I slipped back inside—or slipped as well as a man grown in full plate armor could slip, which was not at all—and gave the weary king a nod. Then I took my place behind Aelir, eyestouching on the gathered elves. All had long hair, fancy robes, and tight lips. Few of the elite elves were behind this plan of the queens and the rest of the royals to go into a partnership with the Sandrayans. They distrusted the elves of the isles, and the elves of the isles distrusted us. Much like the animosity between us and the wood elves. We’d distanced ourselves from our brothers and sisters so deeply that it felt as if we lived on differing worlds. Yet we were all on one island. More or less.
“As you all know, this project is not only going to open up ports of call in the Black Sands, but it will also allow their ships to enter our ports without paying hefty port fees. That issue has been holding back the opening of our shipping lanes for centuries. Signing this deal into agreement will prove that we’re serious about our desire to forge a new friendship, a deeper bond, with our kin that fled the mainland so long ago. Only good can come from being open to our brothers and sisters to the west,” Aelir stated, his voice modulated, cool yet firm, his tenure on the throne already adding poise and dignity to a man who already possessed a noble soul. I always stood straighter when I listened to our king speaking. This was no exception.
“But, Your Majesty, the port fees that we take in make up a large part of the income for the crown,” another vill’s overseer, a portly man with earrings that trailed up to the tip of his ear, said as he stood up to make his point. Umeris snored on. “If we give up that substantial form of income, we’ll have to raise taxes to cover the loss.”
“We will not raise taxes,” Aelir stated as he sat forward to place his elbows on the table. Fylson followed suit, the older elf showing his support of his king in a silent yet loud manner. “The monies we’re saving from not having to house and feed four different menageries will easily cover the port fees that we’ll be losing. There is also a new logging camp that is being discussed for the future. If we can save coin transporting lumber fromthe Glotte and Verboten woodlands using the Vilhall and other rivers and tributaries that run through Melowynn, that will be added to the coffers.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but driving logs downriver is slower than moving them across land.” A woman from Renedith, the daughter of the late overseer Jassin, spoke up. “That will impede the building of new houses for the peasants.”
“True, it is slower, but it’s much cheaper. One large barge can carry the same amount as several carts pulled by a plow horse, goat, or oxen. Also, the costs of maintaining the roads that are perpetually torn asunder by hooves are exorbitant. Maintaining the waterways would fall to those who live where the rivers flow, a shared cost that lowers our expenditures.”
“So the dwarves are willing to cough up their precious gems and ores for upkeep of the waterways that flow from Mother Moth into our lands?” an older elf in dark red with a large nose asked. “I’ve not known a dwarf to part with anything of great value for any reason. Notoriously tightfisted the whole lot.”
Several people chuckled and nodded at the unfounded slur. Aelir got to his feet, gold hair sliding over his shoulders to land on the seat he just vacated.
“That is enough. We are not here to poke fun at our neighbors.” The king glanced around the assemblage that had fallen quiet. “This meeting has come to an end as I have other things that need my attention before the day ends. Return to your vills and inform the people there that the new port agreements and the addition of new ships to our weakened naval fleet will make Melowynn safer and stronger for generations to come. Those of you who have returned your invitations to the fete in three sun’s time are welcome to stay here in Avolire. Those who are not attending the event may leave now with the throne’s good wishes and safe travels under the eyes of Ihdos.”
I made my way to the doors to open them wide for the peerage as they filed out. Rumblings about wood elves, dwarves, and foolish young kings could be heard. After the last noble elf was out, I saw Jaska, the large guard who tended to Umeris Stillcloud, pushing a wheeled chair down the now-empty corridor. The crash of waves floated upward to us, the Silvura Sea choppy today as winds blew in from the southeast.
Jaska was a tall man, hired several years ago, who possessed both military training as well as some basic healing skills. A lean elf with broad shoulders and a genteel manner, he not only protected the grand advisor but also dispensed his healing draughts when needed. He was a kind man with the strength needed to lift and move an invalid, along with the patience required to not allow Umeris to upset him with his verbal attacks.
A hacking bark broke the air. We knew that sound well. Umeris was having an upheaval, his lungs filling with fluid that he had to cough up. We hurried around the table to where the elderly elf sat wide-eyed, his silver hair puddled in his lap, bloody spittle on his hands and chin. Aelir kneeled beside his grandfather, rubbing the old man’s bony shoulder, as Umeris struggled to breathe. Jaska handed the old man a cloth to cough into and reached into the small potions bag attached to the wheeled chair to remove a sleeping draught.
“Here, Grand Advisor, sip this. It will ease the constriction in your chest,” Jaska gently said, holding a small blue bottle to the old man’s pale lips. Umeris swallowed loudly, his eyes watering, his fingers now gripping his grandson’s forearm. Aelir said not a word of protest, just took the edge of his grandfather’s soiled robe to dab at his chin. “That’s good. Things will ease soon.”
“I’m so sorry, Aelir…” Umeris whispered and slowly nodded off, his fingers a band around his grandson’s arm. Jaskaopened the skeletal fingers, allowing Aelir to stand. The king rubbed his arm and tucked a thin blanket that had been over his grandfather’s lap around the old elf’s rounded shoulders.
“See him to his suite, then stay with him in case he wakes. I’ll be up before the evening meal to check on him. If something should happen…” Aelir paused and looked at the bowed silver head. “I’ll be with the children. I feel as if I need some time with them. Pasil, come with me, and Fylson, please.”
“Always, Your Majesty.” I fell into step with the king, waiting at the doors until Jaska wheeled Umeris out into the hall. We followed them part of the way down the corridor. The winds from the ocean lifted thick tapestries from the white stone walls.
Fylson walked along on the opposite side of Aelir, his handsome face drawn in worry. We entered the king’s private library.
“Come in and close that door, please,” Aelir asked, and so I did, easing it closed gently and standing at ease beside it but always alert. The king removed his silver day crown, tossed it onto a low round table, and fell into his favorite reading chair in front of a low, banked fire. Fylson sat as well, facing the king. Aelir ran his fingers through his hair, a sort of self-calming that he did when his husband V’alor was not nearby. I suspected that the queen and king had a sibling sort of relationship, much like I felt for Beiro, as they rarely touched in a loving way. Their embraces were more friendly, caring, yes, but lacking that passion true lovers shared. Those were only my thoughts. There were whispers among the staff, but none said anything out loud. If the queen slept with Merrilyn and the king with V’alor, it was not for us to judge. They had obviously come together at least once to create the prince and princess. Duty done as far as the masses were concerned. Heirs had been made. Where the king and queen lay their heads at night was not important.
“Would you care for something cold to drink, Your Majesty?” Fylson enquired and got a curt nod of a golden head. He glanced at me. I rang for refreshments using the bell pull in the corner and returned to my station. The windows facing the sea were wide open as Aelir preferred, and the sun shone warmly on walls filled with books. Brown bindings glowed yellow. The air was sweet with the salty scent of the Silvura splashing on rocks far below.
“I’m saying this to you, Fylson, and you alone,” Aelir whispered, his gaze coming to me. “And you as well. I know that what I say here will go no further.” I nodded, touched that my king had such trust in me. I’d bent my knee and would give my life to protect his. I would do no less for V’alor or the kingdom. “My grandfather is dying.”
Fylson and I exchanged a quick look. This was news to no one. “I think his time may be coming to an end as well, Aelir.” The king nodded. These two were close friends, the older elf taking the new monarch under his wing as if he were a son and not the man who stepped into the royal slippers worn by the man Fylson had loved and lost. “Would you like us to reach out to the Sandrayan royal house to request that the meeting with their envoy be postponed?”
“No, no, that meeting should go on as planned. The failing health of an elderly elf should not set back the passing of many moons’ worth of negotiations.”
Aelir sighed deeply, his sight moving to the window. “I wish V’alor were here. I could use his steadiness and insight right now.”
Fylson and I said nothing. What could one say to a man mourning the oncoming loss of his only blood relative while pining for his consort? A soft rap on the door drew my attention from the king. Opening it, I motioned for the servants carrying several silver trays to enter, holding a finger over my lips tosignal they should be silent. The young kitchen maids nodded in understanding, placed the trays on the various scattered tables, and then bowed deeply as they backed out of the room.
Aelir, who was generally quite polite to the staff, sat staring out the window throughout, his brow furrowed, his fingers absently rubbing a strand of long blond hair.
“Perhaps something to cool our throats and fill our stomachs will help,” Fylson suggested as he rose to cross the room. Domed lids came off serving platters filled with all manner of fruits and crackers. A tray with a shining brass pitcher and four mugs sat beside a dish with honey cakes stacked neatly into a pyramid. I could smell the honey from across the room.
Aelir, always the one with the sweet tooth, availed himself of the honey cakes and a glass of chilled apple juice. Fylson motioned me to the platter with a wave of a large hand. I declined. I’d managed to sweet-talk Widow Poppy out of a basket of tarts and a crock of fresh butter earlier. That would hold me until the midday meal.
“I’m sure your consorts and queen wish they were here for you during this difficult time,” Le’ral said as he retook his seat. “But the work they are doing to plot and plan the dock expansion at Knight’s Way is crucial for the upcoming negotiations with the Sandrayan delegates. The vahasi himself is quite happy to even be discussing this joint venture, so the queen’s presence, as well as the guard commander’s, meeting with the naval commission from Sandraya with the various dockmasters is vital.”
“I know,” Aelir said between bites of honey cake. “As much as I butted heads with the cranky bastard over the years, my heart aches to see him leaving us little by little day after day.”
The king took a moment and then placed an uneaten half of his crumbly yellow cake back on its plate. He turned to me,bright blue eyes finding me where he always found me. At his back. “Pasil, are the security details in place for Ambassador Nouradi and his entourage?”
