The King of Anavrea (Book Two of the Theodoric Saga) (9 page)

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“Lirth.” A male voice harshly whispered next to
her ear. Suddenly finding her hands freed, she flung her arm in the
direction of the voice. It connected with something.

“Let me go.” She jabbed an elbow in the
direction of the person behind her. She had to save Aarint.

“Stop, Lirth.” The man grunted as she found her
mark. Then he grabbed her hands and immobilized them firmly. So she
started screaming.

She was abruptly muffled by a large, hard hand
over her mouth. It pinned her head back against a powerful shoulder
and exposed her neck. Once again, she was helpless. Despair washed
over her in a tidal wave. She fought tears.

Slowly, her senses settled. She became aware of
the man restraining her. His ragged breathing in her ear didn’t
smell of wine or fish. Once she realized that, she became aware of
other details, like the softness beneath her and the gentleness of
the grip on her arms. A different sense of dread gripped her
stomach and she suddenly began to cry in earnest. The hold on her
loosened immediately.

“I have not hurt you, have I?” This time she
recognized the voice.

When she tried to move her head, Ireic’s hands
instantly withdrew, leaving her feeling more desolate than
before.

“I am sorry.” She gasped between the sobs that
still convulsed in the back of her throat.

Ireic fell back onto the bed with a groan.

“Did I hurt you?” her voice cracked and broke.
Spreading her fingers, she cautiously reached toward the sound of
his breathing. “I was dreaming and thought you were–” She found his
arm and followed it to his shoulder.

“Thought I was…?” He left the sentence
hanging.

Lirth froze as a hand brushed the top of her
head. A thumb stroked her cheek and then hesitated when it
encountered tears. The previous statement forgotten, she found
herself on her back. Ireic hovered above her.

“Who is Aarint?” Something brushed the tears
from under her eye. His voice sounded soft, but unreadable.

“My brother.” His fingers attended to the other
eye.

“Which one?” He sounded amused, but Lirth could
not figure out why.

“The youngest.”

“Lirth.” He captured her head between his hands
and she could feel his steady gaze on her face. “I am trying to
help. Explain.”

“I have three brothers: Joman, Lloyden, and
Aarint. They are all older than I am.”

Ireic released her head, but did not back away.
“Tell me about your dream. Is it recurring?”

“Yes.” She shivered. “My brothers and I left the
castle on one of our many trips into the woods on the grounds. They
would let me ride behind one of them. That morning, we stopped for
lunch in a strange place. The boys left me to spread things out and
prepare the meal. They said they would not be out of my calling
range. The stream lay only a bit beyond our lunch site and the
horses needed water.”

Reclaiming her hands, she hugged herself. “I
smelled the man, but not until too late. He grabbed me and covered
my mouth before I could scream. I have no real memories of what
happened after that. If only the dream ended there.”

Large arms encircled her and dragged her into
Ireic’s lap. Tucking her against his warmth, he held her.

As much as Ireic wanted to comfort her and tell
her she did not have to think about it ever again, he could not.
For both their sakes she needed to face the fear.

“But in the dream…”

Her frame shook. “In my dream, the man hisses
terrible threats in my ears. He threatens to kill my brothers if
they find us. He brags of the fame he would gain for single
handedly wiping out the male heirs to the throne.” Turning her face
into his shoulder, she took a deep breath. “My brothers come back
and start calling my name. Then Aarint comes closer to the bush the
man has dragged me behind. The branches before me rustle as Aarint
says he thinks he sees something.”

“And then you wake up screaming.”

She nodded against his shoulder and fresh
moisture dampened the fabric of his shirt. He ran his hand up and
down her back for a while before asking softly. “Is it the same
man?”

She took so long to reply Ireic wondered if she
slept, but finally she shuddered. “Yes. The voice is the same.”

He dropped his chin to rest on her head amid the
dark rumpled curls.

“I will find a way to deal with him.”

She did not respond. When he sought her face, he
found she was asleep. Carefully, he disengaged her fingers from his
shirt and tucked her back under the blankets. He did not know how,
but he had to keep anyone from ever harming her again. Laying down
again on the other side of the bed, he closed his eyes. Despite the
need to capture a few hours of sleep before the council reconvened
in the late morning, his mind raced with questions. Who had
commissioned her kidnapping? Who was the fiend who had done the
deed? How could he prove it and see justice done without exposing
Lirth to more distress and pain?

__________

“Your Majesty.” Tretan held up two formal coats
for Ireic’s selection. One was navy blue and the other dark gray.
His shirt collar itched already and both possibilities looked
equally uncomfortable.

“The gray.” Ireic turned back to the mirror and
tugged at his shirt. “Lirth?”

“Yes, sire?” she answered from her perch on the
end of the bed. He smiled at her in the mirror although he knew she
could not see it. Wearing one of his favorite tunics with the
sleeves rolled up so she could use her hands, she looked warm and
adorable. He admired her tousled dark curls and sleepy smile. As
soon as he had a chance to arrange it, she was going to be sharing
his bed every night. Trahern and Eve did it. Nothing beyond
tradition kept them in separate bedchambers as far as he knew. It
was a flimsy excuse.

“I am going to have Isack escort you back to
your rooms as soon as I leave for the council.” Her reflected image
tried to hide the disappointment and prepare for bad news. “Larissa
should be there to greet you. I ordered that she be fetched from
the kitchens. I hope you can manage with only one attendant,
because I have relieved all of the others of their duties
indefinitely.”

Her quiet smile gave him the answer he
needed.

“Good.” He turned to allow Tretan to assist him
with the chosen coat.

There was a soft tapping at the outer door. A
footman went to open it. Meanwhile, Lirth retreated behind the bed
curtains still drawn to keep out the sunlight. Isack entered the
room.

“Sire,” he began after a low formal bow. “The
council has convened and awaits your arrival. The speaker reminded
them that under penalty of suspension of all council rights and
privileges, they are not to conduct any business until you are
present.”

Ireic turned to accept the matching gray cloak
from Tretan.

“Thank you, Isack. After I leave, please escort
the Queen to her chambers and see that she and her attendant have
everything they desire.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Lirth
emerging from the curtains around the bed. Lowering his voice, he
said, “See that you never leave her apartments unguarded. I want no
one coming or going unless she wishes.”

“Yes, sire,” Isack replied. “It will be
done.”

“I wish for a few moments alone,” Ireic
announced. Both Tretan and Isack departed through the bedroom door
into the entrance area. Once the latch clicked into place, Lirth
slipped off the edge of the bed.

“Ireic?” She tilted her head to listen for
sounds of him.

“Yes.” Ireic loved the way her eyes brightened
at his voice. She padded across the floor to him, hands reaching
for his. He caught them.

“Will I see you tonight?” She looked up toward
his face, but her dark eyes focused a few inches short of their
goal.

“I will send for you as soon as I have finished
with the council. I promise.” He kissed the top of her head before
releasing her and heading toward the door.

The corridors between his quarters and main hall
of the palace were clear except for attendants and servants. As he
approached, they snapped to attention, just like every other day.
Purposefully striding along, he could hear the scramble of his
entourage to keep up.

Before long he reached his favorite gallery.
White walls and ceiling, the graceful arches of the windows poured
bright early afternoon sunlight across the gray and black tiled
floor. Tasteful touches of gilt added elegance to the beauty. Yet,
this time, his pleasure at entering his favorite room of the palace
barely registered.

“Your Majesty!” Dorn, Ireic’s personal scribe
descended the stairs from the grand entrance hall to greet Ireic.
Despite the scribe’s long legs and spare frame, he gasped for
breath before reaching Ireic. Still, Dorn managed to deliver his
message.

“Despite the warnings, the council began without
you.”

“Find the captain of the palace guard. Tell him
the situation and have him meet me in the council chamber.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Dorn pelted off, red faced
and grasping.

When he finally reached the great double oak
doors into the council chambers, Ireic did not pause and wait to be
announced. Instead, he set a palm to each door and shoved. The
massive doors opened silently with more grace than Ireic would have
liked.

He entered and halted. A hasty shuffling of many
footfalls behind him signaled his attendants and guards coming to
an even hastier stop.

Built in an oval, the council room rose three
stories high. The heavily beamed ceiling harkened back to ancient
times when the king listened to the petitions of his people in his
great hall. The smell of the polish that kept the wooden partitions
and benches gleaming assaulted Ireic’s nose. The two tiers of
box-like benches hemming in the room were hardly pleasant to the
eye no matter how much carving the designers added. However, they
worked well as barriers to keep the councilors from rushing
whomever was speaking.

The High Councilor Lousen stood on the floor at
the center of the room. As the doors eased silently back into
place, he spoke.

“The chair acknowledges Councilor Kline, head of
the jurisdiction committee. Councilor Kline…” The High Councilor
Lousen gestured elegantly.

A heavyset man in his thirties rose from his
seat to Ireic’s far right. From Councilor Kline’s position, he
couldn’t see Ireic standing in the entrance way partway around the
oval without turning his head quite far. But Ireic picked him out
immediately.

“High Councilor Lousen, esteemed members of the
council…” Ireic had heard that phrase all of his life, except it
always began with ‘Your Majesty’ not High Councilor.

A stir began on the other side of the room where
some of the men spotted their regent standing in the entrance.
Ireic waited as the realization swept left and right across the
crowd of men. Councilor Kline, concentrating on what he wanted to
say, remained oblivious to the disturbance and the source.

“The woman that we have received in connection
with the treaty with Sardmara may not be all she seems.”

Despite the instinct to take control of the
situation, Ireic waited. He needed to hear what pompous Kline
wished to say.

“She has a condition that could possibly
contaminate all the children of a future union with our
sovereign.”

Another stir rippled through the men seated
opposite Ireic. Their eyes watched him, not Councilor Kline.
Ireic’s attention shifted from Kline when the entrance opposite the
one he stood next to admitted the captain of the palace guard. He
met Ireic’s gaze and saluted.

“Gentlemen.” The High Councilor spun in place,
official robes flaring out as he turned. “We must act, and quickly,
for the good of our country and king.” The man towered in his own
importance and surveyed his audience. “Any suggestions on how to
tactfully dispose of this girl?”

“Is our king a child?” a voice asked from the
far left side of the room.

Ireic couldn’t see the new speaker. The man sat
above and to the left of where Ireic stood in the shadow of the
risers.

“He is not, Councilor Siver,” High Councilor
Lousen replied. “But we, as his council, need to take a stand for
the sake of the future of the nation.”

“Is our king a fool to do something that would
jeopardize his nation? In the three years since taking the throne,
he has acted with only the best intentions of the country in
mind.”

“But these Theodorics are weak when it comes to
the wiles of a woman,” Councilor Kline protested. “His brother
married a baseborn woman purchased by her master to please his
patrons. Lord Trahern didn’t think of his duty to Anavrea and the
purity of the royal line when she fluttered those coy eyelashes his
way. No. He married the–” The councilor’s slur was drowned in the
roars of protest from some of the other men.

As pleased as Ireic was to know that Eve had won
some admirers within the King’s Councilors, it did not calm the
anger growing in his chest.

“We must rule this king, gentlemen.” The High
Councilor’s booming voice prevailed above the growing arguments by
sheer volume. “We do not wish to be ruled by simpletons and base
minded knaves. We must act.”

Suddenly Ireic decided he had heard enough.
Stepping out from the shadows, he used his own skill born of
addressing troops before battle.

“High Councilor Lousen.” His voice rang out
above the murmuring. The man turned swiftly to identify the
speaker. Ireic did not wait to be acknowledged as he confronted the
man on the floor. “I believe the council’s purpose is to counsel,
not to decide, or to ‘take a stand.’”

Silence fell over the room. Caught conspiring
after receiving a direct order to not begin the session until the
King’s arrival, they each stood in violation of the law they swore
to protect.