The Axe and the Throne (45 page)

The entire serving crew seemed to all be of the same lineage, looking so similar that they were—at the very least—all from the same region of the Spicelands. It was rare to use all foreign servants for such an event, but it certainly added to the atmosphere in a way.
Rare and potentially dangerous
, thought Derudin. He would have to keep a careful eye on the servants tonight, the females especially, since they were perhaps even more like to be assassins given their
unassuming
nature.

The king himself now walked toward Derudin—directly toward him in fact. Derudin realized it with just enough time to step out of the way. The king, who was no doubt taking in the sights, had nearly trampled Derudin, shrouded in shadows as he was.
I must remain focused tonight. That was unacceptable.

Derudin had not even completed his task of analyzing all the members of the grand table for potential danger by the time the king was at his place at the center. Already seated to the left of the king's chair were Alther and Cassen. Some Rivervalian nobility filled the seats normally taken by Crella, Stephon, and even Ethel, who was absent for reasons Derudin was not certain of, though he could wager a guess. To the right was a chair left empty for the nonexistent queen, one for Derudin himself, Master Warin, Master Larimar, and several others for whichever Adeltian nobility had lobbied the hardest. Derudin long suspected there was no real precedent for the Master of Records to be seated so prominently, but it was not an argument worth having, especially when it would be made against the sole party controlling the recording and recalling of precedents. Nor could he blame the usually joyless old man for stealing this one harmless bit of pride and luxury for himself, but the fact remained, annoying Derudin: small deceits were always the start of larger ones.

The boisterous rumble began to fade as people were made aware of the king's arrival until nothing could be heard but the soothing sounds of the music. Then the music died down as well, signaling the crier.

“King Lyell of House Redrivers, ruler of Adeltia and Rivervale!”

The harpist danced her fingers artfully from column to knee, and the music resumed.

Patience was not an esteemed trait of Lyell's, and as such, he wasted no time in addressing his most anticipated guest. “Alther, it's good to see you returned to your agreeable nature. Cassen tells me you have come to some more profitable arrangements with the Spiceland merchants. As you may have noticed, I have seen fit to ensure all our servants tonight are Spicelanders themselves. A reminder to us more so than to them that it is they who serve us, and that they cannot expect to profit except by our grace. A very…handsome…reminder…”

The king's attention had been captured by one such servant as she filled the plates of some of the Rivervalian guests, and in doing so, bending in such a way that her breasts were made visible as they peeked from beneath the single sheet of silk that hung from her shoulders as a necklace. Even Derudin had trouble averting his eyes from the sight.

All at the table had noticed by now. This would have been the cause of utter embarrassment for previous rulers Derudin had served. But Lyell was not a man who embarrassed easily, especially not over matters that attested to his perpetual virility.

The king erupted into laughter and slammed his palm atop the table after the girl had finally righted herself.

“A fine way to start an evening,” cried the king. “I believe I may have felt the Mountain himself shift atop his rocky throne to get a better look. Even Cassen could not tear his eyes from the pair!”

Most everyone joined him in laughter, some out of politeness but most out of true mirth. Cassen merely put his hand to his mouth and simpered, but the king's observation had been correct—not that it was probably anything but a lucky guess. Cassen had indeed been peering; Derudin had noticed after trying to find a more suitable task for his own eyes. He had always had his suspicions that Cassen's lady servants provided more than housekeeping, both to his patrons and to Cassen himself…in ways that did not bear imagining. But the ladies received such ubiquitous praise—and most especially from the wives of the estates—that it had always precluded the assessment.

“Hear, hear!” It was the voice of Master Larimar, sounding as if he had already drunk his frail frame into stupor. He raised his mug and others joined him.

Everyone looked to be enjoying themselves with the exception of Alther. He did a fine job of appearing merry, but it seemed a façade to Derudin who had known him since birth. Alther had his mug raised in kind and quickly finished its contents.

“Father,” he said shortly thereafter. “I offer humble apologies for my misguided actions both concerning recent events at my estate and the management of the once great city of Westport. And knowing that you consider apologies to be worth no more than the hairs upon a woman's lip, I offer you this as well.” Alther produced a dusty wine bottle from beneath the table and handed it to his father who sat beside him.

Lyell studied the bottle and frowned. “Rivervale Red, autumn harvest, eight hundred and four?” he said, incredulous. “How did you get such a thing?”

“More important is how I kept it: stored on its back and frigid. You have told us many times wine should be kept much as you like your women. I had been saving it for the birth of my second son. I say we drink it now and celebrate instead the Rebirth of Westport.”

Derudin cleared his throat in objection. The king pointedly ignored him.
This is a matter of family
, Derudin reminded himself, but it was also just as much a matter of state, should the wine be poisoned. There was a protocol that all food and drink served to the king or any in his company must go through, involving tasters and sniffers trained to detect numerous poisons. Everything was vetted a day in advance of the event to ensure that slow acting poisons were caught, then again prior to being served, and then Derudin was the final layer of defense, his duty to remain vigilant and ensure nothing was slipped into the king's food or drink at the table. It was not a perfect system, but the only perfect defense against poison, Lyell liked to remind him, was to never consume.

“A glass to each of us then. Fathers of a city reborn.” Lyell had a tongue for older vintages, especially those of Rivervalian Red, the sweet, full-bodied wine of his people. He handed the bottle to a servant who removed the cork and poured them each a glass, surprisingly free of any sediments. Both men raised their glasses and drank a mouthful.

“Ahhhh, now that is a wine,” said Lyell. “The taste and feel of a virgin's lips and the color of her imminent uncorking!”

Servants rotated around the table, offering platters of food to guests individually. Derudin motioned to have a pair of the pig ribs added to his plate and studied the other trenchers en route. Quail, roasted in mustard, honey, thyme, and parsley was the next. The little birds still had their heads intact as some liked to crunch through their fragile skulls and chew the meat off their necks. Derudin opted to pass. Then came a fish of some sort, delicate white meat that looked as if it were poached to perfection in butter, dill, and peppercorns. Derudin had a taste for the bounties of the sea. Having spent so much time on the coast of the Badlands with nothing else to eat, a man might otherwise perish. He motioned for the fish to be added to his plate. Countless other platters passed by with sides such as smashed and buttered turnips, young carrots in molasses, roasted baby cabbage, steamed green flowers, and pease in cream sauce.

“So tell me of these grand plans for Westport. How did you manage to break the will of these Spicelanders?” asked the king.

Alther cleared his throat. “In truth it was much Cassen's doing. I had fallen to new lows recently…” Alther seemed to struggle with his delivery. “But pity does not become a man of noble blood, as I am sure you would agree. I decided to swallow what little was left of my pride and beg Cassen's guidance.”

“I hope that is all you swallowed. Cassen never does a favor without asking something in return!” The king could not contain his laughter at his own joke.

Cassen seemed to enjoy the slight more than Alther, for he had the decency to blush and look amused whereas Alther simply looked annoyed. “I will be happy to repay Cassen for the favor he has done for me, but as he has reminded me himself, it would do him no good to see Westport fall to chaos and rebellion which would no doubt sweep the land ‘like a disease,' I believe were his words.”

Derudin was none too happy to see Alther appear to be within the clutches of Cassen.
When the favor is called upon to be repaid, will you have the capital to spare?
In the arena of combat, Alther could dice Cassen into a hundred pieces, but in politics he was no match.

“Bah! There is no need for such talk, my boy. Let us focus on the glory that will be, not the gloomy scenarios of utter pessimism.”

Derudin's attention was once again embezzled by the bosom of a servant. “Mead or Ale, my master?” She held the tray at head level but the real treasure was beneath. Where they had managed to find so many matching beauties was beyond even Derudin's conceiving.
One would have to kill a Spiceland king and steal his harem
, Derudin thought to himself. His gaze shifted to the jovial king as if to ask him.
No, he would not have.

It had been so long since Derudin had enjoyed a drink that he could not remember which he preferred—or at least that was his excuse for continuing conversation with the enchantress that stood before him. “Which would my ladyship suggest?”
I envy the Dawnstar himself to have been lucky enough to kiss such perfect skin.

“Who, my master?” Her voice was thick with both her Spiceland accent and worry that she may be offending someone of extreme rank.

“Nevermind, young thing. I will take the mead.” He decided to simply choose the safer option and let her be on her way, and based on the number of steins left on the tray, mead was the favored choice. As he was already looking toward his right, having spoken to the servant, Derudin observed those seated beside him on that less important, but no less interesting, side of the table. Master Warin was already on his seventh pig rib, his beard covered in the sticky glaze, and had no doubt decided it was not worth the trouble of trying to clean until presented with a proper washbasin. Beside him, Master Larimar looked as if he could have been on his seventh stein of mead, as he gazed off into the distance, apparently singing to himself. The room was too loud to tell if he actually sang intelligibly and in time with the music or merely recited paragraphs from his book of records.
Probably the latter, and hopefully nothing best kept secret.

Master Warin noticed Derudin looking his direction, and his eyes went wide as if he had been caught during a mischief.
What has you so skittish?
Derudin wondered. Warin drew the half-eaten rib away from his mouth, raising it in the air with a smile. “Good, are they not?”

Derudin only then realized he had yet to touch his food. So many years of abstaining had him perhaps more excited by the prospect of it all than the pleasure of the act itself. He found himself content to merely have the food upon his plate. “I am sure it is,” he said and raised his stein in Warin's direction. Warin was quick to lift his own in return, having his other hand already upon it, and swilled several gulps. Derudin took a sip of his and nearly spat it out.
How did this pass the poison testers?
It tasted how piss smelled, turned and sour.
Perhaps I am not missing so much as I had feared…or as much as I had hoped.
He looked down at his plate of ribs and fish and pondered if it would even be worth it.

The king burst into raucous laughter. The queen's empty chair between them was no barrier to his booming voice. “Yes,” he shouted. “And Edwin had a look upon his face of horror while you smiled, blood pouring from your nose, just happy to have scored your first point!” The king appeared to let the memory wash over him, then poured himself another glass from the vintage bottle. “Your mother near had my skin for that, the Mountain guard her soul.”

The king was rare to mention Keldona, his beloved wife and mother of his three children. She died shortly after giving birth to Aileana, younger than Alther by ten years. Derudin had known Keldona well and believed her to have been a good woman. He also believed Lyell's apparent aversion to recollect her memories was out of guilt. He had wanted another child, which she consented to give him, but several months later she fell ill with shakes and fever. Derudin feared she had returned to her cherished ponds too soon after her pregnancy where she loved to observe the polliwogs and butterflies. The air was thick and foul there and believed by many to be the cause of such an ailment.

“Yes, though she would prefer you mention only the Dawnstar,” reminded Alther.

“Hah. The religion of women,” cried the king. “They do not understand the true nature of men, for if they did, they would know that of the Mighty Three, the Dawnstar is like to be the weakest. You cannot conquer a kingdom without an army so large it flows like the River, and you cannot protect one without walls of the Mountain's stone. And if you retreated once a day, as does the Dawnstar, you'd be labeled a coward.”