The Return of Nightfall (64 page)

“My admiral?”

Johan finally dared to speak again. “Yes, Your Majesty. He’s commandeered several smaller armies, and all ships of significant size in your kingdom. It’s said he’ll take ours, too, such as they are, once we dock.”

The third noble added his piece, “Sire, from what I can tell, the admiral is still trying to win over your castle guards. I’ve heard there’s a high-ranking officer who refuses to support any of the candidates. Still believes you will return.”

Nightfall smiled.
Volkmier.

“And rightly so,” Johan added.

“General Simont hasn’t publicly thrown his support behind anyone yet either, Sire,” the blond continued. “Says his men’s loyalties are split, and he doesn’t want his troops to fall apart. But it’s widely believed he’ll eventually support the admiral’s bid.”

“Of course,” the first noble took back the conversation. “None of this will matter once you return. Your father was a great and powerful king; and you, Sire, are much beloved.”

Edward’s cheeks gained a pinkish hue.

Though Nightfall would not put self-serving flattery past any of these men, he also knew they spoke the truth, and that relieved him of several worries. Though some of the nobles rolled their eyes at a youthful simplicity that often bordered on the absurd, they appreciated Edward’s kindness and forgiving nature. The peasants loved his justice and his eagerness to champion the poor and the downtrodden. Once the true king returned, the bids for the crown would stop.

Johan cleared his throat, apparently loath to raise the matter that had brought them here. “Your Majesty, I apologize for bringing up such an issue now, but I am under the command of Baron Ozwalt of Lifthran.” Though not directly stated, the words also served to remind them that Lifthran was a holding of the kingdom of Ivral, not Alyndar.

Edward gestured graciously at Johan, granting him the floor.

“That man . . .” Johan jabbed a finger toward the hanging jolly boat, where Celdurant had sat quietly throughout the long discussion. “. . . is a traitor to the barony and a fugitive. We were charged with the duty of returning him to justice, Sire.”

Despite the condemnation, Celdurant sat up straighter in the boat. “I will go, if the King of Alyndar commands it; but I maintain my innocence now and forever. I did not commit the crime for which I am condemned to die.”

Nightfall held his breath. If the give-and-take proceeded much longer, Celdurant would surely lose. Even if he had not slept with the baroness, he was still a traitor to Lifthran, and Alyndar, from his piracy. Nightfall nudged Edward.

The king’s eyes narrowed at the impropriety, but he did not chastise his chancellor in public. “Johan, you shall inform Baron Ozwalt he no longer has any claim over this man, Celdurant, whom I now name Supreme Lord Admiral of Alyndar’s navy.” He swung his head toward Celdurant. “Assuming he will accept the title.”

Every gaze followed Edward’s to a stunned Celdurant, who managed only a strangled noise.

Then a nod.

The sailors, and many of the soldiers, erupted in cheers.

Johan bowed so low, his hair touched the deck. “Your Majesty,” he said, in a voice filled with concern. “Sire, you must not be aware this man is also a notorious captain of pirates.”

Edward rounded on Celdurant. “Is that true?”

Celdurant glanced at Nightfall for guidance but did not wait for a response before admitting, “I was, Sire.”

King Edward barely missed a beat. “Once I place a man into my High Council, in a position of nobility, any past crimes become pardoned by law.”

“But—” Johan started.

Edward did not allow him to finish. “And I’ve found that a man who knows the enemy makes the most formidable ally.” He headed back toward the jolly boat. “Supreme Lord Admiral Celdurant, where do your loyalties lie?”

With grand flourishes, Celdurant placed a hand over his heart and saluted King Edward with the other. “To Alyndar, Sire! For now; for ever.” He knelt, lowering his head, the black curls falling in a thick cascade of silk.

Though overdone, the gesture was unmistakably sincere. Nightfall knew both men well enough to foresee a happy and loyal merger that might or might not include many of Celdurant’s crew. He hoped Edward did not intend to make a habit of surrounding himself with murderers and thieves.

Edward said words he had surely rehearsed, official and binding despite the oddness of the location of their speaking: “Lord Celdurant, once of Lifthran, now of Alyndar, I officially name you Supreme Lord Admiral of Alyndar’s navy, to serve until such time as I, or my successor, release you, forsaking all competing loyalties until the end of time. Lord Celdurant, do you accept your assignment and all the responsibilities inherent upon it from this day henceforth and swear your fealty wholly and completely to Alyndar?”

Celdurant kept his hand poised over his heart. He looked up, his face a mask of sincere promise tempered only by joy. “I do, Sire.”

King Edward stepped back into the jolly boat, this time with more caution. Celdurant took his seat in the bow, and Nightfall rejoined them in the stern. At the king’s signal, sailors set to the ropes and pulleys that would send them gently back into the water.

Edward called out as they drifted downward. “Lord Johan.”

The noble’s head appeared over the rail. “Yes, Sire?”

“I believe my admiral when he names himself innocent. Please tell Baron Ozwalt that the King of Alyndar says to watch his lady. And his back.”

Johan made a formal bow. “I will do as you ask, Your Majesty. But I must confess . . .” He fixed his gaze on Celdurant and Nightfall. “It’s your back for which I worry.”

 

When the
Seaworthy
made port in Alyndar three days later, they found a mass of soldiers and citizens on the docks. Word of the king’s return had preceded him, brought by the Lifthranian ships. Flanked by his chancellor and his new admiral, the king disembarked amid a deafening cacophony of cheers. Held back by a swarm of warriors in Alyndar’s colors, the crowd accompanied the king all the way to the courtyard gates before dispersing.

Though Nightfall appreciated Edward’s popularity, he breathed a sigh of relief when they finally entered the castle and even most of the guards returned to their posts. Servants bundled Celdurant off to his new quarters, finally opening the way for Kelryn to hurl herself into Edward’s arms. “Oh, Ned. I’m so glad you’re back. So glad you’re all right.”

The guards averted their eyes from the reunion in the castle hallway.

Edward embraced Kelryn for several moments, savoring the contact a bit longer than Nightfall liked. The king had, after all, once requested her hand in marriage. At length, though, Edward pulled her far enough away to talk. “Kelryn, I wouldn’t be here if not for Sudian’s courage, effort, and persistence.”

Kelryn’s gaze went to Nightfall, and her green eyes danced with a fiery love. She thrust herself against him so violently she nearly sent them both tumbling before arms found their proper positions around one another. “I knew you could do it. I knew you’d bring him back . . . and Sudian, too. Thank you.”

Nightfall kissed her, growing weak-kneed with desire. The hallway, the guards, the king himself seemed to vanish, and he might have ravished her right there had he not suffered a sudden prickle of warning. Even his passion for Kelryn could not keep him from recognizing danger. He shoved Kelryn aside as two guards with drawn swords drew up beside him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded Edward.

The guards cowered but remained in place. “Sorry, Sire. Forgive us. We’ve been dispatched to confine the traitor.”

“Traitor?” Edward threw a weary glance around the hallway. “I see no traitors here.”

“Sudian, Sire.” Dressed in the lavender and gray of the prison guards, the two bowed repeatedly. “I’m afraid he’s under sentence of execution, Sire.”

Kelryn clung to Nightfall. He kept his own hands free, saying nothing, trusting the king to handle the crisis in his own palace.

“This is nonsense,” Edward bellowed. “I’ve placed no sentence upon my loyal chancellor. Who sent you?”

The bows become deeper, and the voices lower and tremulous. “The High Council, Sire. They’re meeting in the Strategy Room. I’m sure they’d welcome—”

“Stand down and return to your posts.” Edward seized Nightfall’s wrist, and Kelryn stepped aside. “Leave this man alone.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Edward thundered through the castle, and Nightfall had to jog to keep up with the king’s massive strides. “We’ll see who dares to command my men!”

Nightfall cast a longing glance behind him, but Kelryn had chosen to remain behind. They swept through the familiar hallways and up the stone staircases, Edward mumbling the entire time about gall and insurgents. Finally, they reached the Strategy Room. Memories flooded back to Nightfall, of his interrogation, his sentencing, the attack that had sent him tumbling down the hard stone steps and ended with a crossbow bolt lodged in his chest. His footsteps faltered, but Edward did not appear to notice as he half led, half dragged Nightfall to the door. “Open!” the king bellowed.

The guards obeyed neatly, managing to bow and handle the door simultaneously. No one commented on his return or his long absence; his mood came through in his tone.

The door opened on the same windowless room, its walls covered in maps. The eight-armed chandelier swayed in the breeze created by the opened door; and the five men of the High Council sat around the table, which now held only the heavy tome of Alyndarian law. All rose at the sight of Edward to bow deeply and formally.

Edward did not wait for them to rise before shouting, “What is this nonsense about confining my minister?” He jerked Nightfall suddenly forward, releasing his wrist.

Nightfall had to raise his mass to keep from stumbling into the table. In his rage, the king had lost track of his own strength.

Baron Elliat spoke first. “We’re thrilled to have you back at last, Sire! The Father has granted us a miracle.”

The others nodded, speaking their welcomes and expressing their joy. No one addressed the king’s question.

A profound silence followed during which propriety demanded Edward respond to their greetings and take a seat at the table. He did neither, instead glowering over the group and forcing them to remain standing.

At length, the admiral, Nikolei Neerchus, spoke, “Your Majesty, we share your chagrin, but
former
Chancellor Sudian has a sentence of death over him that should have been carried out some weeks ago.”

Edward took a menacing forward step. “Well,
former
Admiral Nikolei Neerchus, I’ve pardoned the man who saved my life. Twice now.”

“I’m so sorry, Sire.” Tenneth Kentaries’ face looked even paler than usual, ghostlike. He knuckled his fingers nervously into his beard. “But you can’t . . . pardon . . . him . . .”

“What!”

The word was pain in Nightfall’s ears. He imagined the entire castle could hear it.

“I’m the king. This is my castle. I can pardon whom soever I choose.”

The entire council looked down at once. Clearly they had more to say but wished to do so calmly, sitting in discussion over mugs of mulled cider.

Dread chilled through Nightfall, despite Edward’s strident support. An obscure law had undone him before.

Edward looked at Nightfall. “Have they all gone daft?”

To Nightfall, they all started out that way. Much about nobility seemed so to him. He merely shrugged, knowing the question was rhetorical anyway.

“Sire,” Nikolei took over again. “I’m afraid the law . . .” He paused, his tone going from commanding to quizzical between one word and the next. “Did you just call me
former
admiral?”

Nightfall suppressed a smile.

Now, it was Edward’s turn to dodge the direct question. “What about the law?”

The other military giant, General Simont Basilaered reached across the table and pulled the book toward him. He carried it to the king. “Here, Sire.”

Edward glanced at the indicated passage. “Yes, yes. I’ve heard that one about the Council. Overriding discretion with unanimous vote of the High Council and majority of the Council in Full. My chancellor quoted it to me.” He studied the writings. “Verbatim. Very impressive, Sudian.”

Uncertain what else to do, Nightfall said, “Thank you, Sire.”

Edward looked at the huge general who dwarfed even the king. “What does that have to do with pardons?”

“Here, Sire.” The general leafed through to another marked page and tapped his finger on a passage. Edward read, lips moving, an occasional word slipping out. “When pardoning a formerly sentenced . . . not within the realm of . . . even if the . . .” Intent, he took the nearest seat, resting the heavy book on the tabletop.

Now that the king had seated himself, the council members took places around the table as well, leaving only Nightfall standing.

Edward looked up. “But it’s not the intended purpose to prevent . . .” He studied the passage again. “It refers to overruling former kings.”

“And here, Sire.” Again, the general found a marked page and opened it for the king to peruse.

Nightfall tried to read over the king’s shoulder, but the words made little sense to him, full of flowery language and gross repetition.

“But those laws were never intended to go together.” Edward looked sallow, and all of the anger left him. “They were passed at very different times.” He gave his attention to each Council member in turn, none of whom spoke. “Sudian did nothing wrong. Can’t you overrule yourselves?”

The general rose again, to point out one more law.

Reading, Edward slumped in his chair.

Nightfall swallowed hard, wishing he had never returned. If only the king of Alyndar had not forgiven him, he would have slipped Edward aboard the
Seaworthy
and disappeared, back to a life in the shadows as the demon, Nightfall. Once again, doing the right thing, taking the moral course, had undone him.