Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (25 page)
He made to leave, but Cassandra stopped him.
“Akeela . . .”
“Yes?”
She hesitated, then said, “I’m glad you’re home.”
To Akeela, the words were like music. “We’ve been apart too long, I know,” he replied. “But now I’m back, and I won’t be going away again.”
A peculiar expression flashed in Cassandra’s eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Well, off with you. And don’t be afraid of Glass.”
“Afraid?” said Akeela. “Cassandra, I’m not afraid of him.”
“All right,” said Cassandra. “Good luck, then.”
When Akeela had gone Cassandra waited in their chambers for a very long time. The servants cleared away the remnants of their meal as she watched them, politely questioning her about her uneaten food, a very fine pheasant one of the keep’s huntsmen had snared. Cassandra did not answer the question, instead smiling and asking the woman to find Jancis.
“Have her come to my reading room,” said Cassandra, then drifted out of the chamber.
In the reading room was a large window cut into the turret, ornately fabricated with panes of stained glass that painted patterns on the opposite wall when the sun was strong. Tonight, however, moonlight put on the show. Cassandra sank down into a plush velvet chair and watched the pale beams as she waited for Jancis. Seeing Akeela again had increased her guilt a thousandfold, and she could barely lift her head or even think of herself without the deepest self-loathing. Such a good man, with so much on his shoulders. Yet she had betrayed him easily, and continued to do so almost every night, stealing ecstatic moments with Lukien without the slightest regard for her husband. What kind of monster had Akeela married? She had no answer to that question, and she cursed herself. She had always thought of herself as clever.
But it’s dreadful to be clever,
she thought. It was like a revelation suddenly, as clear as any of the moonbeams. To be clever was to be a bitch, or a betrayer like Lukien. Akeela wasn’t clever. He was moral, and moral men were never clever. It was why they were better than everyone else, and why Akeela was a better man then Lukien. Even Lukien knew it, and the truth of it tormented him.
she thought. It was like a revelation suddenly, as clear as any of the moonbeams. To be clever was to be a bitch, or a betrayer like Lukien. Akeela wasn’t clever. He was moral, and moral men were never clever. It was why they were better than everyone else, and why Akeela was a better man then Lukien. Even Lukien knew it, and the truth of it tormented him.
Yet despite the torment they hadn’t stopped. Now Cassandra feared nothing could ever stop them, or save her soul from her own crimes.
It took long minutes for Jancis to arrive. When she did she found Cassandra staring pensively into the stained glass, out toward the muted city beyond. A tear was rolling down Cassandra’s face, but she didn’t bother wiping it away. She wanted Jancis to see how truly bad she felt.
“I’m not a monster, Jan,” she whispered without turning around. “I’m just . . . trapped.”
Jancis came closer and placed a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. To Cassandra’s great relief there were no chiding words this time, only mildness. Cassandra thought she would sob.
“You should have seen him,” she went on. “He has so much to deal with, maybe even war, yet he brightens like a firefly when he sees me.”
“He’s a good man,” said Jancis.
“Better than I deserve.”
Unable to face her friend, Cassandra waited for the counsel she knew would come. Jancis kept her hand on the young queen’s shoulder, until the gentleness of the touch grew firm.
“You have to stop, you and Lukien both,” she said. “Akeela’s home now. It’s time to give yourself to him, and no one else.”
Cassandra shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Cassandra, you must.” Jancis went around the chair to face her. “Enough, now. The two of you have enjoyed yourself, but it has to end, right now. Tonight.”
There was no way for Cassandra to explain it, so she didn’t try. How could one explain love? Everything Jancis said was true, but love like this didn’t yield to logic. It was beyond the sensible. It was like lunacy.
“I don’t want to end it, Jancis,” said Cassandra. “I’m not strong enough.”
And as she spoke, the tear trailing down her face fell at last into her lap.
There was a strange quiet to the castle as Akeela made his way through the halls. His council chamber was on the other end of the keep, near the main gate and easily accessible to travelers. Unlike his father, who always held council in his throne room, Akeela shunned the throne as just another trapping of authority. He preferred to deal with his chancellors as equals, even if they really weren’t. He was king by blood-right, had authority over all the ministers in Chancellery Square, but that didn’t mean he would abuse his station—not even against men like Glass.
Akeela was halfway to the council chamber when he saw Trager. The lieutenant was leaning against a wall, alone, his arms folded over his chest. The torchlight revealed an odd expression on his sharp face. Akeela slowed but Trager noticed him, coming quickly to attention.
“My lord,” he said with a slight bow. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you. Shouldn’t you be in the council chamber with the others?”
“Yes, my lord, but actually I wanted to speak to you first.” Trager looked around, his voice dipping to a whisper. “It’s important.”
“I have business with the chancellors, Will. I really can’t dally.”
“I know, my lord, but this will interest you,” Trager insisted. He continued blocking Akeela’s path. “I have news for you.”
“Can’t it wait? Really, you should be going through Lukien with news. This is improper.”
Trager’s eyes seemed to laugh. “Improper, hmm . . .” He thought for a moment. “No, I think I’d better tell you this directly, my lord.”
“Very well,” Akeela relented. “After the meeting, then. Now, do you mind?” He shooed Trager out of his way. “Is Lukien already there?”
“Yes,” replied Trager, following after him. “So is Baron Glass and Chancellor Hogon.”
“And Nils? I sent for him as well.”
“He’s there with D’marak,” said Trager.
Akeela nodded, bracing himself. Nils was a reasonable man, and he would need his goodwill against Glass and Hogon. Hogon was also a reasonable man, but he had a temper and was an old ally of Baron Glass. The two had soldiered together, and almost always took the same side in arguments. As Chancellor of War, it was Hogon’s responsibility to oversee the Liirian military, including the Royal Chargers. Akeela was suddenly glad he’d invited Lukien to the meeting. They would listen to Lukien, he knew. It was valuable just having the Bronze Knight by his side.
Trager followed Akeela like a dutiful dog, pulling ahead of him only when the reached the council chamber. The door to the chamber was already open. Akeela could smell Glass’ pipe. Muted voices issued over the threshold. Trager entered first, announcing the king.
“King Akeela,” he said simply.
The men all rose from around the oval table, all except for Baron Glass, who was already standing, pacing around the room. The baron stopped and turned to Akeela, neither a smile nor a scowl on his face. Determined not to be intimidated, Akeela hardened his expression. The chancellors and their underlings all bowed in greeting, welcoming him home. Akeela shook outstretched hands as he made his way to the opposite end of the chamber, where a chair awaited him, slightly larger than the rest. The air was already stale from overcrowding and the obnoxious smoke from Baron Glass’ pipe filling the room. Glass was the last to greet Akeela. He did not put out his hand as the others had, but merely nodded deferentially. Lukien, however, greeted his king with a warm embrace.
“Akeela,” he said, kissing both his cheeks. “It’s good to see you. Welcome home.”
Akeela smiled, loving the attention. “Lukien, I missed you.” He patted the man’s back then whispered, “Thank you for coming.”
As always, the Bronze Knight had a chair at Akeela’s right side. He dropped into it just as Akeela sat down. The chancellors and ministers did the same. And just as he was first to stand, Baron Glass was last to take his seat, doing so noisily only when all the others were seated. As expected, Glass sat next to Hogon. The War Chancellor’s expression was anxious, as if he’d already heard Akeela’s news. Nils and D’Marak sat at the far end of the table, both dressed in their usual drab robes, while Chancellor Sark sat apart from the others, surrounded by three silent ministers of the Treasury. Trager, along with Breck and Lukien, sat near Akeela. The closeness of the chamber made the young king queasy. Servants had set the table with pitchers and goblets. Akeela took a long drink before beginning.
“Thank you for the welcome,” he said finally. “I know it was short notice, and I appreciate you coming to see me. I have news of my trip, you see, and I thought you should all hear it at once.”
“Bad news, no doubt,” said Baron Glass. “Or you would have waited until tomorrow.”
Akeela stiffened. “I’m afraid you’re right. My news is dire. My goodwill tour wasn’t all that I’d hoped it would be. It caused some . . . trouble.”
Chancellor Hogon leaned forward. “What kind of trouble, my lord?” His watery eyes filled with concern.
“Norvor,” said Akeela. “King Mor took some offense at my peace initiative with Reec. He thinks the Kryss belongs to Norvor as well as Reec, and he wasn’t happy about us giving control of our side to the Reecians.”
“Wasn’t happy?” said Glass. “You mean he was angry, don’t you?”
Akeela nodded. “That’s right.”
“How angry?” asked Hogon.
“Angry enough to threaten war,” replied Akeela.
“I knew it!” erupted Glass. He slammed a fist down on the table. “King Akeela, didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I warn you not to go so quickly?”
“I’m not a little boy,” hissed Akeela. “Yes, you did warn me. And I’m not a damn bit sorry about the Reecian peace. Are you?”
Smouldering, Glass looked down at his wine goblet, refusing to answer.
“Now listen,” said Akeela, “I don’t want to argue. I called this meeting because you have to know of Mor’s threat. He told me that he won’t let our peace bargain with Reec stand, that he plans on taking the Kryss back from Reec, with or without our help.”
“Did he threaten Liiria?” Hogon asked.
Akeela hesitated. So far, he hadn’t told this part to anyone, not even Cassandra. “Yes,” he admitted. “He said that he’d be stationing troops on the Norvor side of the river, and that if we tried to cross or help the Reecians maintain the river, he would attack us.”
“That snake,” sneered Hogon. “How dare he speak to you like that. You’re the King of Liiria!”
“And he’s the King of Norvor,” Akeela countered. “To be honest, I don’t think my title impressed him. I expected to be greeted like a friend, not like a ruler. Instead I got a cold, stiff breeze.” The memory hardened Akeela. “Well, it won’t stand. We can’t let Norvor move against Reec, and we can’t have our treaty threatened, or our rights to use the Kryss.”
Baron Glass shook his head, muttering, “I told you.”
“We have to plan, Baron Glass,” Akeela insisted.
Glass looked up at him. “You are willful, King Akeela.”
The insult stunned Akeela. Lukien rose to Akeela’s defense.
“Baron Glass, forgive me, but you’re out of order,” he said. “Remember—you’re talking to your king.”
“No, Lukien,” said Akeela. “Let him speak his mind. Go on, Baron. Get the poison out of your blood.”
“Very well.” Glass sat up straight. “I warned you against the Reecian peace, King Akeela. I told you that you were going too quickly, and that you should at least tell King Mor of your plans. But you didn’t listen to me. Then I warned you against going on this goodwill tour, and again you refused my counsel.” He tried to smile, but it came out crooked. “You think of me as a bitter old man. You think I resent you for having the throne at so young an age . . .”
“I don’t,” Akeela protested.
“You do. But I don’t resent you, my lord. You’re my king, and I serve you the best I can. But you won’t listen to any of us. You always do what you want, and I think that serves you poorly.” Baron Glass looked around at the other councilors. “We are not bitter old men, my lord. We are experienced, and we should be heeded. Your father listened to us.”
Akeela sat back in his chair, feeling insufferably small. The invocation of his father shattered the defensive wall he’d erected, and he suddenly felt naked, exposed and weakened by these men who pledged to serve him. He did not appreciate the baron’s honesty.
“All right,” sighed Akeela. “You’ve had your say, Baron. Now, give me your counsel. We have to deal with King Mor. What do you suggest?”
“It’s obvious,” said Glass. “He’s planning to mass troops across the Kryss? Then we must do the same. We must match his force, show him we cannot be intimidated.”
Akeela’s expression soured. He glanced at Lukien, but the knight’s face was unreadable.
“Chancellor Hogon?” he asked. “Do you agree with Baron Glass?”
The old man frowned. “If what you say is true, my lord, then Mor is not to be trusted. Given cause, he will move against the river. Will you give him cause?”
“He wants the treaty with Reec rescinded,” said Akeela bleakly. “And that’s something I will never do.”
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