Interesting that a commander, at least one captain, and some soldiers spoke Renvallian. Other than their strategic location, there was nothing special about Renvalle. Why bother to learn the language when translators could undoubtedly be found at one of the Cormiran universities?
Which brought more thoughts of the commander, a brute of a man covered in scars and muscle spoke the language of Renvalle and possibly read it too. Weren’t Cormiran citizens categorized at birth?This one can be taught,andthis one can be taught to kill.
Savages.
Still, the savage commander filled a room with his presence and bulk. What would all those muscles feel like undulating under Yarif’s fingertips?
No! No thinking such things! The man was the enemy! He’d taken Father’s life personally.
Stress. Stress needed an outlet, and deities knew Yarif had been under tremendous pressure. He mentally cataloged the deities he recalled: the Goddess of Harvest and Home; the God of War; the Goddess of Travelers. He could pray to at least fifty more, but “deities” worked to cover all points.
Work. He should bury himself in work. Yarif glanced at a document he’d been translating from Cormiran to Renvallian. Had anyone noticed? If so, they likely didn’t recognize his handwriting.
K’yel raked a gaze over the documents, then knelt to retrieve the ones from the floor. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t be much of a hindrance after all.
Yarif found Baro’s childish signature at the bottom of a document.
Baro, sweet, simple Baro, beaten by their father like a fighting dog until he lost all traces of softness. Baro might have been better suited as a bard than a king before Father started his campaign of making his heir into his own likeness.
An image came to mind of Yarif slipping into the music room—mostly unused since Mother’s passing—to find Baro’s bulk squeezed into a corner on the floor, eyes closed, playing the violin.
Father came, smashed the violin, and slammed Baro with fists until he begged for mercy. He’d never played an instrument again.
And he’d played so beautifully. Yarif mourned the loss of Baro’s soul long before the body. He deserved better than to die as a traitor. What exactly had Father done, and how much involved Baro? While Father hadn’t exactly idolized the emperor, hated some of the empire’s policies, and spoke of Renvalle becoming an independent nation, had he really plotted murder?
Too bad neither Father or Baro confided in Yarif. Then again, if they had, Yarif might have joined them in a traitor’s death.
He discreetly searched the office for valuables, ensuring the ink well was the only thing missing from its place.
He eyed a decorative table, noting the undisturbed rug beneath that hid a loose stone. There, underneath, his records lay hidden. It wasn’t Delletina files the emperor should investigate, but these, marked “N” for “King Niam of Delletina” though the collection of information was more the idolizing of a younger Yarif than actual intelligence.
No one must know of Yarif’s connection. His life would be forfeit if anyone decided to make an issue of his relationship to an enemy king.
Not that his life wasn’t forfeit anyway.
Chapter Five
Draylonsatacrossthedesk from his father in the former king’s office. Tapestries covered the walls, depicting colorful scenes of triumphs for the kingdom. The most notable being the wedding of Draylon’s great-great-great-aunt marrying the king of this land long before it joined the empire, giving the emperor’s family a tenuous route to the throne.
A route many a second son had tried to exploit over the years. The desk and furniture came from better times. One look around the once-splendid room made Draylon wonder where the gold went and how much effort would be required to figure out where the kingdom stood as a business and put plans into motion to make Renvalle efficiently viable again.
Would Yarif know? He’d been his brother’s secretary, after all. And a feisty one. Draylon wouldn’t mind asking a few hundred questions.
To which he’d probably receive nothing but lies.
May had mentioned plans Yarif wanted to implement.
The emperor nodded to the trio sorting through the former king’s papers. “You may go now.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the three chorused before doing as told.
Draylon waited until the door closed behind them to summarize his reports. Reports based on information gleaned from servants, officers who’d yet to be charged with treason, and one priest who’d been jailed for not declaring to his followers that the gods blessed the former king’s every action. A priest of the Goddess of Justice, no less. “It would seem the corrupt elements of the DiRici family are either gone or well on their way out the door.” Or to the gallows. “Particularly if it’s still your plan to remove the deposed queen, taking her and her children to the capital.”
“Children should be with their mother,” Emperor Soland said with his typical matter-of-fact attitude. “And I cannot leave her here.”
“Not if she’s nothing of a mother. If you recall, she left her children to the enemy and ran away.”
Father tabled the debate for now, moving on to the next point of the report. “From what you and others have reported, the older surviving prince wouldn’t be a suitable ruler.”
