18
Three knights guarding one door was monumentally redundant, but since all three wanted to be present to hear the result of Jaksen’s deliberations, they seated themselves patiently on the cold hard ground. Bathis brought Yunas up to speed and injected his own interpretations in everything. Tayron listened for a few minutes, but since he had already thought through the only reasonable words emanating from Bathis’ mouth, he felt free to ignore it all. Anni filled his mind, and, even though he could guess what she would say about it all, he couldn’t help wanting to hear it. He was beginning to feel that he was on the wrong side – that the court was looking for the best way to fall apart. Even though there was no question the rebellion of the False Adenor would be crushed, he could imagine how much more satisfying fighting on that side would be. Yunas had a point there – being on the weaker side had a definite benefit. For one, you couldn’t afford to sit around on the floor of a hallway, or stand around while the decision makers argued, waiting for action. It might have been because he was still young, and had the natural antipathy for the kind of inactivity people stalling death indulged in. He wondered if Yunas had thought about switching to the side of the peasants, but didn’t want to ask.
After the few hours of silence following the updating of Yunas, Bathis’ patience ran out. “Tayron, don’t you think he’s done enough thinking? I can’t feel my ass anymore.”
“I have no idea,” Tayron replied bluntly.
“Well, we’re going to have to leave soon, and I figure any thinking he hasn’t done here, he can do when we get to his home.”
“So why don’t you go in and tell him?”
Bathis stared at Tayron askance. “I think we all know you have to do it. He trusts you, and you were the one he was looking at when he told us to get him when the time came, and I’m just saying it’s time.”
Puzzled by Bathis’ reluctance, Tayron had begun to respond when Yunas interrupted saying, “well, if neither of you’re going to go, I’ll . . .”
“I’ll go, I’ll go,” Tayron said without really thinking about it. Ultimately, Bathis had been right – it had seemed like Jaksen had meant for him to do it, though the knight couldn’t have known why until he entered the quarters.
In the living room, the high councilor sat sprawled on a couch and wouldn’t have seemed unusual if not for the empty bottle of alcohol in front of him, a total lack of coordination and focus as he lifted up his head to look at his bodyguard, and the slow slurred speech he employed in place of his traditional firm authoritative voice. Amazingly, he still maintained some eloquence and wit.
“Right on time. I just ran out,” he said approvingly.
“What . . . why?” the stunned knight stammered.
“Out of character, Tayron. Bad form.”
“Look who’s talking!”
“Ha! Well, you don’t understand what’s going on, really. If you understood . . . well, you’d probably handle it much better than I did. But I’ve been here much longer than you, and I think it’s the end for me here. That hits me hard, you understand. It’s hard. We don’t usually retire, us impressive lords – we die. But the king’s made it clear that I’ve . . . well, no, that’s not right. I might as well talk straight while I’m still drunk, since I sure won’t be in the mood to while I’m sober. Don’t want to bore you with useless talk, so tell me what you think you know.”
Curiosity at an all time high, Tayron decided to pursue the conversation even though he couldn’t be sure that Jaksen was in his right mind. “The king’s been hostile to you for some time now, and he’s also not in his right mind . . .”
“Not in his right mind?” the words were untainted by drink, and Jaksen’s synapses revived for a moment to assimilate the idea. “I didn’t think about that – you’ll understand why I hadn’t when I tell what I have to say. That might be important, though, but I can’t do anything about it. Go on.”
“I don’t have much more than that, really. All this court finery – it’s not what I was looking for when I came out of the academy.”
“Ah! Not what I was looking for either, I must say. What it was like for the first . . . what? Fifty years of my career? That was what I was expecting. This – how could I expect this? But you don’t see yet, and you have to see before I stop being eager to tell you. The first thing you have to understand is that no one knows who the god of my family is except the king, and I know the god of the family of the king.”
“Isn’t the king’s god the father god?”
“No, no. I meant the god of Lord Fenix. You see, only the king is privy to the connection with the father god. But what about the noble family of the king? They have their own god. Their god becomes associated with the father god – like the father god’s favorite child. All the gods compete for this honor, of course. So the god of Lord Damial’s branch was competing with the god of Lord Fenix branch for the honor. You see? It’s tough to understand, I know, and I’m not in a state to get it to make sense, but there it is. Details about the gods are not spread outside of the court nobility, so you won’t find this in any book. Now I’m going to tell you what I know, and no one else but me, the king, and perhaps Quenari understood most of it – Quenari’s god is the god of rebellion if you hadn’t already guessed, and knowledge is power, but you have a right to know for a reason I will explain. Lord Damial, of course, definitely knew about the situation between my family and the family of the king.”
The councilor was silent for a few moments, so Tayron prodded him. “Yes?”
“Just . . . trying to get words in the right order. Umm . . . well, straight out’s the best way to go. My god is the god of sovereignty. Sometime, long ago, the king of the time was facing a rebellion. In fact, it was the last time there was a rebellion within the court, I think. Anyway, he decided to give up to his opponent, but also gave my family, which was very humble at the time, the god of sovereignty. That way, you see, the new king was checked by my ancestor, as I am supposed to check this king. Well, you can see how that’s turned out. Now it’s just a showdown. I can take the sovereignty from him, and he can take my nobility away from me. It’s all a matter of who goes first. But we both believe in the traditional order. It holds us back. But if either one of us moves, it’d be . . . bad. That’s enough to get me drunk, I think. I mean, I have to leave – if me and the king keep attacking each other . . .”
“But . . . so the king and your family hasn’t had this problem before? Not since your family got the name Jaksen?”
Jaksen nodded vigorously. “That’s right. Thousands of years of ancestors are plaguing me. Really, I think my being miserable here might be enough for them, and they might not torment me in the other world, as long as my son takes my place faithfully and continues the line. But I . . . how did I suddenly lose? Drinking about it, I’ve come up with a theory, but it’s not a good theory. It leaves unanswered the most important part of the question – why has the king done this? Fenix was not like this.”
“What’s your theory?”
“Ah . . . no, wrong question. No, Tayron. Ask me the question you have so often wanted to ask, and the real question you want to ask now. I will finally answer it fully, and I think you’ll be satisfied. And you’ll realize that being satisfied is not the same as being happy.”
Tayron didn’t have to think hard. “Why are you telling me all this?”
The lord slapped his leg and said, “That’s the one. Very good. You’d be a good king, you know, Tayron. No, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Now . . .”
The door burst open and Bathis, on alert, asked immediately “what’s going on? Anything wrong? Sorry for barging in, but you sure were taking a while, Tayron.”
Jaksen stood up unsteadily and gathered up what remained of his dignity. “Make preparations to leave. We’ll take brekas.” Then, sideways to Tayron, he said, “sorry, but the spell’s broken. That’s faith for you, but I think you can figure it out for yourself. You think there’s something wrong with the king, and I think you may have a point, but I won’t be able to help you. Anyway, perhaps we will be able to talk more later. For now, go down to the medical area and get me the strongest potion they have for my . . . condition. I can’t ride a breka like this, and I don’t want to wobble up to my wife.”
Tayron did as asked, then set to packing up his meager belongings. During the few moments it took to manage this, he considered what Jaksen might have answered to his question and found that it was, in fact, very easy to guess. He thought of the statue of his ancestor in front of the palace. The king who had given the god of sovereignty to the councilor’s family had done so to play a trick on the man whom he had to surrender the throne to. The new king was somehow powerless to undo the previous king’s decree – probably because his own kingship was tied to the new position of the new Jaksen family, or perhaps because he thought it safer to strike a friendship with the representatives of the sovereignty god than to try to remove them. Any way it was looked at, the king had to have been a Tayron. And Tayl would have been profoundly angry that he had been so easily replaced as the favorite son of the father god, so he exacted retribution on the Tayron family. At least, until Alevan Tayron had arrived on the scene. It all fit perfectly, but the implications for what he had done and what he might do in the near future were huge. As was his habit, he forestalled thinking about it until he could calm down from the recent excitement. There were more pressing things that had to be done. Assassins would be tempted to take a last shot at the high councilor as he was leaving the palace.
Before they took their final leave, though, Jaksen visibly reconsidered something and said, “I really don’t need all three of you coming with me, and I no longer trust the spies I have inside the palace, or the news I get from the other lords. Bathis, I know you have the interest and skill for this, so why don’t you stay and send word if anything odd – if anything even more unusual than what we’ve been getting recently – turns up.”
Bathis shrugged and said “whatever you say, sir” without any sign of disappointment. Tayron guessed that Bathis was looking forward to the extra time in which he could establish more influential contacts, securing his own position in court before Jaksen’s final fall, and found that he couldn’t blame the wily knight. Bathis was in his room, returning it to a living sloppiness, when they finally left.
The lack of hostiles on the way to the breka lair only heightened Tayron’s apprehension about the flight. He tried not to feel too disappointed as they neared Jaksen’s home and nothing had happened. Yunas was positively writhing with anxiety, itching for the fight, and had a scowl on his face when he sighted what was unmistakably the Jaksen estate.
Pointing to the carefully crafted landscape centered with a mansion that only seemed under-whelming when compared to the palace, Jaksen told his bodyguards “there it is, if you couldn’t already tell. Land in front of that fountain there. Frankly, if I didn’t have to hand it all down to my son, I would have much rather lived in something modest in the capital. It always embarrasses me when I look at it from above.” Catching a glance of Yunas, he added, “but it never gives me that sour a look on my face. What’s wrong, Yunas?”
The youthful knight lightened his expression and shrugged. “Just feel cheated. Going to get out of shape at this rate. Thought that if anyone’d be attacked a lot, it’d be you, sir. I was just thinking it’d be a lot more fun if I threw in with the peasants, but then I’d lose my knighthood and all. There goes the last seven years.”
“I know how you feel,” Jaksen sighed, “except it’s my entire life for me.”
Yunas nodded solemnly, then gave the councilor a cheering grin, causing Jaksen to smirk, then sink back into his own thoughts as the brekas were brought to a landing. The landing pad was flanked by enclosures filled with other creatures – some for land transportation and others for food. A motley keeper hobbled over to her employer as the latter dismounted, looking appreciatively at her new charges. She gave the same motherly glance that the breka keeper at the palace had, and allowed no doubt that the animals would receive the greatest of care. To the humans, though, her manner was rough. She scowled at Jaksen as if dismayed by the uncivilized way he forced the breka to bear his weight. He showed no sign that this attitude of hers was in any way unusual, and in fact gave his best placating grin, as if begging an apology. She responded by dropping the ferocity in her eyes down a notch, removing the paralysis on the lord and his bodyguards and allowing them to pass.
A safe distance from the enclosures, Yunas said, “scary, ain’t she? I mean, definitely not normal.”
“Definitely a textbook case for the use of long range weapons,” Tayron intoned, imitating the most pedantic academy weapons theorists. “There are some times when you just can’t risk a melee.”
Yunas giggled in a thoroughly boyish way, and Jaksen was so startled by it that he decided not to chastise them for poking fun at the woman. Her story had been harsh – a tragedy. The councilor pondered, by the necessity of his mood more than any natural train of thought, whether he would soon be looking at his fellow human being with the same haunted, resentful eyes. Yunas had saved him from thinking too morosely, though he was forced to wonder how the knight could seem so innocent after his ferocity on the battlefield. It frightened him to think what kind of mind could be a child in battle. He had known children who had been thrust in the middle of a war, but not one had come out a child. For the first time, he looked at Yunas with the kind of respect he had only reserved for Tayron, realizing that, had his mind not been so clouded, he would have realized that he had at his disposal three strong allies. Even with Tayron, it had mainly been the historical importance of the knight’s family that had drawn Jaksen’s respect, though Tayron’s personal qualities had definitely been of some help.
Tayron’s thinking was leaps and bounds ahead of the elderly statesman’s. He had already eliminated the feeling of contempt he had for Jaksen, which had been sparked by the realization that the lord looked at him as a family rather than a person, and had been aggravated by Jaksen’s hopeless attitude. Tayron was getting back to his more proactive mood – the mood that had been so stifled at the palace. His guess was that he wouldn’t be held back any longer.
Approaching the white doors of the mansion, which stood twice the height of a man and were preceded by a flight of twelve marble steps, they saw the lady of the household standing in wait for her husband. She wore her age proudly, in her completely white hair and a fully traditional dress that would have given Anni a pained cringe just from looking at it. It was a full white dress with delicate silver designs that was tight from the neck down to the knees, and then flared out. It was not meant for mobility or comfort, but the lady wore it well, as if she had long ago learned how to move with it rather than against it. Age was more evident on her face than it had ever been on Jaksen’s, even in the moments of his greatest toil. The lines on her face were full and proper, as if merely outward representations of an inner essence that had seen and done much. Tayron could never have claimed to be a good judge of character, especially not at a first glance, but he felt sure that she had led a full life before her marriage to Jaksen, and continued to live one while her husband was away at the palace. Still, her gladness at seeing her husband after a time apart that must have been at least months if not a year or more burst out of her. Jaksen only had to ascend the first two steps, and the lady covered the rest. They embraced, the lord on the second step, the lady on the third so that she actually stood taller than him, and all the cares of the world dropped away for the moment.
The lady broke away first, and the instant the human contact was lost, the shadow returned to Jaksen’s face. Noticing this, his wife grasped his left hand in both of her own, and he lightened a shade but the moment of brightness had passed.
She spoke first. “Everytime you return here, it is because one of us is troubled. I guess this time is your turn, but I’m far from untroubled myself. Tell me, what has caused you to loose your spark, and what can I do to relight it?”
“Relax, Diorna, these two are more friends than anything else, so no more false ceremony, you’re horrible at it.” She gave a false scowl, and he parried with a false smile. “And you probably know more than I do about what’s going on, so I’d rather not talk about it right now.” As explanation to the knights, Jaksen felt compelled to add, “my wife has suffered to stay here on my insistence, but she has her presence in court in the form of spies. She likes to be informed, and to give her opinion. Half of the reports I read every day are from her. She has also contrived to make your lives substantially more boring, by having assassins tasked to rid the world of my sorry form assassinated. It’s a hobby of hers – she takes it as a challenge, and the irony.”
“You know very well I’m just worried for your life. You keep me from the palace because you’re worried about mine, so I spend my time in safety worrying about yours.”
“Well, if you saw these two fight,” he said gesturing to his bodyguards, “you wouldn’t be so worried.” The knights stood a bit taller, though Yunas had mixed feelings about Diorna’s intervention – on the one hand impressed, on the other resentful.
“No matter how good they are they probably have their hands full with you, the way you charge right into the middle of every bad situation. But let’s get into the house. I daresay that you’ll want something to eat, and a comfortable couch to sit on after riding on the brekas all day.”
Without any objections from the councilor, they followed Diorna through the doors, opened by servants who had been peering through the windows from the inside. The atrium was opulent, but quite obviously not redecorated in the past two hundred years. The drapery and tapestries were meticulously preserved, but they belonged in the museum section of the palace. Such styles would not be allowed in the audience chamber, where the decorators prided themselves on their knowledge, and in some cases creation, of the latest trends. But this was pure neglect, not any adherence to tradition that occupied so much of Jaksen’s preaching. It showed that the house’s occupants had important work to take care of, and could not be troubled with the décor. That made Tayron feel comfortable, counteracting the awe that the sheer size and magnificence of the place had once tried to instill.
They retired through a maze of hallways to a more modest room designed purely for the private dining of the Jaksen family. The walls were plain white, and the floor was marbleized but not marble. The table could accommodate six diners, and was laid out for four. The food wasn’t ready yet, but the vapors were carrying to them from the kitchen first as a hint, then demanding attention and salivation. They left the table unoccupied while the food was still being prepared, and instead sat on couches set around a glass drinking table, much in the way Jaksen’s living room at the palace was arranged. Jaksen at first sprawled on a couch as was his custom at the palace, but Diorna slapped him on the thigh and he straightened up.
“I thought you’d let me get comfortable after the long breka ride,” the lord pleaded with lazy humor.
“Why is it that I never see you as a lord? You only act dignified in front of the peers. For the sake of the gods have some dignity once in a while here. At least sit properly and don’t mope around. You’re very irritating when you’re moping.”
Looking at her askew, he replied, “well, care to say anything more? Moping is it? I didn’t come home just to be criticized further for failing in a situation I had no control over. It’s been a long time since I’ve been forced into a place I couldn’t skill my way out of, and I’d thank you if you wouldn’t kick me right after this rude awakening.”
Diorna pursed her lips and left her seat on the couch saying stiffly, “I’ll check on the cooking.”
“Hold on there, dear,” Jaksen said hurriedly, pulling her gently back down to the couch. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just been a long day and the thick armor I usually wear on my mind to ward off the spears of criticism and the general insanity of the universe has worn thin. I fear that already some blows have been struck recently that may have addled my judgment. Your gentle prodding only aggravated a wound that you could not have known was there. We have a lot to discuss. It is time for Terilon to take my place at court.”
If Jaksen was hoping that the statement would leave his wife speechless, he sat sadly mistaken. His words opened the floodgates. “And you don’t think that this little idea of yours comes out of that addled judgment? I know that Terilon has been the most studious, but he’s also the youngest. I know, I know that it’s normal and the rest of the lot have already built lives for themselves, but think about what the court is like – wouldn’t some real world experience somewhere out of court help? You know that any one of them would take up the duty if you call on them. Somehow you always kept them magnetized to you, even though you saw a lot less of them than I did – maybe because they saw a lot less of you. Besides, you can’t just send our son to court as if he could magically take your place. And at a time like this! The assassins will be out for his neck at a time like this, and no offense to your obviously trustworthy bodyguards, but it would be better to hand over the reins at a calmer time.”
“Sounds like you’ve planned saying all this for quite a while.”
With a humph, Diorna said, “I know your mind, whatever condition it might be in. You think up your mazes of intrigue, but don’t you forget that I’ve always been ready to take up your burdens in court, to give you some rest. You’ve never given me the chance.”
Jaksen smiled sweetly and looked into his wife’s eyes deeply, reconnecting with a personality he had come to know well. “Yes, and you’ve never missed a chance to remind me that you are ever prepared. But we’ve danced this dance before, and you know why Lady Jaksen has not presided at the side of the king, so I will let that jab pass. As for the rest, you’re mistaken and on this issue at least my judgment has not failed me. Terilon is nearly thirty, and restless to build his life. He’s already married, and has to show his wife that he has a future, and isn’t just a permanent resident in his father’s household. And if I try to wait until the times are more forgiving, which they may never be again, then he will have to start a life outside of the court, and it would not be fair for me to take that away from him before he works it out.”
The knights watched the husband and wife trading arguments, thankful that the nobility was oblivious to bodyguards during such private moments. They were neither expected to give their opinion, nor acutely embarrassing to have around. Their place in this was to wait for someone to burst in and try to assassinate the councilor, however unlikely.
As it so happened, just as the discussion was winding down and Diorna delivered an answer that reiterated her concern but implied her agreement to Jaksen’s logic, Terilon himself entered, giving the ever-alert Yunas a start. The younger Jaksen was unmistakable at first sight. He had his father’s eyes and wildly tossed hair, though in his case it lacked the luminous colors, maintaining a stately brown throughout. His frame was slender and too brittle for battle, but his stride was firmly confident. His voice when he said, “stop worrying, mom. I had to tell the cooks to hold off on bringing the meal in since dad gets complacent in front of good food, but it’s going to get cold at this rate,” hinted at the same formidable strength and clarity as Jaksen’s own. Instead of grinning as he quipped, though, Terilon spoke straight-faced with his left eyebrow raised.
Jaksen raised his eyebrow imitatively. “As a good parent, I should admonish you for eavesdropping. However, since you are an adult, you had the profound misfortune of being born into this family, and we were discussing your fate, that course doesn’t make much sense. So, let’s pretend that I’ve been a good father and tell me, did you arrive after us?”
“Let’s pretend,” Terilon scoffed, and Tayron’s gut reaction to him was suddenly turned negative, “let’s pretend that I arrived just now. I was checking on the situation in the city. Your king has made a fine mess of things. He’ll have whole cities set against him soon - in twenty days by the way folk were talking.”
“He’ll be your king, Teri, unless you refuse to take up the duty, and would prefer another to take up the legacy of your ancestors.”
Looking sidelong at his father, who seemed to be aging by the minute, Terilon said, “you have to be joking. I’ve had every intention of taking over for as long as I can remember, and I was just as set on it as my brothers and sisters were adamant about avoiding it. No more formal talk from you now, dad, unless you have some traditional ceremony to perform – my brain’ll probably be wracked chronically by the talk at court. Or have they started talking like normal people?”
Jaksen flashed his grin, just to annoy his son. “Not yet, but I’m hoping the peasants included it in their list of demands.”
Scowling at the disingenuousness of his father’s flippancy, Terilon said, “I’ll tell the cooks to bring the food in and set a place for myself since it doesn’t look like there’ll be anymore serious talk for a while.”
He went and returned with the cooks in tow, each proudly bearing plates of their creations. The three members of the Jaksen family and their two guests took seats, and before long Terilon started questioning the two knights about their training, showing the inquisitiveness of a lifelong academic.
Chewing a piece of meat twice as much as either of the knights thought natural, Terilon noted, “I always wondered about the academy training. After all, I couldn’t imagine that learning combat techniques would take seven years.”
“It doesn’t take seven years if you’re in combat training every waking moment of the day,” said Tayron, “but it’s so tiring that we couldn’t possibly stand doing it all day, and needed the real academic studies just to cool down. Of course, some of those studies are interesting since the academy always recruits the best masters. By the time you graduate, you’ve got the experience of a second year apprentice in all crafts, from a blacksmith to a shipwright as they say. We even learn some emergency protection spells, though I’ve never had faith in that area, and machine repair.”
“The rest of it’s good and all,” Yunas said, “but I wouldn’t have minded more of the combat training. Still not satisfied with the level I’ve reached, you know. And I always felt that some of the combat masters were holding back – you know, never teach your students everything ‘cause you might have to face them someday. If we had had some more time I could’ve gotten more out of them, just by getting them to do trick moves in mock combat or something.”
“Not much taught about the palace life though,” Tayron added, knowing that this area would have made up the bulk of the younger Jaksen’s studies.
“Well, you seem to have been prepared well enough for that, Tayron,” Terilon responded. The glint in his eye told Tayron that he knew all about the history of the family Tayron and wanted to convey the fact that he knew without speaking on the topic. The subtlety might have been employed because of Yunas’ presence, but more likely Terilon was not sure whether Tayron himself knew. Tayron decided immediately that this son of Jaksen would have to be involved in his pending private talk with the old councilor.
After the meal, he got his chance. The falling night provided the right atmosphere for calm conversation, and the savory meal had been smooth and mild instead of spicy, filling those at the table with a quiet contentment that could withstand any topic. The only problem was Yunas. Tayron couldn’t help but like him, but was at the same time wary of trusting the youthful knight. He had a habit of switching sides, and Tayron had not favored well in combat against him. This information was far too delicate at this point to trust to anyone who didn’t already know it.
The knight was at his wit’s end trying to figure out how to remove Yunas from the conversation when Yunas proposed a way himself.
“Lord Jaksen. You must have a huge library here and all, and I was wondering whether you had any old books on combat tactics that might be hard to find.”
Smiling broadly, Jaksen said, “not on most things, but I and my ancestors before me have always had a fascination with swordsmanship. I daresay my library has every work on the subject written in the last thousand years, including some manuscripts of which there are only one copy. Even in my long life, I’ve not had the time to go through even a fraction of them – of course, at my level of competency I’d improve more just with physical training and practice than reading theory, which is too complicated for me to understand anyway. At your level, though, you should find some interesting bits, and my library is open to you as long as you’re here. Would you like to go there now?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Diorna, why don’t you show him the way and point out some of the more outstanding texts?”
His wife told him through her eyes that she was very well aware of what he was up to, and that he was only getting away with it through her grace. She led Yunas away and left Tayron with the father and son.
“So, Tayron, we finally get a chance to continue our talk,” Jaksen’s words were filled with hesitation, weariness, and the way being back at home made him want to forget all of his worries. But Jaksen had volunteered, and that showed that he was at least ready. And this time alcohol would not force itself on his words.
Terilon spoke up before Tayron could begin. “Would you like me to go?”
If Tayron maintained any doubts about speaking on this matter in front of Terilon, they were eliminated when he heard the respectful tone Terilon used. “No, it’s all right.” The younger Jaksen nodded solemnly and sipped at his water, and the brief silence invited Tayron to continue. Having thought about how he’d broach the subject for some time, he had everything prepared.
“I’m not sure if you remember, Lord Jaksen, but the king brought me in to ask me about my loyalty once . . .”
“I remembered right after our first talk, and I’ve already made that connection. It didn’t improve my mood when I did, I can assure you. He got you to undo your ancestor’s declaration giving the sovereignty power to me – and I’m sure you’ve realized by now that your family was the ruling dynasty before the current succession. I’m not sure if such a move could possibly work – if a descendant has that power over the words of their ancestor – but there’s no way to check. The last time I tested my influence over the sovereignty was when I put Lord Fenix where he is now, and I’m not ready to try to replace him with someone else, though I thought about it real hard when I was drunk.”
“You got drunk?” Terilon raised both eyebrows and expressed every bit of surprise that his detached demeanor could muster.
Jaksen waved it off. “A moment of weakness.”
“But if the king was right that I could wipe out my ancestor’s decision,” Tayron went on, “then the kingship is definitely his now, right?”
“Not exactly,” Jaksen said, “there’s one thing our dear king doesn’t know. In fact, no one in the king’s family has ever known this, because your ancestor told it to my family only. He was an admirable trickster, that one, and he played one more trick – the decree to give my family the protection of the sovereignty god was intricately tied in words to the decree handing over the kingship. The bond between the two has so many divine protections on it that no matter what the king got you to say, you can’t eliminate one without the other falling as well. The great Tayron wanted to ensure that no king would ever play a trick on his descendants or on the Jaksen family, so he made sure in every way that any such attempt would end up being a trick on the king himself.”
“But we still can’t figure out whether the king’s gambit’s worked or not since, either way, I won’t be punished by Tayl for being tricked. Is that right?”
Jaksen nodded. “I think so, at least. If your ancestor hadn’t been so careful, you would have experienced some backlash for failing your god, now that we know what the king tried to do.”
“But now we have no idea. For all we know, the king might have lost his right to the kingship the second he got me to make those oaths of loyalty.”
Terilon had kept to a stunned silence since hearing his father admit to drunkenness. Piecing together through the words of the knight and councilor why his father had indulged in such behavior, he finally decided to speak. Profound fury underscored his every word and his target was Tayron. “For all we know, by your indiscretion you might have lost my family its position, even its nobility. Thousands of years undone by a few careless words. What exactly will I be when I go to the palace? Can I even use the name Jaksen?”
“But the king must know,” Tayron said suddenly, completely ignoring Terilon’s anger, too deeply engrossed in his own thoughts. “The king must know who is under the protection of a god and who isn’t. How can he have the power to give . . .”
“That’s normally true – the king can tell by means of a ritual,” Jaksen said, “but, again, your ancestor thought of that, and the king cannot discover the status of anyone in my family. That’s been the source of a little trouble between our two families, with the kings constantly annoying us, claiming that there was false succession at some points. That is, succession of a person who was made to pretend he’s an heir even though the line has, in fact, failed. That’s not true, of course, since only a true heir has the protection of the family god, and I clearly displayed the power over sovereignty when I helped Lord Fenix assume the throne.”
“But if he’s not the king anymore, then he’d find out once he performed the ritual.”
“He would. But it’s not a common ritual, and I don’t think that, in his long life, the old king ever performed it . . .”
“Excuse me,” Terilon said, still stifling overt hot-headedness while infusing his speech with a malice all its own, “but the young knight here might have destroyed my birthright. I am wondering what will be done about this. Or are you going to leave me nothing of what your ancestors left you, dad?”
Jaksen ran his fingers through his hair. “Teri, Tayron had no idea about his heritage or what the king might have meant by his requests for loyalty. I was partially at fault. I was overconfident and placed too much trust in the king, and failed to warn Tayron even though I knew the king had summoned him. And afterward when he told me what the king had asked, I thought nothing of it. So if anyone was careless, it was I. Tayron simply didn’t know, and couldn’t have known unless either the king or I told him – his family has long forgotten anything except disaster after disaster tormenting them. I was responsible if our family has fallen, as it should be.”
With pursed lips that were unconsciously imitative of his mother, Terilon lapsed back into shocked silence.
Tayron had only one question left. “What now?”
Jaksen had no answer except a shrug.
“There’s something wrong with the king. I think we should try to investigate that first.”
“That will probably be up to you,” Jaksen said. “My son will need some time to find his place in court amidst the turmoil. He will find out whether godly protection is still his, and if he can’t be sure, he will find out how best to keep this from being known. You will have to swear that this secret will not pass from your lips.”
“So long as he will not speak of my family’s secret without my permission,” Tayron agreed.
“Done,” Terilon confirmed.
Jaksen added, “and you must not forget that you will have to guard my son with extra vigilance. This will limit your ability to find answers quickly, and answers must be found as soon as possible. I suggest establishing communication with as many others in the palace that can be trusted. You know the lords I trust most at court. Introduce my son to them in my stead. They know I trust you, so whatever you ask them to do to aid your inquiry, short of treason, they are likely to do. I will give separate advice to my son concerning his new role. Turn left into the corridor outside and at the end of the first corridor branching to the right is my library. Tell Yunas what you think he needs to hear and expect to leave for the palace midday tomorrow.”
Terilon interrupted, “make that in two days. I need some time with my wife before I deal with this crisis.”
Jaksen looked with concern at his son. Time was precious now, but he didn’t want to deny his son all the moments of peace that could be afforded. “Certainly. Two days, then, Tayron. My wife will show you to your rooms. And don’t worry, while you’re at the palace I will not be idle here. I will be free from prying eyes and ears, and will make use of my freedom to gather for you as much information as the nation outside of the palace holds. The more serious this rebellion becomes, the more disinformation there will be at court. And however impressive my wife’s abilities are, some of my most important sources refuse to report to anyone but me.”
Tayron left Jaksen alone with his son. Yunas would be told about the need to investigate the curious mindset of the king, but nothing about the machinations Tayron’s ancestor set in motion.