My father sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-six years. "The healer says it's a circulation problem. She tires easily now, and when she's distressed, she gets faint." He spread his hands. "We are not as young as we were, my son. Age eventually catches up with all of us, except for you, that is. You might live forever, which will reveal our family's dirty little secret. We have Elucian blood in us, and you bonded with a dragon."
"Which is another reason for me not being well suited for the role of heir."
He arched a brow. "What other reasons are there?"
"I don't want it."
"Ah." He smiled and leaned back. "I didn't want it either. But that's the thing about maturing, my son. We can't escape our obligations, so we learn to enjoy them."
"I'm glad that you are enjoying them, and I hope you'll remain king for many years to come."
He shrugged. "Gods laugh at the plans of mortals. My health might suddenly deteriorate, and I would need to step down years before I planned. That's why I need to have the succession in place."
It was nonsense, and I wanted to tell him so. He was in great shape because he was smart enough to listen to Lemil's advice rather than follow the healer's bad personal example. He ate in moderation and trained like a man twenty years his junior. At sixty-two, my mother was a little younger, and she ate what heate and took walks in the gardens. They were not old and frail. They were still full of vigor.
Or so it had seemed. Apparently, she wasn't well.
It could also be a deliberate exaggeration of her condition. Her absence was just too convenient. He must have known what I wanted to talk about, which wasn't hard to guess since I'd met with Arlen the day before, and he knew that my mother would be the strongest ally of my campaign on Arlen's behalf.
I pushed the thought down. Even if it was true and my father had exaggerated my mother's condition, the underlying fact was that something was wrong with her, and no one had thought to tell me.
I was going to have another talk with Healer Lemil.
"She seemed fine when I last saw her," I said. "I didn't notice anything the day I came home, and we talked about difficult things."
He smiled. "The joy of having you back must have outweighed the strain."
"You mean the joy of having Arlen's replacement back," I said, and regretted it before it was fully out of my mouth.
My father did not dignify it with an answer, and he was right not to. It was a cheap shot, and untrue besides. Whatever calculations my parents had made about the succession, my mother's gladness at the sight of me had been genuine. The way she hugged me hadn't been fake. I had felt it in the strength of her arms and seen it in her misty eyes.
"I'm told you visited your brother yesterday," my father said at last.
"I did."
"And?"
This was the door I'd come to open.
"I think he can still be heir."
My father's expression didn't change, which told me that he'd expected this. My mother's absence had been the first clue. "And that's your medical opinion as an expert on soldiers' affliction?"
This was the sarcasm I'd been expecting, the quality Arlen inherited from our father.
"Lemil says that many recover from this, especially when provided with proper care. The legs are not a big obstacle, either. A king doesn't need legs to rule. He rules with his mind, his name, and his bearing, and Arlen has all three as he always did. There are precedents of kings with physical impediments. King Rvos the Sixth of Arudon was blind in one eye and wore a patch. He was well respected and even feared. No one ever questioned his fitness."
"Rvos lost that eye in battle, and it happened years after he was already crowned. A reigning monarch may acquire an impediment and remain on the throne. That is not the same as crowning someone who's already suffering from the same affliction."
I'd known he would say that.
"King Namron the Third of Penvasita lost a leg to an infected wound and ruled from a chair for the last eleven years of his reign."
"Also a battle injury," my father said. "Also a reigning king."
I leaned forward. "Arlen might not be a reigning monarch, but he acquired his injuries in service of the Crown. He took a grenade meant for the king. He shielded you with his own body. He didn't hesitate, and he would do it again even though he knows what it would cost him. That is not a disqualifying frailty, Father. That is the single most honorable thing any man can do for his family, and he deserves a Medal of Honor and a place in the histories for his sacrifice. Instead, you've chosen to bury what happened so no one will ever know what he did, and as a reward you stripped him of his birthright and intend to ship himto Tarina like a shameful secret that needs to be hidden in the farthest corner of the Federation, the smallest province there is."
It was a gamble, to go on the offensive and guilt my father. He could turn kingly on me in a heartbeat, call it disrespect, and have me out the door with the matter closed and my access revoked. I’d considered everything and concluded the risk was worth it, because nothing else I had would move him when he'd already made up his mind. I had to shake him hard. I held my breath as I awaited his response.
