24
“That’s the decision, Lord Jaksen,” the king stated firmly. “Our command staff in the last battle was ill-prepared and unsuccessful, so perhaps it’s time to have new people tested on the battlefield. Besides, as had been said, new allies may have been secured to ensure our victory. You must trust your king on this matter.”
“As you wish, my king.” Terilon had put up a token resistance to the king removing him from command. Tayron predicted that Quenari would not want to face old enemies on the battlefield, on the off chance that they would try to kill him, so the traitorous lord contrived to remove Feradac and Terilon from the play. This, of course, freed the councilor and his co-conspirators to execute the first stages of the plan.
“You are not planning any surprises, are you Lord Jaksen?”
“I will obey your orders, highness. The legacy handed down to me did not include the command you allowed me to hold in the last battle, so it is under your discretion.”
The king smiled. “As long as that’s settled, we need not delay the deployment any further. That will be all.”
It was then, after the king started to look slightly dazed, that Ralin approached the king unbidden, offering a glass of water. This was a modification of the plan, and had been communicated to the servant right before the audience began, after Tayron had received some sudden inspiration. The water contained the first dose of the antidote. Few in the court noted the odd gesture – the servants were meant to be ignored – but it gave the king pause. Tayron held his breath. In harsher times, kings had ordered whippings for transgressions in the order of things. Those times were long past, but the plan required Ralin to remain in his position of court servant to the end, and if the king chose to end his employment, things would become difficult.
But Ralin had bowed low while offering the water, and made it clear that he was offering a very personal gesture of loyalty. To those paying attention to the scene, it was touching. Thankfully, this was not lost on the king.
“Thank you,” the monarch said, taking the glass and draining it. Handing it back to the servant, the king stood, forcing the rest of the court to its feet, and exited without disrupting the scattered conversations. Terilon followed him out closely and, when the king noticed his high councilor chasing him to get a word, they faced each other.
“What is it, Jaksen? Your king is feeling a bit weak and needs to get some rest before the battle reports start coming in.”
“I was wondering, sire, if I could have a private audience with you. It is customary for me to speak privately with you now that I am your chief councilor.”
“You choose an unusual time to fulfill custom, Councilor.”
“I have other reasons for choosing this time.”
“Indeed?”
“Would I be right in saying that you feel as if waking from a dream, sire? A particularly pleasant dream that you would rather remain in?”
The king’s eyes widened. “You describe my state perfectly, Jaksen. How did you . . .”
Terilon held up his hand. “Will you grant me audience?”
“Have you done something to me . . .”
“No,” the councilor said earnestly and firmly, and the king had trouble doubting his word.
“Will you tell me then how you described so clearly the way your king feels?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes. Come with me now. If your custom is so pressing to tempt my curiosity, you can hardly expect my curiosity to wait. Come.”
“Will you allow Tayron to attend as well?” Terilon requested, gesturing behind him to where the bodyguard stood in the shadows.
“If you believe it’s necessary.” The king moved with a measured determination that no one had seen from him in months, but his hands regularly strayed to his forehead, trying to feel if a fever was causing the daze. Terilon wanted to ease the mind of his king, but felt that the news he brought could hardly be better than a fever, and any word now would require a long discussion. And the palace had more than its fair share of ears, with most of those arrayed around the king. If anything explicit was said out of close doors in the presence of the king, Quenari would hear of it. The lord councilor hoped he hadn’t already tipped the enemy off.
Once they entered the king’s private chamber and cleared it of attendants, the lord councilor wasted no time telling the king everything possible, including the two-stage plan for the antidote. Throughout the telling, he glanced over at Tayron for reassurance, uncertain of how the king would take all of it. The knight was confident, though, so he proceeded. The king gave no sign of disbelief and, if he had, Terilon would have ceased the disclosure immediately, hoping that Tayron had an exit strategy ready. When the explanation was complete, the king said in a slightly rambling tone, “I look back on the period you say I’ve been drugged. It is a haze in which I wonder why I did things. I don’t feel in any better condition now, as at any other time I’d have the energy to dance around words. Your words ring true, though, Jaksen. And I understand your plan. It seems your king has lost his judgment, so until it is restored, I leave the matter in your hands. It is easy to forget how vulnerable one is when one has control over so many lives, and I believe that my early plotting against your father, which were not Quenari’s doing, came out of some sort of arrogance. There is always wisdom in having someone trustworthy . . . the paranoia of kingship is overwhelming, though, and never logical. This is a mess. And I blame myself more than I blame Quenari.
“Leave us now, Lord Jaksen. I think I must speak with Tayron, and that talk will be between the two of us.”
“But, sire . . .”
The king shook his head. “As you say, Terilon, time is short. And while I can’t claim to have been a good king thus far, I know that you, at least, do not rule. Trust your lord this one time, councilor, and take your leave.”
“Highness,” Terilon bowed stiffly and exited. The tension in the chamber could now be tasted in the air. Tayron understood the hidden implication of the king’s words – that while Terilon certainly did not rule, Fenix couldn’t be sure that Tayron was not now king. And if Tayron had regained his family’s old rule, it was not through any usurpation, but by Fenix’s own stupidity, arrogance, and paranoia. The two prospective monarchs stared at each other, both seated and gazing levelly.
“Well, let’s plunge into it,” the king said, “neither of us has any idea which of us is king right now.”
“No, and even if the sign of kingship is good judgment, I’m not sure we can tell from that either, since there’s the matter of the drugging complicating things, and I think both of us made mistakes during our last private talk together.”
After a brief pause, the king asked, “do you really want to be king? I mean, after all this mess do you really think you could lead the country back to its old strength?”
“A new strength. I think after this it’ll have to be a new strength.”
Thinking on that, he responded, “I suppose so. Maybe we should decide based on who’d manage it better.”
“Seems to be a case of experience versus a fresh start.”
That allowed another silence. It was true. And when it came down to it, both of them half wanted and half dreaded to be king. For Fenix, it had been a birthright and something fought bitterly for. But Tayron would be a new face with both new ideas and ancient legitimacy. He had seen the workings of the palace from top to bottom, was trained as a knight, and even knew clerical techniques from his time with his family. In a way, his experience rivaled the intensely focused knowledge of Fenix, who had been educated for the throne by men who could not conceive of a peasant rebellion, nor understand any of the problems of the modern day.
It was Fenix who broke the lull. “I still want to be king, Tayron. I think I need to do better, to redeem myself in a way. It might take a while for me to stop doubting myself . . . you’ve only given me the first half of this cure, right?”
Tayron nodded, admiring Fenix’s honesty in this ordeal. The man was quickly regaining Tayron’s faith, and that was a relief. The decision was easier if he could be sure Fenix would be a decent king after being freed of the mind-control.
“Then perhaps we should put off making the decision until after I get the rest of it. I do not feel wholly myself, though I’m more myself now than I have been for months. If the plan goes awry, you might have to take up the responsibility that has accidentally been placed in your lap. To some extent, I believe in destiny, Tayron. I believed it was destiny that I should be king. Looking at you I think it no mistake that, after so many generations of meekness, it is this stalwart Tayron that chooses to arrive at my court now. You are fit to be king, and I think it has been that knowledge which has propelled you this far. I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t think it will be necessary for you to take my place.”
Tayron put on a sliver of a smile. “Nobody hopes that more than I do. That’s what my plan was built around, after all.”
“Then you didn’t want the throne at all?”
To make sure there was no misunderstanding, the knight immediately said, “not now.”
Arching an eyebrow, the king noted, “it must be hard.”
Tayron shrugged, careful not to imply that the kingship was of no consequence. “There’s . . . a limit to how far a man can rise in his lifetime without losing all sense of where he is in the world.”
“But you could handle it,” the king pointed out.
“I don’t know . . . I only know that there hasn’t been anything I couldn’t handle.”
The king smiled broadly. “Precisely my attitude when I was your age. At that age, you’re just confident enough to pull anything off, still being flexible enough to adjust. Anyway, we’ll decide it finally after the plan is completed.”
“But Lord Jaksen might not be a . . .”
The king waved him off. “We don’t need the sovereignty god involved yet. The two contenders for the throne are in this room; Damial’s sister has no real claim – her brother’s death in battle lost it for her by the rules of justice by trial. Old rules, it’s true, but then so are the laws of sovereignty. No, Tayron, for now all we need is the good will of the trickster god. And, fickle as that deity is, I think you have had his favor since your birth. You might lose that if you give up your claim to the throne willingly before the scene is played out.”
Tayron nodded, appreciating the logic of the king’s decision.
“Go now, Tayron. You and Lord Jaksen have much work to do. Tell him anything you wish of this conversation, you have the right. I only feared that one or the other of us would be unwilling to say what we meant with him present. I need some sleep now, this antidote taxes me.”
The knight stood and bowed. Exiting without another word, he found the councilor sitting in the other room impatiently. Terilon said disingenuously, “I don’t want to hear more of your discussion than you wish to tell.”
Tayron told him every word, knowing that it would ease most of the lord’s worries. And by the end, the shadow over Terilon’s face looked a shade lighter.
“Maybe we have a good king again.”