Breaking the Gloaming (20 page)

Sebastian’s eyes showed the slightest of tension. He would not want to admit his surprise that Ulysses had learned this.

“I am going to do my part to help Valemidas defeat Sunan.” The spy’s tone dared Ulysses to challenge him.
 

“You serve Valemidas because you were spurned by your father and the Sunans?”

“I serve Valemidas because it has become my home, and because Andor has earned my loyalty.”

Ulysses knew Andor had not earned it; he had bought it with promises. “Loyalty, Sebastian, does not mean kidnapping Valemidas citizens for your purposes.”

“What are you talking about?” Anger simmered in Sebastian’s voice.
 

“I think you know,” Ulysses began, “about the old woman from the cathedral. Some of my soldiers live in the slums by the docks. Two nights ago one of them heard screaming and battered down a door in an alley. Inside were two women. One was a woman from the archives, named Page. She was guarding an old nun held captive there. Page mentioned your name.”

“I am familiar with Page, a simple woman who lives among books. But I know nothing of this kidnapping.” Sebastian’s face was calm, too calm. “You summoned me for this?”
 

“Funny thing,” Ulysses smiled, “Page said the same thing about being a simple woman who lives among books. Then she claimed credit for the kidnapping. She said it was part of some feud about a long dead prince and his legacy. She said you had nothing to do with it.”

“Of course I had nothing to do with it. Where is this going, Ulysses? You want me to beg for Page’s release?”

“You have not asked me about the nun,” Ulysses said.

“Why would I care about her?”

“I think you know.”
 

Sebastian leaned forward, his face in Ulysses’s face. “What game are you playing, knight?”

“This is no game.” Ulysses met Sebastian’s glare. “This is a training field where loyalty is tested. The prince will hear your side of the story. Whatever he decides, know that your woman from the archives is safe. She is safe in my possession, and she’ll stay that way as long as you stay loyal.”
 

“You hold no sway over me,” Sebastian said. “I am loyal to the prince, and he will have my service, not you.”
 

“We all serve the prince,” Ulysses answered, “and those who do not will lose what matters most to them. Goodnight, Sebastian.”

Ulysses left the spy alone on the wall, in the dark. As he made his way back to the palace, he braced for the war to come. Every battle brought treachery and gamesmanship of the worst sort. If Ulysses kept playing the games well, Valemidas might be ready to fight.

Chapter 20

A BOY KING'S PRINCESS

“A wicked messenger falleth into mischief:
 

but a faithful ambassador is health.”

His Excellency traveled in high style. Soldiers and supplies crammed into the hundreds of ships in the Sunan fleet. But the ship with golden sails, at the front of the fleet, was crammed full of minstrels and servants, wine and gold, and anything else that pleased His Excellency. The boy laughed often. He especially laughed now, as Ravien sat in his lap and nibbled at his ear.

She wanted to bite the ear off and spit it in his face, but the time had not yet come. Soon, she thought, this would end soon. Ilias had given her a tip that helped her sustain her performance. Pretend he is your little brother, Ilias had suggested weeks ago. Since then, she treated His Excellency like a juvenile Tryst, and it seemed to work.

The duet of an accordion and lyre ended. The Sunan music had been a refuge for her, with its deep and majestic melodies. She sighed and stood from His Excellency’s lap. She gave him a fawning smile, which he returned.
 

“Must we be done already?” He looked at the minstrels in the corner, and then to the door at the far end of his quarters. He looked up at Ravien. “You will stay for my meeting of military advisors.”
 

Ravien nodded. The young king’s initial doubts of her affection and loyalty had worn away. As the weeks had passed, she had begun attending all of his meetings. She had access to information that a Valemidan spy would kill for.
 

“Another grape?” Jezebel pulled the king’s attention away from Ravien. The other woman stood at his other side, dangling a moist bunch of purple fruit over him.

He turned to Jezebel and leaned his head back with his mouth open. She placed a grape in his mouth and they laughed. She took the spot in his lap where Ravien had been a moment before. Jezebel glanced at Ravien with a he’s-mine-now challenge.

Ravien kept wearing her fake smile. It was a helpful distraction to have the harlot in his bed, but the woman would not cease her gloating, as if to prove that Jezebel was the greater woman, the more beautiful prize. Her thick-accented mantra to Ravien was:
Keep trying, princess, and maybe someday I’ll share him with you
. It undermined the dignity owed to a woman.
 

“Ravien, bring my advisors in now.” The king pointed to the door without looking away from Jezebel.

Such commands had been torture at first. Now Ravien thought of her little Tryst, grinned, and walked to the door. As she pulled the door open, a rush of cold ocean air blew in. A large group of men stood outside on the deck, most of them looking stern and impatient.
 

Ravien counted thirteen, one more than usual. Twelve of them had been meeting with His Excellency twice every day of their month at sea. Ravien had learned much from the meetings, and from the men.
 

Seban was their figurehead who cared little for details. Despite his crassness, she believed he was true at heart. Something dark lurked underneath his swagger, some pain involving his son, Sebastian.

Dassa led the seven fierce-looking men whom Ravien had deemed “the silent warriors.” Each of them had thousands under their command. Dassa spoke for them all on military tactics. He had shown little regard for the death and suffering this war would bring. He and the silent warriors were ready to march their legions into Valemidas and kill everyone in their path, if His Excellency wished it. They were devout in the worst way.

Ball and Dalai were the two masters of supplies. They had brought enough for a long siege. Between the two merchants, Ball did the talking. He had refused to acknowledge Wren’s existence, other than to reject Ravien’s requests that he convey messages to her husband. The merchant had said it was too dangerous. Ravien did not believe him, but at least he had lived up to their deal by bringing Wren along on the voyage.
 

The last two of the twelve men were the priests, Ilias and Malam. They commanded the greatest respect and spoke the most, despite lacking military training. It seemed there were no lines separating religion, reason, and politics for the Sunans. Everything centered on their divine king, and he let the priests debate every decision into the ground.
 

At first, Ravien had thought the young king lazy, but she had come to see some savvy in his deference to the rival priests. The two rivals competed for his favor. The boy managed to stay above the fray that way, like the god these Sunans believed him to be. He made decisions only when he had to, like today.

As the twelve advisors flooded in, two silent warriors escorted the thirteenth man like a captive. The news had come to His Excellency early this morning that, in the middle of the night, a smuggler had been caught trying to slip by the fleet. He had been sailing from the direction of Valemidas, just a couple days travel to the west.

Now the Sunans were gathering around the smuggler, whose hood obscured his face. One of the silent warriors pulled back the hood, and the room erupted in shouting and movement.

Seban rushed at the newcomer and punched him in the face. Malam yelled something in the Sunan tongue. Ilias tried to shield the smuggler, and the silent warriors watched on, their hard bodies tense.
 

“Stop! Enough!” His Excellency commanded. He hardly ever raised his voice like that. Seban stepped back, his glare fixed on the smuggler.

“Sit, all.” His Excellency pointed at the cushions arranged in a circle on the wood floor. The men obeyed, as they always did. Jezebel looked unusually pale and uncertain at His Excellency’s side. The smuggler, flanked by two silent warriors, sat opposite the boy king.

“Who are you?” His Excellency asked. Every eye turned to the smuggler.

The man was stunning. Grey peppered his dark, wind-swept hair and beard. His face was chiseled and bronzed, sophisticated and charming. The only flaw was his bloody nose from Seban’s punch. Ravien had never seen a specimen quite like him.

“Thank you for the royal welcome, Your Excellency.” The man’s rich voice matched his looks. He bowed his head gracefully. “I am Alcibiades, of old Sunan blood, at your service. You may know me as Cid.” He smiled with confidence, as if he had called the meeting.

“We should have killed this traitor years ago,” Seban said.
 

“Why?” The young king looked at the smuggler with innocent curiosity.
 

“Cid’s brother held the throne before your father,” Seban said, “before we ridded Sunan of the filth of Valemidan blood. Cid betrayed his brother to save his own life and his daughter’s.” Seban pointed at Jezebel. “She is his daughter. We executed the rest of their family, though rumors say one other child escaped. I say we kill this man now.”

Jezebel put her face in her hands and wept. She sounded confused and overwhelmed more than sad.
 

His Excellency studied the newcomer. “It sounds as if this man worked for our side. I see no reason to harm him. Ilias, Malam, I would have your counsel.”

“We have no evidence that he has done anything wrong.” Ilias’s voice was like a gentle breeze.

“No evidence!” Seban shouted. “He betrayed his own family, and then he betrayed me. Several years ago he delivered a note to me that Sebanith had died, and then Cid disappeared. Now we know it was a lie. My son lives, and Cid has surely been working with the enemy.”

“Malam, what would you advise?” the king asked, his eyes still on the smuggler.

“Whatever we end up doing with him,” Malam said, “he will have information we can use. Those who caught him reported that he sailed from Valemidas. I suspect Seban is right that Cid should die, but maybe we can give him a chance to redeem himself and earn your trust by telling us everything he knows.” Malam turned from the king to the man with a casual, cruel smile. “What game have you been playing,
smuggler
?”

“Ilias speaks true,” the man said, “I have valuable information, including from Seban’s son.” Cid seemed unaffected by the threats against his life. Only a man with no regrets or fears could speak like that here. “But first I must ask, why is His Excellency’s royal council speaking in the Valemidan tongue?”

It was a good question, a question touching on a sore issue and adding more tension to the room. Ravien lost hope of staying unnoticed at this meeting.

“For my Valemidan princess.” His Excellency smiled at her. “She came to us bearing intelligence about our enemies. She stripped herself of her pride and more. She renounced Valemidas, declared her loyalty to me, and has accompanied me ever since.” He gestured for her to say something.

“I am learning the Sunan tongue,” she said with all the demureness she could muster. “But His Excellency agreed that practicing the foreign language would be good for his council, for it will give us an advantage in battle.” Such half-truths rolled out of her mouth with ease.

“Enough about this woman,” Seban demanded. “What information do you have from my son?”

“Sebanith is well.” Cid met Seban’s stare. “I was mistaken before when I reported that he had died, and for that I am sorry. He goes by Sebastian among the Valemidans. We met on the bank of the River Tyne outside Valemidas not long ago. He gave me a message to deliver to you.” He looked from Seban to His Excellency.

“Why should we believe a word from your lips?” Seban stood and stepped toward him, seemingly unaware of his movements.

“Sit, Seban,” His Excellency commanded. Seban glanced back, angry, and then sat again. “Cid,” His Excellency continued, “I would hear this message that Sebanith gave you.”

“He sends his deepest respect and praise to His Excellency, for he knew that you would have reached the age of divinity and of power.” Cid bowed his head with the deference suitable to a god. “He also wants to assure you that he has gained the highest position and trust of Andor, the Prince of Valemidas. Sebanith desired that you would hear my words and heed my counsel.”

“And,” Cid held up his hand as Seban opened his mouth to speak. “And, Sebanith gave me this to prove that you can trust me.” Cid reached into his cloak and pulled out a thin diadem made of silvery metal. He held it high, and the huge blue jewel in the center cast out a dazzling reflection of the light streaming through the windows of the room.

“What is it?” His Excellency asked with a touch of awe.

“This is the prince’s crown.” Ilias stood and took the diadem in his hand. “I saw it on the brow of the prince when I visited Valemidas long ago. For Cid to have this, Andor must have given it to Sebanith, and Sebanith must have given it to Cid.” That logic did not follow for Ravien, but the priest sounded sure. “We can trust this man.”

Seban had come to his feet again, and he reached out for the diadem. “A ring of shiny metal indicates nothing about my son, or about this man.” His voice was uncertain.

“It indicates everything,” Ilias said. “We now possess one of our enemy’s most prized artifacts. ” He held the diadem away from Seban.

“I agree.” His Excellency settled the matter. “Ilias, you will be the keeper of this crown. You will set it on my head after we defeat Valemidas.” He glanced around the group of men.

Dassa muttered something in the Sunan tongue. It sounded like approval, and the silent warriors nodded in agreement. Seban grunted but held his tongue. The merchants could not keep their eyes off the jewel.