King (3 page)

Ela wished Father would finish his conversation with that very talkative young man who’d stopped him as he was preparing to leave the temple site. She and Tamri and Prill were all but dozing off after this tiresome day. Pitying her chaperones, Ela said, “Father’s right there. Why don’t you two leave ahead of me? Stay home and rest tomorrow.”

“Are you certain?” Tamri asked as Prill retrieved their baskets. “You won’t need us?”

“No. I promised to help Mother tomorrow.” And she intended to play with her baby brother, Jess. “It’ll be wonderful to have a quiet day.” Ela hugged her chaperones, praying blessings for them. “Thank you. I’m sorry you suffered the poison with me.”

Prill sniffed, not too convincingly. “You’d best be sorry! Though I suppose it was an honor to survive with you and the king.”

Tamri linked arms with the matron. “That’s how we’ll look at it, Prill, my girl! Not ‘almost died,’ but
survived
. Mercy, what will the child drag us into next? I need to retire.”

“I didn’t drag anyone into this,” Ela argued.

“Bah!” Prill said. “You attract every sort of commotion, Ela—admit it. Our lives will be so much easier when you marry. Come, Tam. While we’re both young enough to walk.”

Pretending offense, Tamri scolded, “Hush, Prill, you are almost a child yourself. You may be chaperoning Ela, but
I’m
chaperoning you both!”

They walked away, arguing about who was chaperoning whom.

When you marry.
Ela smiled and shook her head. She’d never marry.

Father finished his conversation and Ela picked up her basket and the branch. He scowled, however, as he watched the young man stalk off in the ruddy evening light. Curious, Ela asked, “Who was that?”

“One of the foremen. Asking for a responsibility I doubt he can manage.” Dan Roeh glanced at Ela’s basket and the branch, then sighed. “It’s been a long day. We didn’t need the king’s men here questioning us half the afternoon—they set us behind schedule. But at least you didn’t cause another revolution.”

“I didn’t cause Siphra’s revolution!” Well, not entirely. She gave Father a fierce look.

He grinned. “If you say so, Prophet.” As they descended the steps, Dan asked, “Have you reconsidered? About marriage?”

“No.” Marriage. Again! Ela kept her tone mild, despite her growing frustration. “Father, why does everyone insist I must marry? It would be disastrous!”

“I’m not convinced it would be disastrous,” Dan countered. “But your husband needs enough strength and status of his own to endure everything you’ll bring to the marriage.”

Ela’s stomach clenched. “You talk as if you’re considering marrying me off! Father . . . !”

“I could,” Dan said, unnervingly quiet. “And I believe I should. You’re nineteen and—”

“Please don’t!” Ela begged. She halted at the top of the broad steps and clasped her father’s arm, babbling in rising panic. “You know what Parne’s elders always said. I’m a prophet. I’m supposed to die young. ‘A silver-haired prophet has failed!’ I
can’t
marry. It wouldn’t be fair to my husband. As for children, I don’t know how I’d endure leaving them!”

Father patted her hand. “Ela. Calm yourself. Thus far, none of the men who have offered themselves could survive marrying you.”

What? Ela blinked. “What do you mean, ‘none of the men’?”

“Why do you think I was delayed tonight?”

“That man was asking you for
me
?”

“Yes, and do not yell,” Dan warned. “It’s unbecoming to a prophet. Unless the Infinite commands you to yell, of course.”

“Sorry.” Ela sucked in a calming breath. “Father, promise me you won’t marry me off.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be sure it’s the Infinite’s will for you.”

Infinite? What if he . . . Ela shut away the thought, sickened. No. She refused to think of it. Father wouldn’t act hastily. He cared for her feelings. And if he was determined to marry her off, then only one man could be her husband. Though she hadn’t heard from
him
in weeks.

Kien. Why hadn’t he written to her? What was wrong?

Inhaling the cool night air, Kien Lantec, Judge-Advocate for General Rol, leaned against the open window of his tower room in the Tracelands. Was this his last week of freedom? Soon he would endure the first day of his open trial before the Tracelands’ Grand Assembly.

After four months of legal delays—at Father’s insistence—Kien would confront his fate.

Freedom, he must admit, was not likely if he should be condemned and censured as he feared. Then he’d suffer fines and be cast out of the military and into prison. But for how long? Months? Years? All because he’d obeyed the Infinite.

And because he’d been richly and irrevocably rewarded for protecting his friend Akabe of Siphra from an assassin’s blade. Yet not even Akabe’s written plea, signed and sealed here on Kien’s desk, would pacify Kien’s most outspoken accusers.

Tracelanders, himself included, did not bow to kings.

Kien dared not use Akabe’s plea. Yet he couldn’t ignore it either. Siphra would be insulted if the Tracelands scorned their king’s appeal, while the Tracelands would be equally offended if Kien offered the plea in his defense, causing a quarrel between the two countries.

Kien grimaced. He’d welcome wise counsel now. If only Ela were here.

Dear prophet! Kien returned to his desk and snatched a fresh piece of parchment. When had he last written to Ela? He couldn’t remember. He’d been too busy. Too tired.

Perhaps she would come visit him in prison.

“Infinite,” Kien murmured as he opened the ink, “please be with me, Your servant.”

 3 

A
kabe stood as Ishvah Nesac, Parne’s former chief priest, entered the royal study. “Nesac! Welcome!”

His thin arms laden with the scrolls and boxes needed for their weekly lesson, the young priest grinned and bowed. “Good morning, Majesty. It’s a joy to see you’re well.”

“It’s a joy to be well, thanks to the Infinite and our favorite prophet.” Akabe motioned to a pair of chairs set before his massive, ornately carved worktable. “Sit, please. No ceremony.” His own mention of ceremony caused Akabe to look at the study’s entrance. Sure enough, two guards and a handful of courtiers lingered there, watching and listening. Akabe smiled at them. “Close the door as you depart!”

His guards slid suspicious frowns at Ishvah Nesac. No doubt they’d loiter outside, twitching, ready to break in and apprehend the scholarly priest at the slightest provocation. Doing their jobs, Akabe reminded himself. He stared until they obeyed and shut the door.

Nesac approached the table but silently refused to sit. Giving in to the man’s wish to observe protocol, Akabe dropped into one of the gilded chairs. The chief priest reverently placed his collection of scrolls and a box on the wood’s polished surface.

The box, itself an ancient relic, creaked open beneath Ishvah’s thin, scholarly hands, revealing an ivory tablet yellowed with age.
One of Parne’s Sacred Books—
Praises.
Akabe grinned. “Again? Do you believe I need to memorize
Praises
?”

“A spirit of gratitude pleases the Infinite, sir,” the priest murmured, not entirely solemn.

“And you think I’m ungrateful?”

Ishvah sat in his designated chair, composed. “I’d never dare say such a thing, Majesty.”

“Yet you think it.”

“Only regarding your dislike of being Siphra’s king.”

True.

Ishvah cleared his throat. “Sir, if you’re tired of
The Book of Praises
, I’ll bring another next week.”

“No.
Praises
will be fine.” Akabe opened his writing box, eager to complete the lesson, then talk with Nesac. The priest was discreet, and he and his wife were Ela’s friends. “I look forward to learning from all the Infinite’s Sacred Books.”

“Your priests and Siphra’s faithful are glad.” Nesac smiled. “Familiarity with the Infinite’s Word will allow you to recognize false teachings if anyone should present them in the palace. Self-seekers invariably take verses out of context and build them up to fit their own purposes for the sake of gaining power.”

“Well, if I must be a king, then I’ll try to be a discerning one.” Particularly while divine direction seemed so scarce. Akabe snatched a parchment and wrote the verse, translated by Nesac from Parne’s ancient priestly script.
In all circumstances, praise your Creator. Those who love His name will take joy in Him. . . .

Guilty. Akabe scowled. Yet he hated his circumstances—being king. Wasn’t it honorable to confess reality? However, making everyone around him unhappy with his constant complaints wouldn’t help this irreversible situation. Indeed, it would create bad attitudes among his courtiers and worsen matters. Better to be pleasant, win over his subjects, and find an understanding wife who would sympathize with his plight. Such as Ela. Sped onward by thoughts of Ela, Akabe charged into the verses. At
the end of their discussion, he slapped his writing reed into its box. “Done! Now we talk.”

Nesac’s black eyebrows lifted. “Haven’t we been talking, sir?”

“Yes. But now we must speak of confidential matters,” Akabe persisted. “What do you know of the prophet’s thoughts on marriage?”

Nesac’s face went blank as he gathered his supplies. “Which prophet, sir? Siphra has many.”

“Why, the only prophet I could marry, of course. Ela Roeh.”

The young priest dropped a reed. Akabe laughed at his stunned expression. “You heard me. I’m serious. I want to marry Ela. Therefore, I need to know . . . does she speak of marriage?”

“No, Majesty.” Nesac’s tawny face reddened. “She refuses to marry because all of Parne’s prophets have died young.”

“She’s a Siphran prophet now,” Akabe pointed out, shamelessly delighted. “What else?”

The priest knelt to retrieve the pen, as if needing time to think. Settling, he coughed. “Well . . . before she was called as a prophet, Ela was pledged to marry a young man. But their agreement was broken, and he died at the start of Parne’s siege. He was unworthy of her.”

“Am I unworthy of her?”

“No.” The priest studied Akabe as if trying to weigh his soul. “You are worthy. But would it be right? Would it be the Infinite’s will?”

“She could ask Him.”

“Er, indeed. But—”

Akabe leaned forward, determined to cut through the man’s hesitation. “Has she spoken of anyone else? Or revealed fondness for another man since coming to Munra?”

“Not to me or to my wife, sir. She has close friends in the Tracelands—the Thels and Kien Lantec—but I’ve never heard her speak of marriage, except to refuse it. On her behalf, sir, may I say that she’s not fond of public attention despite being a prophet. She might be uncomfortable as a queen.”

“Well, I feel the same about being king. Ela and I could complain to each other whenever we escape the courtiers.”

Nesac chuckled, relaxing visibly. “And I’d lecture you two on gratitude.”

A victory. Akabe jabbed the priest’s shoulder. “You’ll say nothing, of course, until I speak to Ela this afternoon.”

“You have my word, sir. I pray the Infinite pours His blessings upon you both.”

Accompanied by his father, Rade Lantec, Kien climbed the marble steps toward the Grand Assembly’s meeting place, his gold-clasped black tunic, leggings, and military mantle drawing stares. His attire marked him as a dark raven among the Tracelands’ dove-gray-robed officials—Father included.

Yet the military uniform gave Kien an excuse to carry his Azurnite sword. The prized, nearly indestructible blue blade consoled him, because the Grand Assembly members’ gray robes undoubtedly covered a spiritual and political ambush. Kien would almost rather face scalns—stinking, venomous, hissing, soft-footed predators—with those bloodshot yellow eyes and reptilian red skin. . . .

At least scalns were straightforward about wanting to eat their victims alive.

Few greeted Father as they approached the huge bronze doors, but every gaze seemed fixed on Kien. Some unpleasant, others offering silent understanding, most noncommittal. Kien noticed one not-quite-concealed smirk from another black-garbed Tracelands soldier—the stuffily proper Subordinate Commander Selwin, his chief accuser.

Kien had hoped to not see the man on his trial’s first day.

Father scowled. “Selwin’s here already?”

“Of course.” Kien’s stomach knotted. “I’d call him to testify on the first day if I were prosecuting me.” He deliberately grinned at Selwin, changing the subordinate commander’s smugness to
bafflement. “His testimony will make me a living joke to half the Grand Assembly.”

“We need to find a way to counter your religious beliefs,” Rade observed as they entered the huge marble-columned chamber. “Our foes are eager to condemn us for them.”

Us.
Kien grimaced at the word’s truth. This trial named him as its defendant, but Rade Lantec, the Tracelands’ preeminent assemblyman, might as well sit beside him in the chamber’s arena-like center, equally accused for all his past policies. Political maneuverings were the reason Kien faced censure in the Tracelands’ most public forum, instead of an ordinary court. He was being tried as Rade Lantec’s son.

And as the Infinite’s servant.

While Rade climbed the upper chamber’s steps to his high seat—its placement revealing his status—Kien descended to his chair on the marble floor below, at the table of the accused. Selwin immediately strode to the witness chair.

Beyond Selwin, Kien recognized a particular smooth-faced, smiling, polished official. Assemblyman Cherne. Leader of the anti-Lantec faction. The man who’d insisted Kien be tried publicly, implying to all that the Lantecs might bribe a lesser court for Kien’s acquittal.

After opening ceremonies, the lead prosecutor lifted his voice until it echoed off every marble column and curved wall, introducing Selwin, then bellowing his first question. “Commander Selwin, were you present at the fall of Parne, after the battle against Belaal?”

“I was.”

“What orders did Akabe, king of Siphra, give concerning the allied forces’ entry into the city-state of Parne?”

Deathly serious, Selwin lifted his chin. “He ordered the Parnians removed from their city. Anyone who resisted was to be executed.”

A wave of outraged murmurs flowed through the crowd of onlookers in the marble chamber. Seething inwardly, Kien leaned
toward his defending counselor, Alan, and whispered, “Anyone who raised
weapons
was to be killed—not those who merely resisted leaving the city.”

Alan nodded and pressed his reed pen into a wax tablet, making notes.

The lead prosecutor raised his voice further. “What reason did the king of Siphra give for issuing this death order?”

The corners of Selwin’s mouth curled, hinting at scorn. “He believed his orders were issued by his Creator, the Infinite, and that the Infinite decreed Parne must be destroyed.”

“Commander Selwin, did you enter Parne under these orders?”

“No, sir. I disagreed with the king’s orders and declined to enter the city.”

“Do you know of any Tracelanders who did enter the city?”

Selwin nodded toward Kien. “Judge-Advocate Lantec rode into Parne against my advice.”

Determined, Kien met and held Selwin’s gaze until the man looked away. Interesting. The subordinate commander was consistently omitting any details that might validate Kien’s actions. Well, well. The worthy Selwin would regret his choice of tactics.

Clamping his lips tight to suppress a grin, Kien snatched a reed pen, opened a new wax tablet, and pressed in rapid jottings of notes. His list lengthened as Selwin’s testimony progressed.

Kien silently cheered the man onward.

“Jess, hold still.” Ela combed her baby brother’s clean black curls, delighted by his shiny, perfect ringlets. Less pleased, the tiny boy stiffened, slid out of her lap, then crawled across the mat to Mother, who sat nearby munching on a crisp round of herbed bread.