Page 6 of Aubade Rising
“Welcome to Pentargon and Chi An Mor,” he says archly, surveying me from head to toe, noting my bedraggled appearance. “I hope you’re feeling well since your ordeal.”
My fear dissipates at his poor choice of words and I work to stifle a sarcastic response. Which ordeal is he referring to? Being bombed in Athnavar, being imprisoned inhisdungeons and tortured? It’s been quite the week.
Evidently, he can read my feelings from my face; he laughs softly.
“I need you to confirm a few things for me.” His soft, melodic tones are at odds with the firm line of his full lips. The atmosphere in the room turns frigid. Someone is on thin ice. I nod cautiously, trying to work out who.
“A simple yes or no will suffice. Since your arrival in Pentargon have you been mistreated?”
“Yes.” The water in the pool moves, the current swirling in lazy circles.
“By this man?” He gestures to the old man.
“Yes”I hate how soft my voice sounds, barely echoing in the chamber.
“You were tortured?”
I pause, my throat thick and hot with anger. I look directly at the old man sitting beside him, glaring daggers at me.
“Yes.”
“Did you have any knowledge of the attacks on Athnavar, Porth or Cathair?”
Three separate attacks. The two largest cities in Trevesiga, and Athnavar. I’m floored by the extent of violence that I forget that the King is looking to me to answer.
“No.”
“Are you a traitor to this kingdom, to Trevesiga?” The old man leans forward expectantly, hands clasped tightly.
“No.”
Silence. Both Dervla and the old man look at the King. He is studying me carefully, evaluating my every breath. I square my shoulders to meet his gaze. Despite the reflection pool betweenus, I make out the amber flecks in his green eyes. Rare eyes indeed, a royal trait I suspect.
Without releasing me from his stare, the King announces, “Lord Bal, you are hereby relinquished of your position as the King’s Almanac.”
Relief pours through me briefly – he believes me. It is quickly superseded by thick dread. I was tortured by the second most powerful man in Trevesiga. All positions on the Concord are meant to be equal but it’s the Almanac that speaks for the King. The water in the reflection pool goes cloudy and churns between us.
“You cannot do that! Appointment to the Concord is a lifetime position.” Lord Bal is incensed, spittle flying from his thin lips.
“You served my father well, too well. But I have no need for you. I’m allowing you the dignity of resigning. Don’t make me change my mind.” The King’s voice starts off carefully neutral, his handsome face devoid of all feeling at the mention of his late father, but the lethal threat is apparent when he finishes talking. I feel the shock radiate through Dervla and barely breathe as Lord Bal walks carefully around the table and stops in front of the guard.
“You’ll regret this,” Lord Bal promises, shouldering his way out of the room. The guard sidesteps as Lord Bal barrels towards him, avoiding his trampling path.
“See he leaves Pentargon by morning,” the King instructs the guard. “I don’t expect him to go quietly,” he adds.
The reflection pool is bubbling, steam rising, water sloshing over the edges. No one else pays it any attention but I ease backwards towards Dervla to avoid the hot spray.
I look round the room, unsettled by the old Almanac lurking in Pentargon.
“When can I go home?” My enquiry is tentative. I do not want to be involved in lethal palace politics.
“That might prove difficult,” a deep voice sounds from behind me. The guard’s arms are loosely crossed and he leans casually against the doorway. “The Academy suffered badly in the attack. Barely half the buildings are standing,” he adds dispassionately. “It may never reopen.”
“Captain Eskar Devath, the King’s Verax,” the King explains, giving the Captain a cautionary look. The Verax is a truth-sayer and the Kingdom’s moral compass.
The Captain continues, ignoring the King’s warning “Your apartment in Athnavar was also a target in the attack. The whole street was destroyed. There’s nothing there for you to return to.”
I sway on my feet, fighting to remain focused and present, my hand automatically pressing into my chest.
