Prophecy's Burden: Chapter Two

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“Councilor?”

“What is it?” asked Atro, not looking up from his desk. How many distractions was he going to get today? Could no one see he had his hands full with more important matters?

“The advisors are waiting.”

“What?” Atro’s head snapped up and he looked at the page standing before him, startled. “It can’t be time for the meeting yet.” One look out his window, though, told him that it was. The second sun was setting, casting the Courtyard in red before shadows began to overtake it. The Court had been closed since the setting of the first sun, and now the advisors would be finishing the last of their work, or putting it away to look at tomorrow.

And he had promised them a meeting. There was supposed to be at least one every month, but between the demands of the city and Atro’s efforts to supervise the finishing touches on the construction of a new Main Hall, he’d let that rule fall lax. He’d realized only the day before that the advisors were getting impatient when Shyrn came to his office and refused to leave until Atro set a date and time for the next meeting.

Gathering up the last of his papers, Atro ran down the hall to the back staircase, which came out behind the front altar of the Courtroom. The new Main Hall was built in the same pattern as the old, with a few architectural upgrades. Coming out behind the alter meant Atro wouldn’t have to dodge the debris in the Courtroom itself, left by the workers who were in the process of installing new benches, but who had gone home for the day.

Reaching the altar, Atro slipped through the door behind the speaking podium, thinking it was too much to hope the advisors wouldn’t notice his lack of preparedness. Sometimes Atro felt he would give anything to be relatively anonymous again, not the judicial body of the capital city of Ceenta Vowei.

“What have I missed?” he joked, striding around the wooden table and taking his place at the head of it.

“We can’t start without you,” one advisor, a young knight named Kevyn who was far too literal-minded for Atro’s taste, pointed out.

“Of course not, what was I thinking?” said Atro, sitting down in his chair. Shyrn, sitting to Atro’s right, cleared his throat.

“Yes,” said Atro. “Time for business. Any business?”

“Almost too much,” said Ehquann dryly. The eldest son of former advisor Quann, Ehquann almost worked himself too hard, perhaps in an attempt to make up for his father’s crimes. Quann, without anyone’s knowledge, had operated an illegal slave trade in Jaharta during his years as advisor.

“Well, begin somewhere,” said Atro.

“Construction update,” the fourth advisor, Dorn, broke in. He shuffled through some papers, running one hand through his short black hair, leaving it sticking up in spikes. “Progressing well. The benches will be done in time for this coming Lastday, and only small aesthetic touches to be made after that. The Main Hall will be complete well in advance of the first of winter.” Never one to mince words, Dorn looked up at Atro to signify that he was finished.

“Excellent,” said Atro. “And how will the treasury look after these small aesthetic touches?”

The final advisor, a short and stout minor nobleman named Aberen, said, “Decent, my lord. The Fairs have brought in excess revenue ever since . . .” He looked sideways at Ehquann and cleared his throat. “Well, in the last year.”

“Good,” said Atro. “So we’ll make it through the winter?”

“Yes. There will be no extra of course, so we must watch our spending. With the construction complete, however, there are some improvements I have been considering for the Court.”

“Such as?” Atro asked.

Aberen cleared his throat again. “Some of the main walkways need replaced, my lord. I would also want to make sure you have not forgotten your father’s promise to pave the city streets?”

“When we have money,” said Atro.

“Of course.”

“What else?”

Ehquann shrugged and looked at Shyrn. Aberen cleared his throat. Kevyn said, brightly, “I believe Lord Shyrn had something to say?”

“Actually,” said Shyrn, “it is a matter we have all discussed. We have come to some conclusions, but of course we need your input, especially for this.”

“What is it?” said Atro. Rarely had he seen Shyrn so serious. Business-like the man certainly was, but never so grave.

“You’re twenty-one years old,” said Aberen. “It is customary, as I’m sure you know, for the councilor, or the primary heir as the case may be, to wed at the age of twenty.”

Atro’s heart plummeted. He did know that it was custom, but had been hoping the advisors would ignore it. “Wed?” he said. “I’ve been a bit busy in the last two years to spend my time thinking about women.”

“The point is, it’s overdue,” said Dorn.

“It is never too early to think about an heir,” said Shyrn.

“I say it is,” said Atro. “My own father didn’t have me until he was over forty.”

The advisors shifted uncomfortably. Kevyn said, “But surely you don’t need us to remind you how stressful of a time that was for the city?”

Atro scowled at him. Kevyn was only twenty, the youngest of the advisors. He’d never lived in a time when there was no heir for the Councilorship.

“So you want me to have a son to make heir,” he said. “No. The whole reason I exist is because of these political games, and I didn’t enjoy growing up knowing I was little more to my father than the fulfillment of a promise he made to my grandfather. I want my children to become what they desire.”

“An admirable sentiment,” said Ehquann, “but impractical. We are all here a product of our fathers’ stations. It’s part of being nobility.”

“It would instill more confidence in your rule,” said Aberen. “The people have to come to accept you for the most part, mostly because of the Emperor’s endorsement at your Proclamation and your accomplishments since. But always, in the back of their mind, they remember what you are.”

“Yes,” said Shyrn. “The people want to see you married. It is normal.”

Atro closed his eyes and sighed. He wasn’t adverse to the idea of marriage, but it was true that he hadn’t had any time to think about it since he’d become Councilor. It also put him in mind of his first love, which hadn’t been a real love at all. Oh, he’d had his share of women. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d actually had quite a reputation, but Allia . . . he’d thought at the time Allia had been the only woman he had ever or would ever love. Of course, he hadn’t thought of Allia in a long time, and hadn’t grieved after he left her. There was no evidence in his heart that he’d once had a lover, a beautiful salkiy female who’d compelled him into her life and her bed. Still, he wondered briefly where she was now.

Shyrn’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “I know you have not had the luxury of courting, but I have taken it upon myself to find a worthy candidate. I do not think you will be displeased.”

Ehquann made a huffing sound at this, and looked disapproving.

“Who is it?” asked Atro, fully intending to disregard Shyrn’s answer. He would marry for love, not for political gain. His mind touched very briefly on someone he wouldn’t mind marrying at all, but immediately dismissed the thought. It was an impossible wish, one he shouldn’t even be admitting to himself.

“My daughter,” said Shyrn.

“Hopina?” She was a good friend to him, but a wife? There had been a time, before his father’s death, that he would have considered asking for her hand himself. Those had been the days when any attractive woman would do, however, and Atro had dabbled in them all. He’d grown older since then.

“Seeking favor,” Ehquann suddenly spat. “You’re already the lord’s closest confidant, why must you now wed your own daughter to him?”

“I am not seeking favor,” said Shyrn. “I have no reason to. I offer my daughter because I know Lord Atro would not be adverse to the match. I also desire to look out for her welfare.”

Atro thought he knew what Shyrn meant. Hopina was very much taken with an older merchant named Edward, a friendship that might become something more. Atro didn’t know how intimate their relationship was, but it had obviously progressed to the point where Shyrn was concerned enough to try and marry her off.

And he was right. Atro wasn’t adverse to the idea at all.

“What does Hopina think of this?”

“I have not yet told her,” said Shyrn.

“I think that would be the first step,” said Atro.

Shyrn looked resigned. “My lord, I am not entirely sure she would agree.”

“Then it can’t happen,” said Atro. “I wouldn’t want to be the cause of her unhappiness. Besides, if I married a woman against her will I’d never hear the end of it from Jay.” He grinned.

Aberen frowned. “You spend much time with that unnatural woman,” he said. “And few of your staff likes having her here.”

“But the Court has never been safer,” said Atro, a little miffed that his joke had fallen flat.

“Since she’s made a habit of strip searching everyone who comes within a mile of the gates, I’d say so,” said Ehquann, the hint of a smile turning up one corner of his mouth. Atro gave him an appreciative nod. Ehquann had a prickly temper, but he also tended to share Atro’s sense of humor.

Aberen sighed in frustration.

“Will you think on it?” said Shyrn, bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand.

“I’m not the one you need to convince,” said Atro. “If Hopina agrees, then I won’t say no.”

Shyrn nodded.

“Any more business?” asked Atro.

“Ah, yes,” said Kevyn, digging through a stack of papers. “The Court reports from the last moon.”

Atro sighed and braced himself for a long night.

#

The waxing crescent of the moon was already high overhead when Atro finally dismissed his advisors. His head stuffed full of all the reports they had given him, he walked toward the Private Hall for a late supper and then bed.

“Some cheese and bread, please, and I’ll just take it in my chambers,” he told one of the servants inside the door, who ran off to the kitchens to relay the order. Atro climbed the stairs to his chambers, each step seeming to take forever. He had never in his life been so tired as he was now. He hadn’t been sleeping well at night, and there was always another pile of work every morning.

He reached the top of the stairs and walked down the hallway toward his chamber, deliberately taking the long way there in hopes that his dinner would be ready and waiting when he got to his door. If he went inside with nothing to distract him, he would be too tempted to fall asleep right away. Then the next morning he would be hungry on top of everything else.

Fortunately, he saw a servant approaching with a tray of food as he neared his chambers. “Thank you,” he said, taking the tray. “I’ll leave it outside my door.”

He entered his chambers, dismissing the servants inside, and began to undress. Pulling his shirt over his head, he looked at the large bed that filled a good portion of his room and found himself thinking about what the advisors had said. He had been lonely lately, the amount of work notwithstanding. The Private Hall needed a noblewoman to oversee the thousands of little tasks it took to keep life at the Court running smoothly. His seneschal’s wife did an admirable job of that now, but she did it with the understanding it was a temporary position.

Atro finished undressing and lay on his back on the bed, looking up at the canopy. As far as women went, Hopina wasn’t a bad choice at all. She was a friend, and Atro felt sure he could learn to love her. The question was whether she could learn to love him.

You’re thinking too far ahead, he told himself harshly. First she has to agree to a marriage. There’s no guarantee that will happen.

But he couldn’t keep the smile off his lips, or the thoughts out of his head.

#

“Are you in any way familiar with the Okkandian court, by chance?”

Merrus started out of the half-doze he had slipped into. Riding in wagons always seemed to lull him to sleep. “What?” he asked.

The only human government Merrus had ever had anything to do with was in Ceenta Vowei, and he knew there, at least, Okkand was mostly seen as a bastard cousin to the other, real nations. Hence Merrus knew very little about it, despite technically being from Okkand. He was a salkiy, and that didn’t count. “No,” he told Chel.

Chel nodded. “We’ve always had an amiable relationship with the salkiys, or rather we’ve always liked to think so. We’ve tried not to do anything to deliberately antagonize them, anyway.” He paused for a moment. “But truthfully, in recent years there have been . . . well, the king likes to call them tensions, and I suppose that term will work for now, between us and the salkiys. Nothing major, at least we don’t think, but—and don’t take offense, please—sometimes it’s hard to figure out what a salkiy’s thinking, or what their government thinks of us.”

Merrus raised one eyebrow at Chel’s fundamental misunderstanding of salkiy society. Did he think salkiys had a king just like the Okkandian humans?

“Anyway, I’ll get straight to the purpose,” said Chel, apparently interpreting Merrus’s incredulous look as a warning to make his point quickly. “Recently the king’s been thinking of salkiys rather like another nation, because he certainly doesn’t believe he has any authority over your race, and I don’t want you thinking that. But Okkand’s unique with its salkiy population. None of you live anywhere else, as far as we know, and the king thinks you all could be valuable.”

“How so?” said Merrus. He was wary. Salkiys and humans often had villages close to each other, and there was fairly free trade among them, but that was just individual towns, individual humans. In his experience current human governments didn’t seem to care about salkiys at all, and mostly left them alone. Come to think of it, Merrus wasn’t sure what the Okkandian authority thought of salkiys, either. It wasn’t a question that had ever bothered him.

Chel shrugged. “Those are issues to take up with the king,” he said. “But what I’m getting at is that the king figures since he sees you all as a separate nation, then he ought to have the same dealings with you that he has with Kandel and Ceenta Vowei and the like. Ambassadors, trade agreements, that sort of thing. Short answer is,” he fixed Merrus with a stare, “we need a liaison.”

“A liaison?” said Merrus, aware that this day had just gotten very strange. The three of them had been traveling for four days now. Merrus usually sat with Chel, since Bediwyth, though no longer outright hostile, was clearly uncomfortable around the salkiy. Merrus wondered how long it could go on, though, because Chel’s wagon held the dead bodies in the back and already he was beginning to smell the pungent odor of rotting flesh. It would only get worse.

Chel nodded. “A resident of the court, someone to act as an ambassador between the king and whoever’s in charge of you.”

Merrus didn’t mean to be rude, but he couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of him. He had to lean against the side of the wagon seat to catch his breath. “I’m sorry,” he gasped at the sight of Chel’s perplexed face. “But you really don’t understand.”

“I know it’s strange to just come out to you about this right here,” said Chel, sounding defensive, “but I thought you were a good sort, saving our lives like that, and also you speak very good Okkandian and you’ve told us you have a bit of a past living with humans, and we’re on our way to Byret, anyway.” He paused. “I’m not saying our liaison should be you, necessarily, because as far as I know you’re the lowest of the low—no offense, but how am I to know?—but you might at least be able to get us in touch with someone who could . . .” he stopped as Merrus’s laughter rang out again.

“No,” said Merrus, “you really, really don’t understand.” He took a deep breath and composed himself. “You’re going about this all wrong. Salkiys don’t have a central authority. No government, at least not like what humans are used to. We’re scattered, dealt with as individuals, like your merchants have already been doing for years.”

Chel looked confused. “So you’re saying you don’t know anyone who could be the kind of liaison we’re looking for.”

Merrus shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Well,” said Chel, “then I guess that means you could do it?”

Merrus straightened up and stared at him. Had this human not heard a word he said? “No,” he said slowly. “You can’t have a salkiy liaison at all. The best you could hope for is an ambassador from each single village, and I doubt any salkiy villages would bother with such a request. It wouldn’t make sense to them.”

“But you seem to know what’s going on,” said Chel.

Merrus sighed. “I’ve spent some time in Ceenta Vowei, in Jaharta. It took me a long time to understand all the fuss about governments, but I picked up a few things.”

Chel’s eyes shone. “But that’s what I was just saying! You understand us, you understand the salkiys. You could do a better job as a go-between than anyone else.”

“But I’m telling you there wouldn’t be a point!” said Merrus, losing his patience a little. The prospect of any human government entity encroaching in any way upon salkiy society was a little terrifying. The salkiys and the humans in Okkand maintained a mostly tolerant balance of coexistence, and Merrus knew the only thing government intervention would do was upset that balance.

“Then come with us, and tell the king that,” said Chel. “And he’ll explain his reasoning, and maybe you’ll come to see things his way. Or not,” he continued hurriedly at Merrus’s withering look. “No obligation, you’ll be free to go whenever you please. I give you my word as an army man, and as a highly ranked member of Prince Bediwyth’s personal guard. I’ll even give you the prince’s word, if you want it.” He twisted around and called to the young male. “Yes?”

Bediwyth, driving the wagon behind them, snapped his head up. Merrus suspected he’d been about to doze off, too. “What?” he said.

“If we take our friend here to see your father, nothing will happen to him, right?”

The prince shook his head, his confusion still evident, and then shrugged. “I see no reason why my father would want to keep a salkiy prisoner.”

“See?” said Chel. “No tricks.”

Merrus shook his head. Why did these humans want his help so badly? Couldn’t they find a salkiy closer to wherever the king’s residence was? Had they already looked and been turned down? Of course they probably had; any salkiy would find this proposal ludicrous, and rightly so. He sighed. All he had to do was explain to this king that his plans were impossible, and then he would be free to go. He’d wanted to get far away from Darmon’s dwelling anyway. He’d had two more dreams featuring Elligia, but the one last night had seemed more like a normal dream and not like a real entity invading his head. He hoped that meant he had slipped out of her mental reach. They were properly south of the mountains now, the white and purple-tipped peaks receding farther from them with every passing day. Merrus wondered where he would go after Byret. Chel had said it was near the border of Arkijt; Merrus had never been to Arkijt, and he thought maybe he was curious enough to see it.

This was what he wanted to do. Travel and see the world. Not sit in Darmon’s stuffy dwelling and endlessly discuss the salvation of the entire salkiy race, of all things. This, slowly rolling into an unknown horizon, was far less terrifying.

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