The Last Enchanter (14 page)

“A courier brought this for you, Your Majesty. He's waiting for your reply.”

Kelvin rose from the settee and took the scroll. As he read it to himself, the expression on his face grew taut with worry.

“He's here? In the courtyard?” Kelvin asked the boy.

“Shall I tell the courier to invite him in?”

Kelvin considered this a moment, then replied, “No. I need to meet with Chancellor Prost first. Tell him to return for dinner instead. I think that would be more appropriate.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” said the page.

The page left the room. Kelvin remained where he stood, still holding the scroll in his hand.

“Is everything all right?” asked Marcus.

“Yes,” answered Kelvin a little too quickly. “Yes, why do you ask?”

“You seem upset.”

“Do I? I suppose I am. You know, Marcus, I had intended eventually to take over for our grandfather, Fredric, but this has come far too suddenly. I am trying to be a good king, though.”

“I'm sure you are.”

“I've had to make some difficult choices, and there are those, even some who are quite close to me, who don't
agree with what I've done, especially in regards to the Agorans.”

In the fireplace, an ember popped. Kelvin still held the open scroll in his hand. This he tore in half, and then half again, tossing the pieces into the flames.

“Unfortunately, I have to cut our time together a little short,” he told Marcus. “A matter of some urgency has come up, and I need to consult with my advisor. Can you find your way back?”

“Of course,” said Marcus, hoping his face did not betray his disappointment. He stood and walked to the door. He glanced back at Kelvin and was surprised at how small his older brother appeared. Gone was the carefree confidence Marcus had once admired. Instead, Kelvin seemed fearful and troubled.

“Will you and Grandfather join me for dinner tonight?” asked Kelvin.

Marcus nodded, though he wondered why they had not been invited before now. Kelvin looked away then, his gaze focused on the fire. Marcus opened the door and let himself out.

Thirty-nine

T
he hall outside the great room was empty except for two guards farther down near the throne room. Marcus headed toward the staircase, which led to the lower floors. He paused at the top stair to look at a familiar door at the end of the hall. When he had last seen the entrance to the dungeon prison, it had been in splinters after he forced it open with magic. Kaië was with him then, as were Bryn and an Agoran named Eliha whom they had freed from the prison below. They had burst through that door and fought off armed guards in order to escape. Bryn had chosen to stay behind, willing to sacrifice himself for their freedom. Marcus again felt relieved Bryn had survived that day.

The door, which had since been replaced with one made of iron, now stood unattended. As Marcus neared, he saw that it was locked with a heavy bolt. He remembered the dark, damp stairway that led to the cells below. Marcus tried the lock, but it was secure. Not that he wanted to go back to that dungeon. He laughed at himself for even considering the idea. Surely Kelvin would not keep anyone in such a place.

Marcus lay his palm against the metal door. Strange, he thought, how warm it felt beneath his skin. He curled his fingers and rapped lightly on it and then turned away.

A sound so faint he almost missed it reached him through the door. Had he really heard something? Marcus paused and listened. Nothing. His mind was playing tricks on him. That was all. He lifted his foot to take another step, but—there it was again!

Marcus pressed his ear against the door. He held his breath and waited. He heard the sound once more, a low rumbling followed by what could only be described as a moan.

Someone was down there!

Marcus grabbed the bolt and tugged at it with all his strength. The thought of anyone, even a criminal, locked up in that horrible place made his stomach churn. How could Kelvin have allowed it?

The lock, solidly fastened, might as well have been a stone in his hand. The sound came again. Yes, thought Marcus, someone was in there, moaning in misery. Marcus pounded on the door with his fist.

“Hello down there!” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”

A sudden, deafening bellow rolled up from below like a thunderstorm. Marcus jumped back from the door, his heart thumping wildly. Then, without warning, something deep down below exploded with a fury unmatched by anything Marcus could describe with words, as if the entire Fortress had been shaken to its core and threatened to collapse around him. Marcus dropped to the floor and covered his head with his arms, but the Fortress did not collapse. The hall was quiet again. Marcus lifted his head to see if anyone had come running, but no one had.

Marcus stood up. Only then did he realize he was shaking. His legs felt weak. He reached out his hand and timidly approached the door again. He touched his palm to the door as he had before but immediately jerked it back from the pain. The door was so hot it had burned him.

Forty

S
o far dinner had been a grave affair, with little more than the tinkling of crystal and silver to offset the uneasy silence. Marcus had tried to start a conversation, but neither Kelvin nor Prost had paid him any attention. Zyll had left Xerxes in his room this evening (using Marcus's shoulder for support instead), so there wasn't even the walking stick's sarcasm for entertainment.

As the soup bowls were being cleared, a guard appeared at Kelvin's side and whispered something in his ear. Kelvin's already grim expression became even more serious.

“Would you prefer to have him wait in the throne room?” asked the guard.

Kelvin shook his head. “No. I've been expecting him. See him in.”

The guard bowed stiffly and exited the room.

Prost leaned back in his chair, lacing his bony fingers together. His lips were pursed in a sour expression. Marcus couldn't help but wonder if his mouth was naturally formed that way.

“Not to worry, Sire,” Prost said. “Remember, our motives are just.”

“I'm not worried,” replied Kelvin sharply.

A moment later the guard appeared again. “Jayson of the Agoran,” he announced.

Marcus stood up the moment he saw him, nearly knocking his goblet to the floor. He flew to his father's arms. Jayson greeted him with a firm hug.

“What a surprise! I hadn't expected to see both sons today,” Jayson said, his gray cat eyes sparkling with pleasure.

“Zyll and I got here a few days ago,” explained Marcus, nodding toward his grandfather, who was savoring a bite of the braised boar the servants had just brought in. Zyll lifted his fork and waved a little hello.

“Hello, Father,” said Jayson, and to Kelvin, “Your Majesty.”

Prost carved off a small slice of meat with his knife. “Well, what a family reunion. Jayson, you did come to see your son, didn't you?” he said, slipping the bite of meat between his lips. “Or have you come on more pressing business?”

Jayson glared at Prost, not hiding the hatred in his eyes. He then looked at Kelvin, who had not yet spoken. Kelvin met his father's eyes only briefly, then dropped his gaze.

“No greeting for your father, Kelvin?” said Jayson, extending his hand. “Well then, how about a simple hello to a former travel mate, eh?”

“I know why you've come,” said Kelvin, keeping his hands on the table.

“Do you?”

“You didn't come to visit your long lost son, so please don't insult me.”

Jayson reached over the table and picked up a polished apple. He studied it a moment before biting into it, then chewed and swallowed. “All right,” he said, “I'm here because of the rumor that my eldest son has abandoned his people.”

“The Agorans are not my people.”

Jayson's face remained calm. “Their blood—
my
blood—runs through your veins as much as your mother's human blood does,” he said.

The servers came to whisk away the plates of the half-eaten main course and replace them with dessert. As one server removed Zyll's plate, Zyll struck out his fork and managed to skewer the remaining morsel of meat, which he then popped into his mouth.

The tension in the room was thick, and Marcus tried to think of some way to ease it a little. He tasted the pudding.

“This is really delicious, Kelvin. Is there nutmeg in it?”

Kelvin stared at Marcus with a blank expression. He blinked a few times before responding, taking the signal to change the subject.

“Yes, and cinnamon. I've been told the recipe has
been in the family for generations. I'm glad you like it.”

“I do,” replied Marcus. “You really should try it, Father.”

“Yes,” added Kelvin hesitantly, “please join us. Server, bring another dessert.”

“By all means, Jayson, do have some pudding,” added Prost coolly.

Marcus took another mouthful.

“I did not come for pudding,” said Jayson, his voice becoming angrier. “I came to Dokur for one reason and one reason only: to make sure you honor Fredric's promise to the Agorans.”

“What is he talking about, Kelvin?” asked Marcus, his spoon poised for another bite of pudding. “Have you broken your promise to the Agorans?”

Kelvin stood abruptly, his jaw and teeth clenched. “
I
made no promise!” he said.

“What about Fredric's oath to give them back their lands?” said Jayson. “What of Dokur's debt to them for spilling their blood in defense of this city?”

Kelvin stood still as stone, his face reddening under the questioning glares of everyone at the table. But it was Prost who answered.

“My dear Jayson. No one is keeping from the Agorans what they deserve. Kelvin is only doing what is best for Dokur and for the entire Isle of Imaness. We are preparing for war. As you well know, our navy was destroyed in the mainland's invasion earlier this year, and it has taken a great deal of time and money to rebuild it. We are in no position to just hand over half the kingdom.”

“You stole that land from them.”

“Not I, Jayson. You know full well that Fredric moved your people off their lands and enslaved them in response to
your
betrayal. So I suppose in some way you could say
you
are to blame for all this. Now, won't you sit down and have some pudding?”

Jayson hesitated, then stomped to the opposite end of the table and dropped down into a chair. A server promptly set down a bowl of yellow pudding in front of him, but he did not eat it. Instead, he glared down the long table at his Kelvin.

“I thought you'd make a wise ruler,” said Jayson after an uncomfortable silence. “I believed you'd do great things. I never imagined that you would deprive anyone of what is rightfully theirs.”

“I might change my mind,” said Kelvin, “if the Agorans were an honorable people. So far it seems they are nothing more than a bunch of beggars and criminals and don't deserve to have any land other than the swamps my grandfather gave them when you were a child.”

Jayson fumed. “How dare you say such things about my people!”

Kelvin threw his napkin onto the table. “Over the past few weeks, your “people” have done everything in their power to sabotage our preparations for war against the Hestorians. They somehow sneak into court and destroy my property. They write threats across the walls with the blood of my own guards. And shortly before you all arrived in Dokur, they succeeded in setting one of my
royal navy ships on fire. It's gotten so that I go to bed at night fearing for my life!”

“How do you know the Agorans are to blame?” Jayson asked.

“Because a week ago one of my guards survived an attack. He saw the man's face, though he nearly died for the privilege.”

“No decent Agoran would do such a thing!” Jayson rose to his feet.

Kelvin stood as well, pounding both fists against the table. “And I do not believe that Agorans are decent! So until your people stop their attacks, I will not fulfill Fredric's decree!”

Through the entire conversation, Zyll continued to eat his pudding. His bowl now empty, he pushed his chair back from the table and gave a loud, satisfied belch. The argument came to an abrupt end. Everyone gazed at Zyll, astonished.

“Pardon me,” Zyll said with an embarrassed chuckle, but Marcus wasn't fooled. His grandfather had intentionally interrupted their dinner. If he wanted Jayson and Kelvin to stop fighting, thought Marcus with approval, his scheme couldn't have worked any better.

Forty-one

T
he mood in the dining hall immediately lightened, and Marcus noticed the slightest of smiles on everyone's lips. Zyll rose from the table and motioned for Marcus to give him his arm. “I've left Xerxes in my room. Would you be so kind as to help an old man to his bed?”

Marcus helped Zyll to the door. Zyll paused long enough to pat Jayson's shoulder. “Where are you staying, my boy?” he asked.