| |
Rikara, in the 3014th Year of the Common Age
Yovan glanced up as one of the counsellors took the chair closest to his seat at the Council table. Alve was brother to a wealthy Sidonan baron and therefore a highbred aristocrat and moneyed in his own right. He was also one of a handful of Deira who had gained his position through an external referral.
Every once in a while, Rohyr accepted recommendations from others outside his close circle to fill various positions in his government. It was his way of infusing his court with fresh blood and giving non-intimates a chance at advancement. But never for sensitive positions. Rohyr filled the latter solely with people he personally knew or who had been vetted by those he completely trusted.
Alve laid his hand on the table so close to Yovan’s they almost touched. At the same time he beamed brightly at Yovan.
It was no secret the junior counsellor was infatuated with him. Indeed his penchant for seeking Yovan’s company outside the Council chamber fed the suspicion that he hoped the Seydons would separate for good.
Their estrangement was nearing the one-year mark leading many to believe they would not reconcile. Yovan was not too pleased with such talk, but he forbore to take out his irritation on Alve. While the Deir’s behavior had encouraged the gossip, making much of it would only spread it further and faster.
Besides, Yovan could not deny it was flattering to be the object of a much younger Deir’s desire. Now that he was hurting so much from his spouse’s deceit, the attentions of the comely advisor helped salve his pain and bolstered his self-confidence. So while he did not invite Alve’s overtures, neither had he rejected them thus far.
“I hope we can fix this problem quickly, Seydon-dyhar,” Alve said. “There are so many matters that need to be discussed.”
Yovan hid his amusement at the attempt to make the meeting seem more important than it was. Junior advisors and counsellors who had not been drawn from Rohyr’s trusted circle did not attend the Ardan’s Council where they would have access to confidential matters and issues of national significance. It was a security risk no sovereign worth his crown would take. Instead they met over the day-to-day issues that normally beset the kingdom with the occasional foray into regional problems or conflicts that could mar the peace if not addressed swiftly.
“I’m sure this will be resolved by the end of the meeting,” Yovan pleasantly said. “It’s a minor issue and won’t require much intervention.”
Indeed, seldom did more than two royal counsellors attend these meetings and they were there more as mentors rather than because their presence was necessary. Rohyr did occasionally come but only because he liked to listen in and see for himself what the new counsellors were made of.
“Oh, yes, especially with you here to guide us all to a sound resolution,” Alve said. “I’m so glad of this chance to work alongside you, Dyhar.”
Yovan winced at the sycophantic compliment. He spotted two counsellors rolling their eyes at each other across the table before half turning their backs on Alve in a transparent attempt to ignore his pronouncements. Yovan decided to curtail the effort to butter him up.
“At this point, none of you should be looking to anyone for guidance,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. He knew the others would understand who he was really addressing, but this way it would not be as embarrassing for Alve than if he corrected him in front of his colleagues. “If you aspire to join the Ardan’s Council, you have to prove your ability to think for yourself, as well as your utmost loyalty.”
To his annoyance, instead of acknowledging the tacit schooling with a simple “Understood” like the others did, Alve softly exclaimed, “My thanks, Seydon-dyhar. I hadn’t considered that!”
Someone snickered at the other end of the table. The rest looked down trying to conceal their smirks. Yovan looked away and hid a huff of frustration. Just then Rohyr appeared at the door with his cousin Mahael, which startled all but Yovan into scrambling to their feet and bowing to the Ardan.
Yovan sighed when Imcael Essendri followed Rohyr and Mahael into the chamber. It had been four years since the Herun last came to Rikara and even longer since he sat at Council. He was retired and his eldest son had taken his place. But he was still a prince of the realm and accorded many of the privileges and duties of one.
Surprisingly, he was quite civil toward everyone, even Yovan with whom he had not parted ways all that amicably. Yovan wondered if the circumstances that culminated in the death of Tyrde had tamed the Herun’s oft acerbic tongue somewhat. There was one exception to his civility however.
Imcael regarded Alve with reproof and pointedly instructed the Deir to move seats. Flushed with some embarrassment, Alve quickly obeyed. As Imcael took the vacated chair, Yovan belatedly realized his cousin had taken exception to Alve’s appropriation of the place to the Chief Counsellor’s right.
It was not a formal Council meeting. Nonetheless, the seating arrangement followed proper procedure wherein Rohyr and Yovan sat themselves at opposite ends of the table as prescribed for a sovereign and his Chief Counsellor. Taking the seat to Rohyr’s left affirmed Mahael’s position as the Ardan’s closest degree kin of the counsellors in attendance. The right hand seat was reserved for the sovereign’s spouse if he was present.
On the other hand, by taking the chair to the Chief Counsellor’s right, Alve had implied he was of superior station to his fellows. Small wonder Imcael had been displeased. Yovan questioned his own failure to correct this breach of protocol.
Throughout the meeting, Alve kept deferring to him or asking him for clarification even if others could provide it. Consequently, Imcael would frown heavily whenever his eyes landed on the younger Deir. Yovan wondered what his nephews made of the situation. Rohyr seemed inclined to leave it to him to sort out while Mahael eyed Alve reprovingly at the start, shook his head and then focused his attention on the discussions.
Just as the meeting finished and Rohyr started to stand up, the door burst open and Gilmael Calanthe strode in, his face grim and his eyes alight with anger. At a gesture from Rohyr, he approached his cousin. Instead of speaking openly before the group, he let Rohyr access his thoughts.
Rohyr’s eyes widened and then he scowled. “Uncles, Mel, stay. The rest leave,” he ordered.
As soon as the others filed out of the room, Rohyr motioned to his uncles and cousins to gather close around him. Yovan sensed the raising of a mental barrier that blocked anyone outside the chamber from hearing anything. That worried him for Rohyr would only shield their conversation if something dire was amiss.
Rohyr looked at Gilmael and said, “Tell them, Gil.”
Gilmael nodded and without preamble announced, “Zykriel sent me word that he’s being held captive by the Vashtins.”
Yovan caught his breath. “How did they capture him?”
“He suspects someone betrayed his whereabouts. He’d gone north with Qristan to visit two outposts. He and his retinue were ambushed before they arrived at the outpost nigh to the river border between Medav and Bavia. Only he and a squire survived. He helped the lad get away to sound the alarm just before he was taken.”
“Deity’s blood,” Imcael growled. “Which dastardly idiot hatched this plot? The Vashtins are either mad or fools to think they can get away with abducting a noble from a foreign land.”
“They’re an insular lot and quite ignorant of what goes on beyond their borders,” Yovan said. “They probably don’t know enough about international relations to realize the consequences of such an act.”
“Does Zykriel know where he’s being held?” Mahael chimed in.
“He said he’s in Adithe,” Gilmael replied.
Rohyr frowned. “Not Glamis?”
“Adithe was the Vashtins’ seat before they overthrew the dynasty that ruled Bavia before them,” Yovan explained. “They likely feel unassailable there compared to Glamis.”
“Which means they aren’t as certain of the capital’s determination to defend against invasion,” Mahael assayed.
“Exactly. The Vashtins have betrayed too many to have gained the trust of all Bavians. Only the Nazcan tradition of utter loyalty to one’s domain has kept them in power thus far.”
“Such a foolish tradition,” Imcael said derisively. “It’s a wonder the Hegemony is still around. Do you still question that I begged you not to attend Zykriel’s nuptials?” he said to Mahael. “I didn’t trust the Shidaras then; I trust them even less now.”
Mahael sighed. “I know, Aba, and I thank you for your concern. But let’s leave that in the past. I did grant your plea.”
Imcael huffed but subsided. Whereupon Rohyr asked Yovan, “How quickly do you think can a rescue force be assembled?”
“A sennight at most,” Yovan replied. “The Royal Garrison is still on alert after that last report from Tenerith.” He glanced at Imcael and explained, “A false alarm as it turned out.”
“Thank Veres for small mercies,” Imcael commented. “We’ll be able to rescue Zykriel soonest.”
Rohyr nodded. He glanced at the door. “I think it best we continue this discussion in my rooms. Our plans have to remain confidential lest we alert any Bavian spies in Rikara.”
“Or Medavian agents,” Yovan said.
Gilmael stared at him. “You think the Shidaras have something to do with this?”
“I think anything is possible. Eulan didn’t exactly exude integrity or credibility.”
“If your suspicions are correct, this might be a double cross,” Mahael mused.
“And with my brother smack in the middle of it!” Gilmael spat.
“Becalm yourself, Gil,” Rohyr said soothingly. “Summon Ranael and have him join us forthwith. I assume Losshen’s warriors will be at his disposal?”
“Of course. As will I.”
“And I,” Yovan suddenly said. When Rohyr gazed at him searchingly, he added, “I offer my sword in service to you as I did your sire.” Silently, he pleaded with his nephew. I need the distraction. Please give me leave, Rohyr-min.
I never imagined war could serve as a distraction from a personal problem. Aloud Rohyr said, “As long as you don’t needlessly put yourself in harm’s way.”
“I’ll look after him,” Gilmael promised. “I’ll keep him safe, I swear.”
Rohyr snorted. “As if Uncle Van needs looking after. Verily he might be the one to look after the lot of you.”
Yovan faintly chuckled. “Thank you. I hope I live up to your expectations.”
“You always say that,” Rohyr retorted. “And then go on to surpass expectations more oft than not.”
He stood up and exited the chamber. The others followed save for Gilmael who made use of the now quiet room to contact Ranael mind to mind.
Yovan came to Rohyr’s side and softly said, “I need to stop by my rooms. It’s Mered’s day to visit. I don’t want him waiting for naught.”
“Of course, Uncle.”
Rohyr went ahead with Mahael. But Imcael joined Yovan and fell in step with him.
“I would like to have a word, Yovan,” the Herun said.
Yovan glanced warily at his cousin. “What about?”
“Did I hear right?” Imcael asked. “You still meet with Mered?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, then you hope to mend whatever rift has driven you apart.”
“I don’t want to give up on my marriage so easily.”
“As is only right.” Imcael frowned. “But if that’s the case, why do you allow that new counsellor to flirt with you in full view of others?”
Yovan stared at Imcael. “I beg your pardon?”
“He’s obviously interested in dallying with you,” Imcael said with distaste. “Verily, were you unwed or intending to divorce Mered, I wouldn’t interfere. After all, this Alve is a blueblood of old name and would be a suitable mate for an Essendri of direct line descent.” Ignoring Yovan’s indignant huff, he barreled on. “However, you are neither unwed nor about to shed your spouse. It’s unseemly for a married Deir to consider infidelity whatever the state of his marriage.”
Yovan’s indignation turned into surprise. It was not what he’d expected his cousin to say. But it was a principle he knew Imcael espoused.
“Is that what you told Rohyr when he refused to send Lassen away?” he dryly asked.
Again Imcael surprised him. The Herun’s cheeks reddened slightly as he answered, “Yes, it was the reason I gave for my objection to their continued liaison. I looked at it as a betrayal of Tyrde.” For an instant, Imcael’s eyes took on a sad, faraway look. “I didn’t perceive that Lassen was already Rohyr’s mate in all but name. That Rohyr’s fidelity had been to Lassen all those years and in compelling him to wed another, I forced him to be unfaithful to the Deir he truly loved.”
Yovan gaped at Imcael. “You admit foisting that marriage on Rohyr was wrong?”
“I do,” Imcael heavily said. “Mind you, I truly thought I was doing the right thing. But as I told Rohyr when I decided to step down, my refusal to listen to opinions other than my own made me a less than effective advisor. I failed to understand why Rohyr refused to break with Lassen. I couldn’t admit to the utter lack of affection between him and Tyrde. And I turned a blind eye to Tyrde’s misdeeds and saw only what I wanted to see until it was too late.”
He exhaled tiredly. “I do sometimes wonder, had Rohyr not banished me from court, might I have been able to dissuade Tyrde from doing all the evil he did? Mayhap prevented his death?”
“Cael, don’t dwell on speculation of what might have been,” Yovan gently said. “By all means, learn from past errors but don’t let them haunt you.”
Imcael chuckled. “I believe that’s the first time you’ve ever shortened my name.”
Yovan had to grin. “So it is.”
“I hope it’s because you feel more amiable toward me.” Imcael’s smile faded. “I placed a great burden on Rohyr when I used the threat of a Cattanian union to prevent him from divorcing Tyrde. Even after he uncovered his dubious mental state. Oh yes, I’ve come to terms with that too. Mahael and Ronuin helped me see all these things.”
He sighed. “I no longer hold Rohyr and Lassen’s liaison against them. Their bond was established long before Rohyr agreed to wed Tyrde. Indeed, I admit it isn’t fair to judge all unfaithful Deira by one standard since there are many reasons infidelity occurs. Not that I think those with good reason are right or should be encouraged,” he quickly clarified. “Rather, it doesn’t serve to condemn them out of hand and one should try to understand the situation and perhaps help the Deira concerned come to a decision about their marriage. Preferably one that would end the infidelity of course.”
“However, I haven’t changed my mind about adultery in general, especially if there has been no effort to make something of a loveless marriage or attempt to repair a damaged one.” He eyed Yovan a tad severely. “You said you have no plans to divorce Mered. I therefore advise you to keep distance between yourself and Counsellor Alve.”
Taken by surprise once again, Yovan gazed at Imcael with budding respect. Perhaps it was time to revise his opinion of his cousin. Certainly he would prefer to be amicable with the Herun even if they never became friends.
“You seem to have spent much time in reflection,” he commented.
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Imcael admitted. “It was either accept the truth and move forward or remain marooned in denial and slowly go mad from it.”
“That’s an interesting way to look at it.” Yovan peered curiously at the Herun. “One other major contention you harbored was when Rohyr recognized Dylen as his brother. Do you still believe Dylen shouldn’t be deemed a scion of House Essendri?”
Imcael pursed his lips and looked away. At length, he glanced at Yovan and said, “It wasn’t his fault. I shouldn’t have held his circumstances against him.”
Yovan could not help smiling at the reluctant admission. “You should tell him so. Not right now, but there might come a time when our House will need to be completely united.”
“Eventually. When the thought of it doesn’t stick in my craw.” Imcael frowned in distaste. “Mind you, I haven’t changed my mind about his former profession. But seeing that he grew up amongst such Deira, well...”
As they entered the residential wing, Mahael fell back to wait for his sire and uncle to catch up. Yovan regarded him approvingly.
Mahael was not the liveliest of Deira. Indeed he was of a rather phlegmatic disposition, unlike his amiable brother Ronuin. But he was unquestionably loyal to Rohyr and astute enough to provide good counsel. Those qualities more than made up for his less than sparkling personality. He was also surprisingly open to new ways and ideas considering his upbringing.
“My thanks for steering me straight, Cael,” Yovan said to Imcael.
He grinned at Mahael’s obvious surprise and curiosity. “You have a fine Deir for a sire, Mel,” he told his nephew. “You’d do very well to espouse his moral integrity.”
Before either Imcael or Mahael could respond, Yovan reached his door. Amused by their stunned expressions, he waved them on and entered the apartment.
As expected, Mered was waiting for him. As soon as Yovan stepped through the door, Mered turned from his contemplation of the small black marble animal figurines atop the mantel to face him. He greeted Yovan with a hesitant yet slightly hopeful smile, his eyes lighting up at first glimpse of his mate.
Yovan quickly told him, “I cannot stay. I must meet with Rohyr in his rooms.”
A frown replaced Mered’s smile. “But didn’t you just meet with him?”
“Yes, but a serious problem has been brought to our attention and must be dealt with immediately,” Yovan explained.
“In the Ardan’s quarters?” Mered’s frown deepened. “What problem requires such confidentiality?”
Yovan could not help the surge of pride at his mate’s perceptiveness. He considered the risk of disclosing Zykriel’s abduction and the plan to join forces with Medav in order to rescue him and ultimately his own part in the operation. At length, he decided Mered could be trusted with the information simply because he would not share it with others if doing so might put Yovan at risk.
“I will join the rescue force,” he said when he finished recounting the situation.
Mered gasped in horror. “You must be jesting!”
“I had a hand in arranging Zykriel’s marriage to Qristan Shidara,” Yovan pointed out. “I cannot idly stand by while others fight to extricate him from the consequences of that arrangement.”
“Sweet Veres, just this once, can’t you set duty aside?” Mered begged. “What if evil befalls you? I’ve never forgotten how you nearly died in Cattania though so many years have passed!”
Yovan shook his head. “Evil can befall us on the streets of Rikara.”
“But the chances of death finding you are less here than on the battlefield.”
“Not true. Death will find us when and where we are fated to meet it. I cannot turn my back on kin, Mer. I must help retrieve Zykriel in whatever way I can.”
“But—”
“It isn’t as if I’ll be leading the charge. Believe me I’ll be well shielded from the brunt of the fighting.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“I’m reasonably certain I’ll come out of this unscathed. Surely you trust my abilities.”
Mered was quite distraught but unable to come up with an adequate response. “When?” he faintly asked.
“A sennight,” Yovan told him.
“Who will command our forces?”
“Rohyr intends to appoint Ranael. And Gilmael will lead a sizable contingent from Losshen.”
“Where will you rendezvous with the Medavi? Close to the border?”
“Nay, in Elana. We don’t want to alert the Bavians to our approach.”
“But shouldn’t a general lead our army since the campaign will take place on foreign soil?”
“The campaign will be on foreign soil, but the conflict is still a domestic one between two Nazcan domains. We’re not out to conquer Bavia but rather augment the Medavian forces and thereby make Zykriel’s retrieval easier.”
“In that case, why not the Royal Garrison commandant? Why risk Ranael?”
“The choice of Ranael is a personal one. He’s close kin to Zykriel and loves him as we all do. Besides Rohyr dislikes the current commandant. The fellow is prone to, shall we say, excess when it comes to dealing with enemy soldiers and unbearably pedantic to boot. By the way, don’t tell Rysander about this. Knowing him, he’ll insist on taking my place.”
Mered paled at the thought of their only son riding to war. He nodded then grimaced and reached out to clutch at Yovan’s arm. “I really wish you wouldn’t go. If something were to happen to you, I—” He closed his eyes and bit down on his lower lips to still its trembling.
Yovan patted the hand that clung to him. “I survived worse battles while less defended.” He drew away and headed for the door. “I must go.”
He waited for Mered to come to his side before opening the door.
––––––––
Mered frowned when he laid eyes on Alve standing on the other side his fist raised to knock.
“Ah, Seydon-dyhar!” the Deir said brightly to Yovan. “I was wondering if you would care to have dinner with me.”
Mered stiffened. Did the counsellor not realize how improper it was to invite Yovan to dine with him right in front of Mered? He sniffed his indignation whereupon Alve seemed to notice him for the first time.
“Oh, good day, Master Seydon,” he said. “I trust you don’t mind if the Chief Counsellor’s colleagues seek his company. It makes for scintillating conversations when we have so much in common.”
The tacit aspersion was not lost on Mered. He trained a cold smile on Alve and sniped, “If my spouse wishes to help the less able come up to his exacting standards over a meal, who am I to object?”
He knew a thrill of satisfaction when Alve lost his smile and slightly flushed.
“The less able? Really?” Yovan murmured. But the faintest upward curve of his lips told Mered he was amused rather than disapproving. To Alve he said, “Thank you, Counsellor, but I have a previous engagement. Perhaps another time.”
Alve pouted but politely took his leave. He made it a point not to look at Mered again and kept his eyes and smile trained on Yovan. Mered glared at his departing back until Yovan tapped his arm. He looked at his spouse, unable to conceal his displeasure. Yovan snorted and closed the door behind them.
“Pay him no mind,” he said. “I’m not interested in him or his company.”
Mered blew his breath out. “I’m sure you’re not. You’ve always had excellent taste,” he quipped. When Yovan’s eyebrows rose, he reluctantly added, “Except in your choice of spouse. But you didn’t have much of a choice then. In any case, you mustn’t keep Rohyr waiting. May I come back later this week?”
“Of course,” Yovan replied. “And, Mer, do desist from disparaging yourself thusly.”
With a nod and a small smile, he strode toward Rohyr’s suite. Mered watched him go, disappointed that they had been unable to spend much time together. At length, he turned the other way and sauntered down the corridor, his frown deepening as he walked. Despite Yovan’s reassurance, he could not quite dispel his anxiety about the young advisor who so obviously coveted the Chief Counsellor.
Alve was not only comely and Mered’s junior by almost three decades, he was also a scion of an aristocratic family of good repute. The junior counsellor was a much more suitable partner for a royal-blooded Deir than Mered could ever be. He wondered whether Yovan truly did not return Alve’s interest and only said so to spare Mered’s feelings. Intense fear and jealousy surged through him.
Indecision overtook him and he slowed his stride. He started to turn around to go back to Yovan’s suite and await him no matter how late. But then he espied Gilmael coming down the corridor. Impulse struck him hard and fast. Ignoring every instinct to reconsider the idea the sight of Yovan’s nephew had suddenly inspired, he hastened to meet him.
“Good day, Gil,” he said with a small dip of his head. After Gilmael returned his greeting, Mered caught him by the elbow. “May I have a word? It’s very important. I promise I’ll be quick about it.”
Gilmael looked surprised but he said, “Of course, Uncle Mer.”
Mered took a deep breath and began to talk.