A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden (35 page)

“Tarquin’s father called us over. It wasn’t our original intention to stay here.”

Hasain frowned. “Father wants you to come back to the dais. The entire royal family needs to be present for the ceremony. You know that.”

“I suppose,” Diddy sighed, voice sullen.

“Muttering is most unbecoming for a prince, Your Highness.”

Gib jumped as the distinctive whine of Neetra Adelwijn’s voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade. The high councilor fixed them all with a stern look as he drew nearer. As if Neetra’s presence wasn’t bad enough, his understudy, Liro Adelwijn, stood at the councilor’s side. They approached together, a pair of snarling wolves looking for easy prey.

“The same could be said for a councilor eavesdropping.” Kezra’s voice was low but not so quiet to go undetected. Neetra gave her a narrow glare.

Nawaz turned an incredulous look on Kezra. “Kezra Malin-Rai? I didn’t recognize you in your—” He stopped awkwardly and a pink blush rose on the lordling’s fair cheeks.

Neetra was not amused. “Yes, it would seem Lord Anders managed to get her into a dress for such a formal occasion—but that wicked tongue testifies to her unruly and disrespectful nature. She lacks respect for our traditions.” He stuck his nose in the air, speaking directly to Kezra now. “I pity your father for being saddled with such a shamefully errant daughter.”

Kezra locked her jaw, fists balled at her sides. For a terrifying moment, Gib feared she might say something she would come to regret. Neetra was not a man to be trifled with—

Joel’s tender voice rose to her defense. “It will be to your discredit, Uncle, should Kezra become a warrior of renown in the future. I’ve heard nothing but good things about her training and progress. Perhaps it is time for some of our old traditions to be laid aside.”

Gib couldn’t breathe.
How do I manage to find myself in the middle of these altercations?

Liro raised an eyebrow and Gib tensed as he prepared for the acid sting of the young lord’s venom.

“I suppose you would be the one to set these new standards for us, brother? Tell me, where would your country be with an army of women to defend it and male brides keeping the homes? Would you pay out of your pocket for every street urchin to be schooled? Who would grow the crops for this backward utopia of yours? And who would be the king? You?” Liro made a noise that Gib belatedly realized was supposed to pass for a laugh. “Perhaps ‘Queen’ would be a more appropriate title.”

Joel eyes were wide. Gib stepped forward and opened his mouth before he realized what he was doing. “Do women in the army scare you because you fear they can’t do the work or because you think they can? Are you afraid you’ll have to take a male bride, or are you scared that others will do so out of their own free will? Do the poor terrify you, or are you really just afraid that if there were no poor people then you would be seen as less? How will the world know you’re rich and powerful if no one is poor and weak? What is it you want, Liro Adelwijn? Do you fight to defend Arden or keep it in the shadows?”

The silence was so thick it settled like fog around them. Gib felt a solid thump on his back, support from someone—Nawaz. Tarquin was nodding his approval and the fire had returned to Kezra’s defiant eyes. Joel had turned to look at Gib and wore a dazed and lovely smile. The blood pounded so hard in Gib’s ears that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear Liro’s response even if the lord chose to grace them with one.

Diddy lifted his chin, measuring Liro. “A good and gracious ruler would reflect on all of this. What is your opinion, cousin?”

Liro’s face pinched. He pointed savagely to Gib. “You’re that filthy lowborn farmer, aren’t you? Joel is still spoiling you, I see. He must be polishing you to be his new bauble to play with. I can hardly imagine what he’s seen in you other than easy prey.”

Joel gasped and Gib clenched his fist.
How dare he
—

“I would remind you to consider your words carefully, Lord Adelwijn.” Hasain’s voice had dropped to an eerie lilt. “Gibben Nemesio is a guest of Seneschal Koal Adelwijn and a trusted friend of Prince Didier Adelwijn—therefore under the protection and gratitude of King Rishi Radek. You would do well to treat him with such respect.”

Liro’s eyes flashed as he gritted his teeth and hissed back. “Big words for a bastard son. No authority is given you, Hasain Radek.”

Hasain’s frown was every bit as intimidating as Liro’s. “Is my status yet one more thing to frighten you? Does it infuriate you to know that I’ve been given the privilege of a king’s son when I don’t have the title? Does the knowledge that I’ll always be your equal make you feel slighted in some way?”

Neetra snorted. “Equal indeed. Liro is the product of a good and decent marriage between two people of noble standing. You were the slip up of an overconfident fool with a servant. There is nothing fair or just about the leisure you’ve been given, and one day change will come.”

“I would agree. Change is needed in Arden. Perhaps no titles are needed anymore. Perhaps we would all be better off as equals.” Hasain was lofty, though even Gib knew the young lord wouldn’t appreciate the loss of his title. Gib was still comforted to hear his feelings echoed by someone else.

Before anyone else could say anything, the gong rang one last time. “Dean of Academy Marc Arrio and Lady Beatrice,” called out the announcer. Gib glanced over as the dean and his wife made their belated entrance.

Neetra lifted his goblet then and nodded to the ragtag group of friends. “I suppose that’s enough chatter for now. Here’s to the inevitable change.” He took a drink and turned his cold eyes on Diddy. “My prince, if I’m not mistaken, it’s time for you to rejoin your family. The main event for the evening will commence soon. We wouldn’t want anyone to miss it.” The councilor smiled darkly.

The hair on the back of Gib’s neck stood on end. A smile had no place on Neetra’s face for
any
reason.

Diddy looked back at his friends and nodded an apology. “I’m afraid it’s true. I must go.”

Gib didn’t feel it was fair. Neetra and Liro were walking away as if they hadn’t said anything terrible or hurt anyone with their cruel words. They should be made to apologize—to Kezra and Joel and Hasain, even himself—but it appeared no one was going to stop them.

Joel leaned a bit closer, his voice bitter and subdued. “Would you like to get out of here for a while, Gib?”

The sentinel trainee nodded as he glared at Liro Adelwijn’s back. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”
 

The grand hallway outside the ballroom was abandoned save for a lone sentry posted at the door. He paid Gib and Joel little heed as the two boys passed. They moved beyond the immediate passageways surrounding the ballroom, and the corridors began to grow dark and eerily quiet. No lighted torches or beautiful chandeliers illuminated their path here.

“I’m glad we snuck away,” Gib whispered as they walked. “I really needed a breath of fresh air.”
And time to clear my head. That was all too much to absorb at once
.

Joel let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry. This whole night has probably been awful for you.”

“No it hasn’t. I was enjoying myself until Diddy and Tarquin led me over to where all the councilors were congregating.” Gib laughed nervously.

“My uncle’s behavior was deplorable,” Joel replied, jaw set in a straight line. “Liro’s too.” He shook his head in disgust, his eyes overtaken by defeat. “I’m truly sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault.” Gib dared to reach out, taking hold of the mage trainee’s hand. “I could never be mad at you.”

Joel’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t immediately pull his hand away. Instead, the older boy stopped to squeeze Gib’s fingers, caressing his calloused palm. Joel’s voice was soft as he replied, “Thank you for standing up for me back there. I—Liro always manages to fluster me so horribly that I can’t speak.”

“I’d say it all again, in a heartbeat.”

“You’re too wonderful.” Joel released Gib’s hand with a sad smile and took another step. “Come. I want to show you something.”

Gib followed, curiosity piqued. He was led through another corridor and then up a set of winding stairs. Gib stumbled once or twice in the dark, but he managed to reach the top step unscathed. A second stairway loomed ahead, and Gib couldn’t help but curse under his breath as the mage trainee headed toward it. “Chhaya’s bane, Joel! Where are you taking us?”

Even in the dim light, Gib could see Joel’s eyes sparkle. “The view will be worth it, trust me.”

By the time they had ascended the second stairwell, Gib’s lungs were on fire and he was glaring daggers at Joel’s back.
Nothing can possibly be worth this effort. Nothing
.

The corridor was dimly lit up here, though the sentinel trainee couldn’t figure out the source of the illumination—but as they went forward, passing through an arched doorway, the narrow walls opened around them and Gib knew where he’d been led. It was one of the galleries that loomed above the ballroom. Weak light filtered up from the chandeliers below, casting shadows along the sculpted marble curvatures above.

“I thought maybe we could watch the bonfire lighting ceremony from up here,” Joel said. He went to the edge of the balcony, his mage robes flowing around his feet with so much grace he appeared to be floating.

Gib followed at length, setting a cautious hand on the stone railing that ran along the outer edge of the balcony. His stomach lurched when he realized just how far up they were. He knew it was silly and irrational, but the fear of toppling over the ledge and crashing to his death kept him from moving any closer.

“It’s perfectly safe,” the mage trainee assured, smiling as he patted the sturdy marble banister with one hand.

“Daya, Joel. We could have started out with the lower gallery and then worked our way up. I’m not used to being up so high.” Gib laughed nervously.

Joel leaned against the balcony, resting his forearms on the smooth stone. He nodded down. “Have a look.”

Following the older boy’s gaze, Gib shifted his eyes downward to watch the celebration. People swayed and danced far below. Adorned in silk dresses and perfectly tailored doublets, they all looked more like stringed marionettes than real people. Music filtered up to Gib and Joel, as did the jolly laughter and chatter of the patrons. Removed from the party as they were, Gib could almost forget the harsh words and unfair judgments many of these highborns placed onto their peers. It was possible—just for a brief moment—to admire the beauty of the world below, despite the lies within its immaculate foundation.

His brown eyes found the dais where the royal family’s table was positioned, and from his vantage point, Gib could see them all: the King, Queen, and royal children. Diddy had rejoined his family. The young prince sat between his mother and younger brother and appeared to be in good spirits based upon the crooked grin on his face.

“Joel,” Gib asked as a sudden thought dawned on him. “Why isn’t Diddy’s last name Radek?”

The mage trainee turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Gib hesitated. “Earlier, Hasain addressed him as Prince Didier Adelwijn. Forgive me, but if King Rishi is his father, then why is Diddy’s last name Adelwijn? Shouldn’t he be a Radek?”

Joel coughed and looked around as though to be certain they were alone. He lowered his voice to a soft hush. “Because when the King first met my aunt, Didier was already a toddler.”

The sentinel trainee blinked. He didn’t comprehend Joel’s delicately phrased words at first.
Oh. Diddy has his mother’s last name because
— “You mean Diddy isn’t really King Rishi’s son?”

“Didier was raised as the King’s son. King Rishi recognizes him as his child—but they aren’t of the same blood.” Joel stared down at the festivities below. “My aunt was ostracized for being young, unwed, and with a child whose father she refused to name. I was too young at the time to remember any of this, but I’ve heard it was quite the scandal.”

Gib smirked. “It seems as though scandal runs deep in your bloodline.”

“Yes. My father was worried Aunt Dahlia’s life would be ruined. You have to understand how serious it was—and still can be—for a highborn lady to have a child but no husband. Fortunately, King Rishi didn’t care. He married my aunt despite her shameful predicament.”