Page 8 of Kingdom of Feathers

The trouble was, most of the counselors in the room were too wary of the irritable king to tell him what he didn’t want to hear. Fortunately, Basil’s position wasn’t one that could be stripped away if he offended his sovereign.

Or unfortunately, depending how you looked at it.

Basil sighed again, shifting so that his elbows rested on the table before him. “We haven’t ‘finished’ it, Father, because our forces are no stronger than theirs. And because an attempt to push an offensive past the disputed territory and storm their capital could just as easily end up with Mistran troops storming ours. And no one wants that.”

King Thorn scowled at his only son. “I didn’t realize you were such a military expert, Basil.”

Basil met his father look for look. “I don’t need to be an expert to know it would benefit no one for the war to consume our whole kingdom, or theirs.”

“Have you forgotten,” the king demanded, his voice again rising angrily, “thattheystarted this? They are the ones who sent highly-trained guards to ambush our commander, attackingmein the process!”

“Well, they didn’t know it was you,” said Basil fairly. “They just got lucky that the king happened to be paying an unannounced visit to the army’s commander.”

“LUCKY?!” roared his father. But predictably, the exertion ignited the old wound to the king’s lung, and he broke off, violent coughs rocking his once-strong frame.

Basil winced in sympathy as his father bent over, gripping one side of his chest as he continued to cough and wheeze. The prince felt a little chastened for his impatience with his father. That one powerful thrust from a spear shaft—or rather, the collapsed lung that had resulted from it—really had stolen the king’s strength, and probably many years from his life. It was enough to make even a milder man short of temper.

“Forgive me, Father, I meant lucky from their perspective,” Basil amended hastily. “Although I’m not sure even they would think it lucky now.”

“Of course they would,” the king managed between coughs. “They were determined to destroy us, all over an ore deposit.”

Basil waited, but as usual, no one else contradicted his father’s blatantly false words.

“You know that isn’t, true, Father,” he said, speaking as patiently as he could. The king’s wheezes were gradually subsiding now, but he’d been forced to resume his seat. “They attacked us because they believe we were behind the magic attack that killed all six of their princes. Can you really say you wouldn’t do the same in their position?”

“Couldn’t,” grunted King Thorn. “I don’t have six sons to lose.”

Fortunately for the progress of the council, the queen caught her only son’s eye at that moment, her expression forbidding. Basil swallowed his exasperated retort, and the king blustered on.

“Besides, we all know that allegation is nonsense. They don’t really think we had anything to do with what happened to the Mistran princes. It was just a convenient excuse for King Lloyd to declare open war without any of the other kingdoms chastising him for it.”

“With all due respect, Father,” Basil said quietly, “I suspect that the murder of six of his children seemed about asconvenientto him as your injury seemsluckyto you.”

King Thorn scowled at his son. “You know what I mean.” He turned his gaze upon the rest of his council. “Winter is almost past. I want to see a serious proposal for a spring offensive. They’re much too secure up in Myst, with their capital so far from the front lines. They need reminding that as long as our borders are being violated, there will be no peace. It’s time to push the fight to where they’ll feel it.”

Basil sat up straight, horrified by the determination in his father’s eyes. Surely the king wasn’t going to push them into full scale war, after all this time! But again, Queen Lucille caught her son’s eye, and Basil leaned back, frowning. She was right—this wasn’t the time.

It took almost fifteen minutes for the discussion to die down, and the last of the advisors to file from the room. Basil remained in his seat, his eyes fixed on his father’s face as he rolled a small paperweight back and forth in his hand.

At last no one remained but the king’s steward, along with the queen, and the crown prince. King Thorn stood, and the steward hurried forward to gather the monarch’s parchments. When Basil’s father turned toward the door, however, Basil cleared his throat.

“Father,” he said mildly. “Could I have a word?”

King Thorn scowled at his son. “Seems you had enough words to say at the council,” he snapped.

Basil shrugged. “I thought I was expected to attend now that I’m eighteen. I assumed that meant I was entitled to speak, like any other member of the council.”

“Just because you’re entitled to speak, doesn’t mean you need to speak every word that passes through your fool head,” the king shot out, then winced as he rubbed a hand along one side of his chest. “And you’re not any other member of the council. You’re my son, and you should give me your full support.”

Fully aware that his father was in the grip of a particularly painful attack, Basil disregarded the insult. “You have my full support, Father,” he said patiently. “My purpose is the same as yours—to serve Entolia’s interests. How can I show you true support if I don’t give you my honest opinion?”

“Prettily said,” grunted the king. “But what do you know of war?”

“I know it’s not good for our people,” said Basil frankly. “The fighting at the border is bad enough. Pushing the conflict further into either kingdom would be immeasurably worse. It’s been almost six years. Has either side even tried to propose a compromise?”

Before his father could respond, Basil flipped the parchment before him, exposing its underside. The king and queen both blinked down at the crude map.

“It’s only a rough calculation,” Basil pressed on, “but you’ll see here that my proposed re-alignment of the border gives each kingdom—”

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