Page 5 of Faeling
Once the crowd had thinned, Vallek, his sisters, Ulrich and Mattias, and his four guardsmen bypassed the imposing throne set at the head of the hall. Carved from a single trunk, the back was set with dozens of rubies and garnets, common rocks in Balmirra and the first good that had made this city her fortune. Liquid copper had been set into engraved designs along the legs and head, meant to catch the light of the many stained-glass windows that let in the sunshine in shafts of saturated color.
A door tucked into the back of the basilica led to thechieftain’s private entrance, where their little group caught the maze of corridors that exclusively serviced his wing of the citadel.
As they walked, Eydis dutifully listed everything that would need his attention. “Rats were spotted in the southern silos again, so I’ve ordered a dozen more cats be employed. And Minister Bellos wishes to speak with you about repairs to the lower city cisterns…”
Vallek listened just as dutifully, making notes in his mind for what he meant to do about each. When he’d first fought and won the throne of Balmirra, he’d no notion that leadership was mostly the minutiae of everyday life. His people cared much more about clean water and a constant flow of grain than they did about battles—although they loved a good brawl, to be sure.
Since challenging the old chieftain, Mordis, for the position nearly eighteen years ago, Vallek had barely known a day’s peace. Between politics, city planning, and protecting the realm, his attention was always needed somewhere.
Although training with his men and clobbering their enemies with Hormhím was his favorite, he still found the administrative duties fulfilling. It helped to have someone as competent as Eydis by his side, of course. Balmirra was always in good hands when she held the ceremonial key.
It was because of Eydis, in fact, that he was chieftain at all. Mordis hadn’t been a kind man. His rule had been tyrannical, his mind fractious and petty. He relished pitting houses against one another and intimidating their allies. Many had tried before to challenge his rule, but none had succeeded. Not until Vallek.
There’d been nothing truly special about him and his challenge. He wasn’t the first outraged young warrior to challenge for the throne, promising a fairer, kinder regime.What had set Vallek apart was that he hadn’t wanted to be chieftain. Not truly. All he wanted was to protect his sisters, and the only way to do that, to ensure they wouldn’t be married off to horrid males or thrown into the arena to fight wild beasts, had been to become chieftain.
Such a horrid male had been chosen for Eydis. The old chieftain’s son had been particularly odious, a male who forced himself on women and men alike, who thought nothing of the feelings of others, and thought the strength of his sword arm made him right. Eydis was not a warrior. Her talents were in politics and management, and her brilliant mind would not only have been wasted but broken by such a husband.
That was likely what the old chieftain intended. Vallek wouldn’t allow it.
What made him victorious where so many others had failed and lost their heads was simple—Vallek couldn’t lose.
His sisters needed him to win, and so he had.
He made safe his family and rose to the honor of chieftain. His first years were marked with more challenges by supporters of Mordis, and it had been a particular pleasure to cut off the head of his son. Hormhím had dripped with blood for many moons, but Vallek kept his seat.
He never wished to return to such a time. If he could have his way through diplomacy and politics, he would. Bloodshed was messy—and took him far away from his truest love.
His big, soft, magnificent bed.
His body ached just thinking of it.
Soon enough, they were at the doors to his personal quarters. Two of his guardsmen opened the doors and did a quick sweep inside, ensuring it was just the servants preparing his bath within.
Brynhíl, his personal housekeeper and the one in charge of all the servants who directly served him and his household, looked up and smiled gently. The soft lines around her eyes crinkled with fondness to see him and his sisters.
“Welcome home, my king. Your bath is almost ready.”
“Thank you, Bryn. Much obliged.”
Gathered in the wide front vestibule, Vallek turned to Mattias. “See that the men are rested tomorrow. But keep them ready, we will soon need to leave to handle the clans in the east.” To Ulrich he said, “Ensure the ministers are ready to give me their reports tomorrow and see to the supplies for our next departure.”
“Yes, my king,” they said.
Mattias and Ulrich were good men, none more loyal. Ulrich had been by his side since before he challenged Mordis, standing as his second in their duel. Mattias was a hard man, one who’d earned his place rising through the ranks, and the men respected him for it. Between the three of them, there wasn’t an enemy gate they couldn’t crack.
Stepping into his quarters, Vallek shrugged off his cloak and unbuckled his heavy belt. “Good. Now everyone get out, I’m having my bath.”
The warm water lulled him into a pleasant doze. Afternoon bled into evening, a rosy sky visible through the leaded diamond panes of his windows. The southern Griegens stretched out on the horizon, a few of their peaks holding onto the last layers of snow. Balmirra would never be called a warm place, but still, the snows melted most years, feeding the many rivers and streams that flowed into Lake Lovath.
The narrow strip of water was deceptively deep, and legend said that sirens still lurked in the darkest depths. The cold waters lapped at Balmirra’s southern walls, providing water and fish for the people, as well as quick passage by boat north to its sister city of Holdur.
The waters of his bath were far more pleasant, even as the steam evaporated and the temperature fell to lukewarm. His muscles relaxed, he was loath to leave the comfort of his deep copper tub. He could descend the spiraling staircase to his own personal hot springs, deep in the mountain, but he didn’t fancy all the stairs.
No, this was perfectly pleasant.
Until he remembered he’d been expecting a visitor.
A gentle knock on his door reminded him.
