I kept at it. “Do not look at me.”
“As if such a thing were possible.”
Because I wanted his input more than I wanted to argue at this moment, I sat across from him in the iron-riveted chair carved with Gyorian runes. I had an identical one in my own chamber, a symbol of our close bond.
Only two others like it could be found in the palace, neither of which were currently being used.
Prince Kael sees what you do not. A king who would damn us all.
“My brother is a traitor, not a visionary.”
Dren looked at me strangely.
“The Aetherian said, ‘Kael sees what you do not: that my father is a king who would damn us all.’”
As he did often, Dren inhaled as if praying to Terranor for patience.
“Pretending you do not know Lady Lyra’s name will do little to convince me you’re immune to her.”
The problem with living forever was not being able to hide your true self to those around you. I didn’t deny his claim.
“Also… she’s right.”
I knew he’d say as much. When I met Kael on the road as he fled north with the princess, my father’s order to retrieve them both had left Dren and I at odds on how to handle the situation. In the end, I allowed Kael to flee but it was Dren who counseled caution as Kael and I battled ever since.
“He is my father,” I said, not for the first time. “You know the laws. As the most powerful Gyorian, he will remain king until his death. One I would not precipitate, even if we disagree more now than ever.”
“I know the laws well. I also know, as you do, the Aetherian”—he grinned—“as you call her, is also right about the disturbances. We’ve all felt them since Princess Mevlida came through the Gate. That your father denied as much is telling.”
“Denied it to her, his enemy.”
Dren frowned. “Balthor is as transparent as aevumite. Think on it, Terran. The Gate opens for her. The land rumbles impatiently beneath our very feet. The Maelstrom Depths are disturbed for the first time in decades. Your father is more elusive than ever. And then Lyra arrives for some unknown purpose?—”
“She wants me to take the Stone from my father.”
Dren’s mouth hung open.
“Do not say it.”
“The Stone that he’s worn in that crown atop his head for as many years as either of us has been alive but which has suddenly vanished?”
“Aye. That one,” I admitted grudgingly.
The flicker of lanternlight played over shelves lined with ancient texts. Dren leaned against his desk as I stood and began to pace once again.
“You’re looking at me as if I have already chosen a side,” I said.
“Perhaps you have.”
“Aye,” I agreed. “My father’s. There is no other choice.”
“You always have a choice, Terran.”
“In this, I do not.”
“If not in this, then in nothing. What could be more important than your willingness to carry out duties and remain loyal to a king who is not forthcoming?”
“Not just any king. My father.”
