Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden (58 page)

Joel turned to close the door, struggling against the might of the gusting wind. “He’s still at the palace. Mother, I have to tell you something. Neetra has been made—”

“I know.” Mrifa set a hand on his forearm. “Word spread quickly about your uncle’s promotion. Tabitha overheard the news while she was at market and rushed home to tell us.” She pursed her lips. “What of Dahlia and Aodan? Your father was worried Neetra might try something foul.”

“They’re married,” Joel replied at once. “Gib and I were witnesses to it. They’d barely signed the documents before Liro came and tried to banish Aodan from the country!”

“Liro?” Mrifa’s eye widened. “Why Liro?”

Joel’s chest tightened. He was doing all he could to remain composed, but he could feel the deep, agonizing hopelessness seeping into his veins. He hung his head. “Liro’s been promoted. He’s on the High Council now.”

Mrifa’s hand shot to her mouth, stifling a gasp. “Oh no.”

“What’s going to happen to Arden?” Joel asked, his voice quivering. “With Neetra and Liro in power and the King dead, I just don’t know how Father is going to keep everything from falling apart.”

Mrifa reached up and set her hands against Joel’s cheeks, gripping his face the way she might comfort a small child. “You don’t worry about that right now. Go sit by the fire and warm yourselves, both of you. I’m going to brew you a pot of tea.”

              Mrifa ruffled Gib’s hair and spared him an affectionate smile as she hurried off in the direction of the kitchen. Joel blinked, watching the interaction. It was his fault Gib never visited the rest of the Adelwijn family anymore. He was the reason Mrifa and the girls hadn’t seen Gib in two moonturns.
I have to try to fix this. If not for my sake, then for the sake of my family. They love Gib as much as I do. He’s a part of our family, whether he knows it or not
.

Joel motioned with one hand for Gib to follow. “Come on. Let’s go sit by the fire and talk.”
 

Half a mark and one quick mage spell later, they sat in front of the hearth with dry clothes and warmed blood. Otos had entered briefly to stoke the fire. Now the flames roared high, nearly drowning out the sound of rain thwacking the terracotta roof above.

Joel had been holding his hands out, close to the fireplace, to warm his fingertips. He withdrew them and set them in his lap. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his former companion doing the same. Drowsy heat beckoned Joel to relax, but his melancholy thoughts couldn’t be quelled.

Everything had happened so fast. Four mornings ago, he’d been sitting in Marc’s office, making plans to start his life over, and now King Rishi was dead and Joel’s wicked uncle was in control of the High Council and probably all of Arden. And then, to be rushed into the royal suite and asked to bear witness to Dahlia and Aodan’s marriage—Joel blinked. It all seemed so incredulous. Was anything in his life real anymore, or had he been existing in one unending nightmare since returning from Shantar?

“It’s strange to be back here.” Gib’s
very
real voice cut through the room, as sharp as a needle.

The young man stared straight ahead, firelight flickering in his chestnut eyes. Perfectly placed stoicism masked any emotions he might be feeling, frustrating Joel to no end. There had been a time when they’d both known one another’s thoughts even before words could be spoken. Now Joel couldn’t even fathom a guess as to what Gib might be contemplating.
How did we drift so far apart?

“It’s strange to have you back here,” Joel replied quietly. “It seems like so much time has passed since we last sat in this room together, but it really hasn’t been all that long if you think about it.”

Gib sighed, pulling his hands tight against his chest and holding them there, clenched together. “I’d almost forgotten how welcoming it feels when I walk through the front door.”

Joel turned to stare at the other man. “You’re
always
welcome here, Gib. Regardless of anything concerning you and me. Mother and Father think of you as a son. They love you. You know that, right?”

Gib nodded, still refusing to meet Joel’s imploring gaze. “I know. I love them, too. It’s just—it’s hard—” His voice shook. “I hate this. I hate this wall between us.”

“I know.” Joel wrapped his arms around his frail shoulders, the warmth of the fire not enough to ward off the chill creeping down his spine. “I never wanted this to happen. I never intended for us to be strangers. I—” Tears stung his eyes as he took a gasping breath. “I miss you horribly, Gib. You—you’re my best friend. You know me better than anyone else in the world.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Gib toyed with a loose curl absently. “And I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than not at all.”

“I feel the same,” Joel said, staring into the swelling flames. “Now, more than ever, we need to stick together. All of us do. Dark times lie ahead, but in numbers we can find strength. The friendships we’ve forged have never been more important than they are right now.”

Gib shifted in his seat and turned to look at Joel. “What do you suppose will happen? With Neetra being in control?”

For a long time Joel remained quiet. He didn’t know. How could he? He wished to The Two that he’d been born with the ability to glimpse the future, but foresight had never been one of his gifts. There was no real way of knowing what lay ahead. His gut feeling was one of dark foreboding, too terrible to think of, let alone speak aloud. Nothing good could ever come of Neetra being elected steward.

He sighed. “Who knows what fate has in store for us? All we can really do is hope for the best and prepare for the worst.” Joel offered a rigid smile but knew the gesture fell flat. In the moment, he couldn’t have pretended to be confident even if his life depended on it. How could he, with so much at stake?

A severe frown crossed Gib’s mouth. “King Rishi is dead and your uncle has Arden under his thumb, right where he’s always wanted it. It’s hard to imagine things getting any worse than they already are.”

Joel opened his mouth to respond but was cut short by the squeal of hinges as the front door flew open. A burst of wind surged through the hall, tempting the flames inside the hearth to dance higher yet. Footsteps rushed from deeper within the house, and a moment later, Joel could hear his mother’s alarmed voice rise in the foyer. “Koal, what is it? What’s happened?”

The heavy door slammed shut. Joel felt his body go taut even as Gib sat up straighter on the lounge. Their eyes met briefly, and seeing the terror painted across Gib’s face, Joel’s blood ran cold. Putting a hand to his mouth, Joel stared into the shadowed corridor, listening and waiting, all the while knowing something was terribly,
terribly
wrong.

“What happened?
Koal?
” Mrifa’s soft tone had gone shrill.

The seneschal’s troubled voice drifted down the corridor like a breath of winter air. “Neetra just declared war. Arden will march on Shiraz.”
 

The music and merriment of the Rose Bouquet was lost on Gib. He sat at a table far to the back of the tavern, a drink in hand, and watched as people danced around the open space beneath the stage. On the raised platform, a quartet of musicians played crisp, jolly music. The melancholy whine of the fiddle and rhythmic beating of hand drums mingled in Gib’s ears like they’d been created to be together. The sound should have brought peace to his weary soul, but he could find none tonight.

News of the impending war had spread through the city like wildfire. Some people reacted with fear and hysteria. Others were making sure to live each moment to its fullest. Life at the tavern seemed to carry on as normal, though perhaps it was only that way because the ale clouded people’s judgments and made it easier to forget war was upon them.

On the dance floor, Nia Leal held Nage as if he were the only person in the world as he swept her around in his arms. Gib traced the top of his mug and tried not to envy his friend. He was happy for Nage and truly hoped the soldier had found happiness. Hopefully Nage and Nia would never have to second guess their love. With any luck, distance and war wouldn’t break them, leaving them shattered and devastated, as it had done to him and Joel.

Tarquin cleared his throat from across the table. He’d been quiet all evening. “Where did Zandi get off to?” He wasn’t really curious, Gib could tell by the tone, but it wasn’t in Tarquin’s nature to endure grim silence.

“Over at the bar, with his librarian friend.” Gib nodded vaguely but felt no more detail was needed. After all, neither of them really wanted to be having this conversation. He could tell by the uncomfortable shift of Tarquin’s weight and the slant of his mouth that he was thinking heavily on something. This war may well be his end before they ever marched.

At long last, Tarquin leaned across the table. “It never seemed real before, you know? When I signed up to be a sentinel trainee, I never thought I’d actually be faced with war. Father says we all let our guard down. We grew too accustomed to King Rishi’s peaceful rule.”

Gib grimaced, wishing he felt more inclined to indulge his friend’s worries. “I suppose so. I wonder how all the councilors feel about voting in Neetra now that he’s declared
war
.”

Tarquin pulled back, his face pinching with offense. “I have no proof one way or the other, but I seriously doubt my father’s vote was for Neetra.”

Gib rubbed his face. He hadn’t meant for his words to sound so snide. “Damn it. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I’m just—my head’s full right now. You understand, don’t you?”

The blotchy crimson on Tarquin’s face began to drain. He slumped back in his seat and sighed. “Yeah. I guess. We’re all on edge, aren’t we? It won’t be long before we march for Shiraz.” Tarquin drummed his fingers on the tabletop and gazed around the tavern. He opened his mouth to say more, but at that moment, his attention was captured. The young lord went red all over again as his troubled eyes locked onto something past Gib’s head. Muttering about refilling his mug, Tarquin quickly scooted out of the chair and trudged away.

Gib turned to call after him but stopped short when Kezra dumped herself into the seat Tarquin had just vacated. Her eyes were red, her cheeks wet, and her tankard empty.

Gib blinked, raising his eyebrows in shock. “Kezra? Are you all right?”

She shook her head at first, unable to speak. When she finally opened her mouth, her bottom lip quivered and she had to wipe at her puffy eyes. “You ever worry you chose wrong? What if—what if you said or did something and now it’s too late to go back?” Her raw voice tugged at Gib’s heart.

Gib took a deep breath. His mind drifted back to the sight of Nawaz crumpled over in the palace hall, mourning the same loss Kezra was now. When Gib tried to think of something to say to her, anything that might be of use, he kept coming back to himself and Joel. Was this all there was in life? Did he really have to sit here and tell her no, she wouldn’t ever actually get over Nawaz, but she might get to the point where they could pretend to be friends again? Was it even worth it to pretend?

“We all make mistakes,” Gib heard himself whisper. “And not everything in life goes according to plan. I guess we just have to figure out how to live with it.”

The words weren’t as heartfelt and supportive as he’d have liked them to be. Some part of him really did want to hug her and tell her everything would look better tomorrow. But he wouldn’t do it. Not to Kezra. Even a gentle lie was no good for a friend such as her.