Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden (27 page)

“Then why is Heidi such a bad option?” Marc implored.

He wasn’t trying to hurt Nawaz, but his nephew recoiled as though he’d been burned. “I never said Heidi was a bad choice! It’s just—she’s not
my
choice. She’s a good girl, but I don’t want her. I don’t know if I could ever love her. She deserves someone who’ll be good to her, someone who’ll hang off of her like—”

“Like she hangs off of you?” Marc hit the nail on the head.

Nawaz’s face pinched. His crystal eyes froze over in an instant, and not a trace of smile could be found. “You know what? Never mind. I’m clearly not talking to the right person about this.” He stepped toward the door.

Marc floundered, reaching out with one hand. “Wait! Wait just a moment. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No. You go to your meeting. I’m sorry I bothered you.” Nawaz turned and stormed from the room.

Marc’s mouth moved without a sound, and his dark eyes followed Nawaz’s back until the young lord’s blue jerkin disappeared into the sea of students beyond the door. The dean dropped his arm to his side. “Damn it! I’m no good at this. Now I’ve hurt him, too.”

Gib placed a hand on Marc’s forearm and directed him away from the office. Making sure the door was latched, Gib stayed at his mentor’s side as they started their trek to the palace. “He’ll cool down. Nawaz has a hot temper sometimes.”

Marc followed behind Gib rather than lead the way. Deep, all encompassing fear fogged Marc’s normally cheerful brown eyes. “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this, Gib. Koal needs to come back before Neetra breaks down Arden and Nawaz both!”

“Why does Neetra suddenly want Nawaz married anyway? Is there a reason for it? Is it about inheritances? Does Neetra not want to have to give Nawaz anything from his estate?”

Marc barked a humorless laugh. “Neetra wouldn’t give anything to Nawaz if his life depended on it. He’s only ever tolerated the boy, and just barely that. No, Neetra doesn’t want to be tied to him any more. If he can get Nawaz married off then Neetra’s legal obligations end there.”

“What if Nawaz refuses?”

“Then Neetra will take his crest. He’ll be stripped of his title.”

Marc said it as if it was no big deal, as if it wouldn’t shatter Nawaz beyond repair. Gib couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have been born with authority and power only to have them both snatched away on a whim.

“He wouldn’t be a lord anymore? Can Neetra even do that?”

They passed through the gate to the palace with little more than a nod to the guard. Marc sighed. “He can in this circumstance. Nawaz isn’t Neetra’s son. Nawaz is only a lord because Neetra ‘showed him favor’ and granted Nawaz the title after marrying Bahari. If he disowns Nawaz—and he will if Nawaz doesn’t do as he’s told—then Nawaz stands to lose everything.”

Bile rose up the back of Gib’s throat. Neetra was despicable. Did he really think so little of his stepson? Nawaz was loud and rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad man. Why did Neetra continue to push Nawaz away?

“You know what I think,” Marc pressed on. “I think maybe Neetra wants to make a match for Inan and can’t do it until Nawaz is out of the way. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but time will tell.”

Gib shuddered. He supposed it was all fine and well that he hadn’t been born with a title or the responsibility that went along with it. He enjoyed not having to worry about marriage or retaining a family crest.

Allowing the conversation to fizzle out, they proceeded the rest of the way in silence. The hall outside the council room stood empty, save for a small gathering of men. King Rishi waited by the high wooden door, surrounded by an entourage—Aodan, Didier, and Crowned Prince Deegan, as well as a handful of palace guards.

Marc picked up his pace as he and Gib drew closer. “Oh, hell. You didn’t have to wait out here for me!”

Gib tried not to stare at King Rishi’s haggard face. Dark circles had formed under the ruler’s eyes, and his skin was blanched a sickly white color.

King Rishi looked down his nose at Marc. “It wouldn’t do for me to enter without my acting seneschal. It’s not as if we could start without you.”

“I suppose, but you didn’t have to wait out in the hall!”

The King hesitated, casting a wary look around. “I can’t—I can’t go in there alone. If I have to listen to that imbecile rant and rave one more time I may hang myself.”

Gib sucked in a sharp breath, and Prince Deegan’s youthful face pinched. They could have heard a pin drop for the lack of sound. No one dared say anything, though Diddy met Gib’s eyes with a look of abject terror. This kind of talk was so unlike King Rishi. Was Neetra truly wearing him down so quickly?

Marc’s cold laugh echoed across the empty corridor. “Come on now, it’s not so bad.” He smiled, but even Gib could tell it wasn’t as bright as usual.

King Rishi clenched one fist and raised it to his chest. His breaths came out in ragged wisps of air, and for a moment, Gib worried for the King’s well being. He wouldn’t pass out, would he? Was the stress of running a country without his Right Hand too much for him to bear?

Deegan looked up at the King and pursed his lips, looking very much like Koal, the boy’s uncle. Actually, Gib noted absently, the Crowned Prince favored the Adelwijn side of his family. He looked very little like his sire, though the brooding quality in his dark eyes was reminiscent of Hasain.

Diddy put a hand on the King’s shoulder. “Father.” He didn’t say anything more, but King Rishi seemed to take strength from the small gesture.

King Rishi locked his jaw. “Koal needs to return before I go mad.”

“Neetra’s insufferable.” Gib had voiced his opinion before he could think to censor himself. Both princes nodded in agreement, and even Aodan grunted his assent.

“Oh hell, enough of this pity party.” The bodyguard’s rough voice filled the empty hall. “Koal will be back when he’s able. In the meantime, the two of you have ta keep that bastard in there from turnin’ Arden on its head.” He met the King’s sulking sneer and pointed to the door. “Ya know Koal would say the same. Now get in there, both of ya.”

Groaning, Marc reached for the door handle. “He’s right. Waiting gives the demons time. Let’s just do it.”

With a heave, the door was pulled open, and Gib watched as Marc and the King marched inside. The palace sentinels began to follow, and Gib quirked a brow. That was peculiar. He couldn’t recall a time the royal guards had been called
inside
the council room.

Before the last soldier could cross the threshold, Aodan grabbed the soldier’s arm and snarled, “Remember, yer all to be watchin’ the King. This isn’t a time for a nap or screwin’ around. You have the Queen’s orders.”

The royal guardsman bowed so low the crest of his helm nearly brushed the floor. “Yes, Master Galloway.”

Aodan waved the sentinel off before turning on his heel. He narrowed his single eye at Diddy. “All right, let’s go.”

Diddy wordlessly climbed the stairs that would take them to the balcony. Gib hesitated. What was going on? “All due respect, Sir Aodan, but why are you coming with us?” No answer came immediately, and he could feel his ears and cheeks beginning to burn. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to question these odd circumstances.

It was the youngest prince who finally responded. Crowned Prince Deegan pointed at Aodan’s back. “Mother has agreed to allow me to sit in on the council meeting, but she gave express instructions for how I was to be guarded.”

The curt look on the bodyguard’s face suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with the assignment. Aodan cut a glare back at them both but spoke directly to Deegan. “Aye, an’ just remember that I’m not wipin’ any noses or kissin’ any scrapes. This is a meeting of men an’ if ya plan on ever comin’ back, ya need to behave like an adult.”

Prince Deegan’s face remained stoic while Aodan watched, but as soon as his back was turned, a devious smile flashed across the young royal’s mouth. Gib had to hold back a grin of his own. There. Deegan looked more like his father now.

“Sit where Diddy tells ya an’ keep yer mouth shut,” Aodan ordered.

Diddy scooted down to his usual seat and patted the empty one beside him. He kept his voice a light whisper. “Here, Deegan. Hasain’s seat.”

Gib swallowed, trying to ward off the nausea rising in his guts. Was having the young Crowned Prince attend the meeting a way for King Rishi to prepare for the worst? Was he filling Hasain’s seat in the event his eldest son didn’t return? Gib tried desperately not to think about it too much.
They’re going to come back. The envoys will be all right
.
Joel will be all right
.

Deegan stuck his nose in the air as the understudies of the other councilors watched his every move. As the prince took his seat with all the dignity of an overstuffed peacock, Gib could
feel
their eyes on his back, watching the Crowned Prince and his entourage. Gib had to wonder how the royal family tolerated such constant scrutiny.

As if to answer Gib’s thoughts, Deegan turned a grave look onto their audience. “The show is over. You may pick your chins off the floor now.” With red faces, the understudies promptly redirected their gazes.

Gib bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning even as Aodan swatted the back of the young prince’s head. “Enough sass!”

Down below, Neetra Adelwijn’s pompous voice rose above the din. “Well, it
is
about time, Highness. You could have sent word to let us know if you wanted us to meet at a later time.”

Any good humor in the balcony instantly died as Gib turned his attention to the council table. King Rishi’s features were set in a hard, emotionless veil, and his voice was but a sigh, tired and lacking any real fire. “Had I known you had more pressing matters to attend to, High Councilor, I would have gladly granted you permission to take leave. Even now the offer stands, if you wish to go.”

Neetra snorted a haughty laugh. “I will not abandon post so easily, Highness.” He made a vague gesture toward Koal’s seat, currently occupied by Marc. “How is our seneschal? Have you received word from him recently?”

King Rishi’s fist clenched tight on the table top, but before he could open his mouth to respond, Marc spoke up. “We have Seneschal Koal’s notes from the Northern Empire here. However, we’ll wait for everyone to be present.” He nodded toward an empty chair near the end of the table. “Has anyone seen Diedrick Lyle? It’s not like him to be late.”

Gib frowned. Marc was right. That was odd. Always one of the first to arrive for council, Lyle had been punctual for as long as Gib could remember.

“Lord Lyle is typically a very responsible member of our council,” Neetra huffed. “I trust he will have an excuse for his tardiness. Should we start without him?”

The councilors glanced around the table at one another, and the general opinion seemed to be receptive to the idea, but even as they chose to commence without him, the doors swung open and a harried looking Diedrick swept inside.

Red faced, he went to his seat immediately, uttering a vague and unsatisfactory excuse. “Apologies. I was held up.”

Neetra’s smug voice carried above the table. “Well, we’re all here. Shall we proceed, Highness?”

King Rishi’s face was white as he called the meeting to order. “Very well, High Councilor.”
 

A mark hadn’t yet passed when a man appeared at their door to take them to the amphitheater. Joel’s stomach knotted as their guide led him and the other envoys through the palace gates and into the city. Sunlight poured through the magic veil above, but the rays felt harsh against his skin and did nothing to lighten his dark mood. No one spoke as they walked.

The streets bustled with people. In stark contrast to the envoys, most of them chattered amongst themselves as they went about their business. Joel imagined he and his comrades must have appeared as though they were going to a burial service. He grimaced.
Partially true. How many warriors will I be forced to watch die today?
Joel tried not to think about it as he followed behind Cenric.

A great fortress crafted from limestone and marble loomed ahead. Stone columns climbed so high they blotted out the sun and cast dark shadows across the city below. Great statuaries were carved into the rock, each depicting mighty Imperial warriors, dressed head to toe in armor and bearing longswords and shields. Their square, angled faces were sculpted with such fine detail they could have been real. Unblinking stone eyes stared down at the citizens of Teivel in the streets below. Joel sucked in a sharp breath of air. He knew it was ridiculous, but he felt as though those lifeless, marble eyes were reading the depths of his soul.