with power. He did not scream but spoke the words calmly and with enough confidence all three men silenced at once. “I have information to share that can only be heard by the royal family and higher statesmen. You choose if you want to hear it, Prince Robert.”

Sebastian waited one heartbeat then two. Finally, Robert answered. “It’s okay Sebastian. I’m sure you’ll find something else to busy yourself with while we meet.”

That was it, the signal. He did know what else to busy himself with, by keeping his promise to stand by his friend. Sebastian bowed, turned, then followed two other guards to the kitchens. They shut the doors behind him. This was to be expected, a fear Robert had earlier in the day and he knew what to do. As soon as he was alone he cloaked himself with the craft, disappearing into thin air. Then he waited.

Soon a host of servers scurried through a servant’s door, scooping up platters of fancy breakfast dishes, juices, and at least six kinds of toast. Sebastian followed close to their procession, praying to every god of Andalon that Cuyler would not see him through the shroud. It was possible this man was a seer, though he did not have that ability when last they knew each other. Just to be safe, he hugged the wall and chose the corner directly behind the lead Dreamer.

The conversation halted the moment the servants arrived. The men talking to Robert smiled at the interruption, but irritation lurked behind their eyes. The prince seemed deeply upset by whatever they had said before, and his face burned red. As quickly as they had arrived, the staff departed and the doors slammed shut behind them.

“That’s preposterous,” Robert said angrily.

“It’s the way it is,” the chancellor replied. “You’re training is merely symbolic. There cannot be a sitting king with the title of Dreamer!”

A side door into the room opened, and King Esterling entered. “I’m afraid he’s right,” he said, taking a seat and loading a plate to join them. “When Cuyler and I created the Dreamers, we vowed to separate them completely from the state. Could you imagine what would happen if citizens believed their king ruled his people with mind control, illusion, and forceful terror? If Astia did one thing right, they kept us from ever sitting an emotant on the throne.”

“If that’s what you want,” Robert said, unable to hide his anger, “why did you force me here? I never wanted it. Don’t want it now!”

“We believed you might be an emotant, true,” the king explained, “but knowing and believing are not the same. We had already agreed years ago your training, if any, would be limited in nature. You may do parlor tricks, but nothing more. Think rationally—power corrupts, and that much power would ensure destruction of our empire.”

Sebastian watched as Robert sulked, taking in the words but finally understanding. “I’d be a despot,” he said.

“The worst of them,” the king agreed. “I beg you not to pursue any more of your craft. What you’ve done already is enough.”

Robert chewed his food, thinking and weighing his options before finally replying, “Okay. I’ll limit my training.”

“Good lad,” the king said. “What else is on the agenda?”

“Sire,” Percy Roan begged, “we must address the Fjorik refugee problem.”

“It’s not a problem. They are guests in our kingdom, and their presence has been mostly peaceful.”

“It is a problem, Your Highness. Simply put, the entire country seems to be flooding across our borders and you’re allowing them passage. They’re dangerous—a cult full of zealots committed to their blasphemous All Father!”

“Oh, Percy. Have you forgotten the day the Pescari won Weston?”

The chancellor froze mid bite, setting down his fork and staring at his meal with a sudden loss of interest. “Of course I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have. You were there when a tyrant abused his authority. And how did Taros respond?”

“With anger…” the chancellor replied.

“No! With wrath!” the king abruptly screamed, slamming his fist on the table. The silverware and plates jumped as high as the four others in the room. It was quite out of character for the man, at least from what Sebastian remembered of him. “Taros razed the city and filled the crater with a lake! As long as I’m ruler, I’ll treat immigrants with love and compassion, entreating them to sup beside us. We’ll honor and learn their customs and they ours. Robert, do well to treat them the same, after I’m gone.”

“They mean us harm, your highness,” Percy argued. “Have you forgotten the Snow Cats?”

“Hmm. Now they were a cult, I agree.” The king had noticeably calmed, but still appeared a raging tempest compared to the steady Cuyler. “But the Snow Cats were defeated, a distant memory to the people of Fjorik. They do not trouble us here, no matter how much you disagree.” Turning to Robert, the king added, “This conversation only strengthens the reason you cannot train in emotancy.”

“How so?” the prince asked.

“Skander Braston and his brood are the perfect examples. That man built an army of emotants, controlling and bending them to his will through fear and propaganda. Emotancy must be kept far away from the throne, Robert.”

“I… I understand,” the boy promised, “but what about the Dreamers? You have your own army.”

“I lead the Dreamers,” Cuyler explained. “I am their master, commander, and their law. We do not blindly obey the king and can only act on a joint vote of the nobles, the representatives of the commoners, the chancellor who leads the combined assembly, and also the king. Though each vote is weighted differently, the checks and balances remain intact. Amash or I can veto, though the assembly and the chancellor can override if they have enough unity.”

“What would stop the Dreamers, or you, from taking control of that assembly?” Robert demanded. “With your power you could sway that vote or simply destroy their army and take it for yourself.”

“We have our own government within the Dreamers. No tyrant can take control, not with each sharing an equal vote.”

“See, Prince Robert?” the chancellor added, “You’ve got a lot to learn before you’re ready to rule.”

“That’s why I called this breakfast,” the king interrupted. “I want to discuss the regency after I’m gone.” He pulled out a collection of papers. “This is what you’ve long been after, Percy, my last will and testament.”

“Sire, I…”

“Save it, Percy. I’ve long known how it’s galled you not knowing my plan. I’m sorry I had to keep it from you, and it wasn’t out of mistrust. I had to protect Robert at all costs.”

“Did you know?” Percy Roan demanded from Cuyler.

“Of course I knew. We were tasked with keeping tabs on all four children.”

“Four?” the chancellor’s eyes darkened. “So, the Pescari queen remained with Eusari after all? She did not return to her people as I was led to believe?”

Cuyler and Amash exchanged a worried glance.

“We agreed that you were too close to Old Weston to trust with the child’s location.”

“But I’m the chancellor!”

“You weren’t at the time. Lord Philip was, and that decision was made in a meeting very much like this one,” the king explained. “It was not voted on by the Assembly.”

“Then tell me this, sire, did the shappan’s bride birth him a boy or a girl?”

“A girl,” Robert replied before the others, “and her name is Tara.”

“What’s she like? Is she quick to anger like her father was? Does she throw tantrums of fire and fart firebolts when she’s in mourning? What’s her mental state?”

“Tara is even-tempered, though she does have a rebellious nature. She is independent, not at all like the Pescari people in New Weston. She is kind, beautiful, and enigmatic.”

“Beautiful?” the chancellor frowned. “So you’re in love with her, this Pescari princess? Well you certainly can’t marry her, I insist upon that!”

“Why not?” Robert demanded.

“She’s not suitable,” Roan argued. “No Pescari is!”

“Robert,” Amash said quietly, “this is where I agree with the chancellor. The queen of Andalon cannot be of Pescari blood. In fact, I’ve been working on a more… suitable match.”

“I don’t want to be matched!”

“Kings don’t choose their brides, and the decision must be made based on the unification it brings. In this case, restoring Andalon to its full strength.”

Percy sat straighter. “Yes, King Pogue of Cargia has several daughters but no son heir. His eldest daughter is married well in the Southern Nobility. I believe they have a daughter as well, and she’s only a year or two younger than you.”

“I was thinking farther… um, north,” the king explained. “There are several noble houses in Fjorik. Their civil war rages, and a warlord has yet to emerge and fill the void left by the fall of the Braston sigil.”

Percy tapped his finger to his lips, deep in thought. “No, I strongly disagree. You’ve been following all four children, including Braston’s sons. Robert should marry in the south, and those boys should marry in the north.”

“And risk another Kraken King retaking the Fjorik throne?” Cuyler was no longer as calm as before. He seemed deeply troubled, thrown off by something he feared very much. “Just a single winter emotant is too powerful, difficult to control without a unified effort by Spring and Autumn.”

“Robert,” the king asked softly, “do either of your brother’s show affinity for a craft?”

“Franque and Krist?” Robert chuckled. “Neither of them do. They fight with their fists, not with any element.”

“Then I think we’re all in agreement,” the king said, pushing back his plate and whatever remained upon it. He had barely touched it. “Robert will marry a Fjorik nobleman’s daughter, unifying the kingdoms and breaking the balance between Andalon and the Southern Continent?”

“Yes, your highness,” Cuyler replied.

“Of course, sire,” Percy agreed, albeit reluctantly.

“No!” Robert protested. “We’re not in agreement at all!”

“Good!” The king proclaimed, ignoring the princely protests. “I’ve business to attend to, and then I’m off to plan my abdication.”

Roan sat up, aghast at the king’s insistence. “So you mean to? So soon?”

“I do,” Amash replied, the relief heavy in his voice. “My time is done. But Robert will need a regent for a time, and that’s why I’ve left him to you, Percy. You have one year to shape him into a military commander, a statesman, and a lawmaker. Cuyler will aid you, of course.” With that he stood, strode toward his private door and left without another word.

Cuyler was the first to speak after the king departed. “Your Royal Highness, it’s time for your lessons.” A sudden gust of wind knocked three times on the heavy doors, nearly knocking them free of their hinges. In an instant the guards entered the conference room. “Please escort Prince Robert to the Autumn hall,” he commanded. “His instructors await.”

They bowed and Robert stood, eager to leave the room. Sebastian tried to leave on their heels but heard a whisper and paused.

“This won’t do!” he heard Percy Roan complain. “It goes against everything we’ve worked for!”

“I know,” Cuyler agreed, “and so we’ll have to ensure a Fjorik noblewoman never shares his throne!”

Sebastian swallowed hard and hurried from the room, reaching the open door to the kitchens. He entered and threw off his camouflage just in time before Cuyler himself entered.

“I’m sorry we could not include you, Sebastian.”

“No need to apologize,” the concierge said, trying to keep his legs from crumbling beneath him. What he overheard bordered on subterfuge. With a smile he added, “I understood.”

“Good. Then you’ll also understand you’re not welcome in these halls at all. You failed to be recognized as a full Dreamer and are banned from the campus. From now on, whenever the prince comes here to train, you will return to the palace to plan his schedule and lay out his clothing.” Without another word Cuyler spun on his heel and departed, leaving behind a shocked Sebastian.