Page 4 of The Chaosweaver's Daughter
An echo of Papa’s resonant voice told her to hold her head high, read the room, and project quiet confidence. She attempted to do just that.
King Hethtar rose from his seat at a massive desk that had to be larger than her bed back at home. He was huge, too, at least as tall as her father,with rich brown hair, a shade darker than hers and far more luxurious. Maybe fifteen or twenty years her senior, he was older, but not as haggard as she’d expected for someone whose role was to lead the kingdom.
In contrast to the solidly built king, the room around them was sort of... puffy: well-decorated, but soft, in the literal sense of the word. The walls were covered in rich red and gold damask. The expansive, tiled floor, softened by a plush woven rug. Flowing draperies flanked the massive windows. And... was that a painting of a cat above the fire?
What do I say?
Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to answer the king’s summons in her father’s stead. But the alternative, writing back, could have led to a lost opportunity. This was better. Whatever this was.
Behind her, Rihan coughed softly before closing the door, jolting Nesrina from her reverie.
Curtsy!
She dipped low, startled into respectful action. “Your Majesty.”
“Sit.”
The command drew her back to her full height, and she crossed the room, feeling a bit like a child intruding in her father’s private study. His desk was so tall it nearly reached her shoulders when she was seated, which didn’t help her feel any less infantilized by the situation.
“Where’s Hothan?” King Hethtar’s voice was deep and resonant, attempting to echo off the walls.
Guess this is why things are so padded. Gripping the arms of her chair, she steeled herself for the conversation ahead. “My father’s no longer with us, Your Majesty.”
The king blinked, his mossy green eyes distant as he processed her words. “Hothan Tarisden has passed?”
“Yes. Almost two years ago, he was mugged, alone on the road from Midlake to Napivol.” She matched the king’s clipped speech. Keeping it short also kept emotions at bay. Time helped, but she missed her papa.
King Hethtar turned his gaze to the fireplace, losing himself in the flickering flames for a minute, two minutes, three. As she waited, Nesrina traced the spiral filigree on her chair arm and had a staredown with theengraved front panel of his desk.
When the king turned back to her, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “This news changes things.”
She watched his hands, uncertain of proper etiquette. Did one make eye contact with the king? From her father’s stories, she gathered Ehmet Hethtar wasn’t a formal sort of person, in spite of his title and position over the land. But Papa’s stories were old, possibly embellished, and the prince was now a king.
“Let me extend my sincere condolences to you and your mother. Hothan was a great man.”
She gave him a small smile.
“He taught me everything I know about being anaughtbirin.” After a long pause, he went on, “Eight years. Every day from when I was eight until I went off to the Institute. He never did care much for formal educations, did he? Never missed a damned symposium though. For all his talk of boats and books, he sure did love a good research paper. I’ve never met anyone else like him.”
Frowning, despite her attempts not to, she nodded as he spoke. Hearing about Papa from someone who’d esteemed him too had her imagining his portly belly, his graying hair, and wondering if he’d ever sat in the chair she currently occupied.
Lost in his own thoughts, the king’s face drooped until he looked positively morose, the shine was back in his eyes as he blinked at Nesrina. “I should have reached out when he wasn’t at the symposium last summer. I never corresponded enough, and I let our friendship fade. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, not sure what else to do. It wasn’t as though his apology was for her. The distance between King Hethtar and her father was likely less of the king’s fault than he thought. According to Papa, it was fine to take their money, but fraternizing with the aristocracy was impermissible.
“You know why I summoned your father.”
She nodded, again, and the king stared back.Oh, that was a question.“To return to his former post as magic tutor, to instruct your children.”
He dipped his chin. “Are you anaughtbirin, then?”
“I am, yes.”
“Are you as skilled as he is—was?”
“Yes.” It felt strange to compare her own abilities to Papa’s. But the fact was, she’d grown to be as talented, if not more than him, by the time she’d come of age, years back.
“What of teaching?”
