8
For the next few days, life in the palace finally resembled what Tayron had expected. Every morning after breakfast he followed Jaksen to the audience chamber to hear negotiations, squabbling, and the king rendering judgment. Fenix managed it better than even Jaksen might have expected, and though a number of decisions went against the chief councilor’s advice, Jaksen had only accolades for Fenix’s performance. After lunches, which were instantly more regular and fulfilling, the daily atmosphere became tense. Strategy sessions were held until dinner, with news from all over the nation filtering in. It was all still rumor, with Damial, Quenari, and the other lords doing an excellent job of laying low. Informers noted that many corporate executives had suddenly gone on vacation, but that was too little evidence to take any action on.
Getting used to the new palace after the recent storms took a bit of effort. Tayron almost addressed the king as “Lord Fenix” once before he caught himself, realizing that he wasn’t even allowed to address the king, much less by his lordly name. When in a room filled only with lords, Tayron had the status of nobility, and therefore the right to speak, but in front of the king, only the council spoke freely. Realizing what Tayron had been about to do, Fenix smiled indulgently at him, making the young knight feel slightly better. Tayron also recognized a shadow of the old king in Fenix.
The court treated Quenari’s missing voice like a phantom limb, always expecting it to pipe in, being irritated by it even though it was no longer heard. Even in his short court experience, Tayron had learned to expect the dialogue between Jaksen and Quenari. Others occasionally raised objections and tried to fill the void, but never with equal fervor. If Jaksen longed for the contradicting voice, though, he didn’t show it. Except in the most sedate strategic sessions, he was positively effervescent.
“Well, it isn’t every lifetime you get to be kingmaker, is it?” he responded after someone criticized his eccentric bliss. “Just give me a week. I’ve never met a moment of joy that didn’t fade away.” Tayron did notice that Jaksen had not grinned in his characteristically childish way since the battle for the palace. The councilor’s relieved excitement was unnatural.
Bathis, wholly unconcerned with Jaksen’s temperament, was thoroughly excited by Tayron’s newfound divine protection. “Trickster, eh? Well, I’ll have to watch my way around you, won’t I?” He seemed to think that it put the two of them in much the same category of nobility, and acted more amicably because of it. Tayron didn’t mind – he was just happy that his god was not keen on dumping a random load of bricks on his head.
The calm lasted little more than a week, then reports started coming in of confirmed sightings. After two days of this, the king asked through a messenger to see Tayron privately.
“It is his majesty’s right,” Jaksen said unconcernedly, mulling over a bottle of Phrenx. “I can’t imagine why he wants to see you, but if he asks, you must go.”
“You don’t think it’s anything serious?”
“With all the rumors running about, he’s either just checking that you’re still on our side, or asking you to do some service because he trusts you.”
“Wouldn’t he have talked to you about it?”
Jaksen shook his head. “Not if he wants to reforge the old feudal ties with you. Congratulations, a meeting with the king is the first step to becoming full court nobility. Your family is in ascendancy. Have you told your parents?”
“I sent them a letter. They would have wanted to know about the . . . well, intrigue of the past few days. My mother likes that sort of story,” the knight conceded.
“You didn’t tell them too much, I hope,” Jaksen said jokingly.
“They wouldn’t have cared about anything like that even if I had told them. They have a natural aversion to dangerous secrets. In fact, of danger of any kind. That’s how my father always put it.”
Jaksen smirked. “Well, good luck with your meeting.”
“Thank you,” Tayron said, heading to the king’s quarters for the first time. He had to pass five security checks and two expected guest lists before gaining the audience requested of him. He was brought to a small room simply decorated and hosting a table between two chairs. The place was deliberately designed for private meetings. There were guards at each of the two doors to the room, but Tayron knew that this was as private as the king ever got.
“Do you like the room?” the king opened. “When they built the palace they thought up everything a king could possibly want to do, and built a room for it. Sit down.”
Tayron took the seat opposite the king, and kept every ounce of the formality expected of him in this situation. He waited for his sovereign to speak.
The king took his time, sipping a steaming drink from a delicate porcelain cup. Tayron had the impression that the king was doing this deliberately, as if it was a joke that hadn’t quite gotten old yet. Finally ready after a minute, the king asked, “how are you doing, Tayron?”
“Fine, your majesty.”
Seeing no other recourse except coming to the point, his majesty said, “good. You have been called here because your loyalty must be ascertained during these troubled times. Answer the questions put to you honestly, with the gods as witnesses and your god Tayl held true to your words, then you may go.”
“Yes, your highness.”
“If you had or have the power to decide who was king, will that power be used to give any other man the throne while I live?”
Tayron was thrown off by the phrasing of the question, but recovered himself. “No.”
“If that power was in another man’s hands, and that man opposed my kingship, would you support me against him?”
This one was easier, and Tayron answered “yes” firmly.
“If your family members acted in support of an opponent to the throne, to incite a coup, would you repudiate their actions?”
Knowing his family, Tayron had no trouble. “Yes.”
For a moment, the questioning seemed to be over, but the king had another question. “If any member of your family, any of your ancestors, ever had the power, or ever gave power to someone else, to within my lifetime remove me from the throne, would you repudiate their actions?”
It seemed an absurd length to go to, but Tayron answered “yes.”
“And if you had the power to undo their actions, or to undo any actions past, present, or future, that could determine the sovereignty of this nation during my lifetime . . .”
“I would use that power to ensure you remained on the throne, as long as you lived,” Tayron interrupted in total breach of protocol, but realizing that it was necessary to quell the king’s last remaining fears. Tayron had no intention of seizing the throne for himself, and he was frankly happy with Fenix’s kingship. Perhaps this was all just the king’s way of ensuring the loyalty of those closest to him. As Jaksen had said, an audience with the king was the beginning of the road to a permanent place in court. It was possible that these questions were on some kind of traditional list, and the king felt as awkward about asking them as Tayron did answering them.
The king looked genuinely pleased, smiling broadly and thankfully, with no trace of suspicion on his face. “Your loyalty is refreshing. The hope of this land right now is that there are more men like you, and fewer that would sell themselves to anyone with enough money.”
“Thank you, high king.”
“You may go.”
Tayron stood, bowed, and left. Whatever just happened, he felt that he had managed it well, so that when Jaksen asked what the interview was about, Tayron answered, “just asking about my loyalty” without any worried comments about the actual questions or the king’s attitude.
“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t anything troublesome,” Jaksen said with fatigue in his voice. Since it was only two hours past lunch, and Jaksen regularly stayed up past midnight, Tayron’s curiosity was stirred. Jaksen didn’t disappoint, “because we’ve got some trouble at this end, which I’m sure the king will be made aware of momentarily. The Quenari camp has sent a statement demanding that we recognize Damial’s right to rule, and they’ve sent it to most of the newspapers. It’s signed by an impressive list of nobles and rich commoners, with enough names to catch anyone’s eye. Some famous actors and actresses, too, I think. It’s a bold move, bound to put the entire palace on edge. Hopefully the king will be pulling more people in to check on their loyalty – the last thing we need are enemy informants in our headquarters.”
“Finally!” Bathis said, appearing out of his room after sleeping through the morning. “I was getting used to being bored. Dangerous for a knight, eh Tayron?”
“Yeah,” Tayron admitted, though he had been enjoying the peace.
“Bound to be unhealthy, Lord. I have no doubt that you’ve remained alive and in full form this long only because you’ve been constantly tense.”
“Actually,” Jaksen smiled weakly, “I think the tension has forced me to keep in full form, lest I fall dead. Anyway, why don’t both of you catch a breather then get ready. I’ll call a strategy session in an hour, and I want you both there. It should last until dinner, after which you’ll be free, Tayron, and you’ll be on duty, Bathis.”
The sense that the next hour was the last before a new phase of the civil war escaped none of them. Jaksen had a better time adjusting to the news than the two knights, who still had to adapt to their vague place in the grand scheme. Protecting one of the most important pieces in the game, they couldn’t escape the feeling that they were expendable pawns.
The strategy session was composed of worried glances and blind militancy. The enemy was entrenched in the castle cities of the defecting nobles, a totally futile position if there hadn’t been so many of them. As it was, only the diehard hawks could stomach the idea of laying siege to all of them. A few noted that the most highly developed cannonry made mockery of castle walls, but that only gave fuel to an idea the king had already rejected – to attack every enemy stronghold.
“We could infiltrate them,” a lord suggested, “stir up the masses into rebellion.”
“Quenari and his cronies can easily buy out enough people to deter internal resistance,” another countered.
“Your majesty,” Lord Salubin said, seated on the floor staring at a map of the nation, “with the enemy spread so evenly we can’t attack directly. Any attack at one point will likely be met with counterattacks on the flank. I wonder if we might be able to attack their very nobility. Can your highness not strip them of title and their divine protection, and therefore their very legitimacy?”
“You think this has not already been considered, Salubin?” said the king. “The king can only strip a man of his nobility or grant nobility in the audience chamber, with the man in my presence. And, even if we had gathered everyone together, the gods frown on massive dislocation, especially when attached to families for centuries. This land has not seen more than one traitor at a time for eons, so it is not surprising that you didn’t know that, Salubin. But councilors, we need less obvious solutions. You are not here to explain the obvious. What wisdom does our expert of knightly matters, Lord Jaksen, have to impart?”
Jaksen’s brows rose, and he threw the king a mildly indignant look. “Not much, great king, except the need to treat these castles as a unified whole instead of isolated pockets. If you look at things like that, the front line is clear. We have our lordships, the enemy has theirs, and along the borders fighting will occur. That means we must dispatch forces into those areas immediately.”
“But just because the lord corrupts his castle town with traitorous intent, that does not mean the entire lordship is hostile,” objected one of the lords.
“If they’re loyal, they will show it. Until they show their colors, we have no choice. Also, you will notice, if we take this view of things, that the border with Rath’rainol is completely covered by lands loyal to Damial. In fact, those lands belong to Quenari and his strongest allies. I propose that we pull our troops away from the border and reestablish a new front line with those troops, this time where the traitorous lordships and ours meet.”
It was an unpopular pronouncement, and many voices shouted arguments. The king silenced them all with eyes guaranteeing to take up the issue himself. “Lord Jaksen, are you sure you are not merely being vindictive? Wouldn’t our subjects in those lands become more antagonistic to us if we abandon them?”
“We will distribute leaflets explaining to the population that, if they continue to support their traitorous lords by sending tax dollars to them, then we cannot be expected to defend them from attack. It is the covenant between king and subject that the subject provides taxes while lord provides defense. If subjects provide taxes to lords under Damial, then the lords under Damial will have to defend those subjects. A two front war will be the demise of Damial and Quenari.”
Jaksen’s explanation failed to silence skeptics, and a few had already formed private conversations with those next to them. The king decided not to quiet them this time, and instead said over them “we will take your words into advisement, Lord Jaksen, but this council is not ready to stomach it. Perhaps if you flesh out your idea more fully, with greater detail on where we will be moving our troops, it may form the basis for discussion – in the absence of other, more satisfactory plans.”
The hint was well taken – if no one else got creative, then the king would have no choice but to implement the only plan available to him. With this, the meeting could proceed no further, and the lords adjourned for the day an hour short of dinner. The sparse progress made in the session worried Tayron, who wondered if Jaksen had only made his suggestions to spur the other lords on, or if the councilor truly believed in the harsh measures he spoke of. Pulling troops back would give valuable ground to Rath’rainol – land that thousands had died to defend.
In the end, none of it mattered. As he had a tendency to do, Quenari stayed one step ahead of them and moved first.