Page 33 of Daughter Of The Ninth Line: The Complete Book One (Lines Of Ebrus #1)
chapter thirty-three
Hayle
It was good to be back with my father. My Line. My clan. Someone with more dominance than me, so I could just relax for once and hand off the mantle of responsibility to him, even if it was only for the duration of this tedious Conclave.
It was custom for the Barons of the Lines to bring their spare Heirs to these things. Firstly, to preserve the Lines, should anything underhanded happen, and secondly, in case something happened to the first Heir and we were stuck in the position of taking over the Barony of our Line.
The only silver lining to this was that if I had to be here, so did Vox Vylan, so he wasn’t back at Boellium, making moon eyes at Avalon Halhed.
“How is Boellium?” Father asked, leading me through the ostentatious walkways of the Hall of Ebrus in Fortaare. It had been completed by Vox’s forefathers and was as cold and barren as its creators.
I shrugged. “It’s the same as ever, I guess. Political ass-kissing and Vylan being an asshole.”
A small smile quirked his lips. “That does sound about right.”
Up ahead, I could see a small gathering of the other Barons and Heirs. “Who called the meeting today?” I asked quietly.
Father’s jaw flexed. “A joint request by the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines.”
Interesting. Joint requests were unusual, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what the purpose of the meeting was.
The record high number of Lower Line conscripts, especially from the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines, due to the drought, spoke volumes of what was happening over there in the Western parts of Ebrus.
Standing in front of the doorway was someone who was far more interesting to me than he’d been at the previous sixteen of these tedious Conclaves I’d had to attend.
The Baron of the Ninth Line looked nothing like his daughter.
He held none of her light; instead, he seemed almost drab in comparison.
It could be because Avalon shone brightly, or it could be because Baron Halhed was famously a drunkard and had the gray pallor to match.
His hair was unkempt, and although he held himself tall—perhaps a throwback to the man he’d once been—his clothes hung off him in an ill-fitting way, the smell of stale liquor making my nose scrunch.
Beneath even that scent was the taint of illness. Probably something from drinking himself into a grave, but if he did die soon, I could only imagine his Barony would benefit from his Heir stepping into his shoes.
Hell, the Conclave as a whole would benefit from some younger blood in its ranks. So far, only Baron Zier Tarrin of the Eighth Line was younger than fifty.
My father greeted the other Barons, and I watched Roman Halhed out of the corner of my eye. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the things he said were all more interesting to me this time.
It irked me that Vox Vylan seemed to be watching him intently too.
Finally, Feodore Vylan, the Baron of the First Line and our official ruler, appeared. “Barons, thank you for gathering. Shall we begin? There is a feast to be had after this.”
The subtle jibe at the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines landed squarely, and I watched the way their jaws tensed.
My father hated Feodore Vylan, and I understood why.
Vox was a high-handed, pompous asshole, but there was something truly predatory about the Baron of the First Line.
A power that was insidious and unchecked, because there was no one in Ebrus who could stand against him outside of his own children, and they weren’t about to give up their power anytime soon.
Once everyone was seated at the long table—with Vylan at the head, of course—Baron Abaster of the Eleventh Line stood.
“The Eleventh and Twelfth Lines request aid from the Capital. Our people are starving, due to consecutive years of drought conditions. We have reached a crisis point, and if nothing is done within the next six months, our people will begin to perish. Our numbers will dwindle, and those who remain will become environmental refugees.”
Feodore Vylan waved a hand. “I understand you’re facing hardships, Baron Abaster, but we govern our own Baronies…
” I watched the faces of the rest of the Barons firm up at his words, and I knew that was it for the Eleventh and Twelfth Lines.
Vylan had just declared it not their problem, absolving them of any need to concern themselves with the Lower Lines.
The Eleventh and Twelfth Lines would not get their aid.
As we stood at the end of the meeting, I watched Ingrid Ulsen—the only Baroness in the Conclave and leader of the Twelfth Line—storm out of the room, closely followed by Baron Abaster.
I raged inside at the weakness of the Barons.
My father had argued for official aid, but he’d been voted against pretty quickly.
Feodore Vylan leaned back in his chair at the head of the table. “Women. This is why they shouldn’t lead Baronies. Too emotional.”
Too emotional? Her people were dying. He wouldn’t understand, though; I doubted the Vylans cared if their own people lived or died, as long as they remained at the top of the power structure.
My father rose, not even hiding his sneer, and I stood with him.
Vox looked… uncomfortable. There was something in the way his eyes were shuttered, the way he was holding himself stiff, the way the blood rushed through his veins as his heart thumped hard in his chest that told me that perhaps he didn’t agree with his father.
My father turned. “If you’ll excuse us, we must freshen up before the banquet.” His tone was disdainful, and we left. I heard the footsteps of Zier Tarrin behind us, and the door slammed closed with a little more force than necessary.
“Baron Taeme,” Baron Tarrin called softly, and my father slowed his steps. “Can we speak?” Nodding once, my father waited until he caught up. “Thank you for your cooperation. It’s unfortunate that more of the Upper Lines didn’t follow suit.”
“Let’s walk. This building has ears and eyes, and it is harder to catch a moving target.
” We walked in silence for a little longer, until my father was happy there were no other ears listening.
“Unfortunately, not many of the others have the balls to go against the First Line. Preservation of their own power is the first in their minds.”
Tarrin shook his head. “The Eleventh and Twelfth Lines will not survive another year, unless something is done. I’m doing what I can, but my Line is also feeling the strain of consecutive droughts.
At this rate, the only survivors of the Lowest Lines will be the ones that they’ve shipped off to Boellium War College. ”
Father nodded. “I understand. I will try to talk to Lunderov and see if he’s open to at least assisting us with passage through his island, rather than sending it all the way down through Boemouthe.
If we can figure out a quicker passage so the food doesn’t spoil on the way, the Third Line will send aid to the West.”
Tarrin’s face flashed briefly with relief. “Thank you, Taeme. It’s hard to watch them wither and die on our doorstep, but so many see them as expendable.”
Father clapped him on the shoulder. “Not the Third Line, son. We’ll do what we can.”
Tarrin’s face got solemn. “I fear the very foundations of Ebrus rest on it. We are a tinderbox, ready to explode.”
I tilted my head at him. When his eyes met mine, I saw a very real fire there. I couldn’t help but wonder if he would be the one to strike the match.
Excusing myself from my father as he talked to another one of the Barons, I slipped out of the banquet room and moved down the darkened hallway toward the library.
You’d be excused for thinking I’d all of a sudden become a studious pupil, but in reality, there was something niggling at my brain, a mystery I needed to solve, and I knew it centered around Avalon and the Ninth Line.
The library here at the Hall of Ebrus was second to no other. It contained generations of knowledge. Pushing open the large, ornate doors, I stepped inside. It was quiet, but lights still burned in the sconces.
“Hello?”
A small woman, younger than I imagined the Librarian to be, appeared.
“Hello there, Heir Taeme. Can I help you?” She was kind of plain, with a deep line between her eyebrows that told me that she spent a lot of time reading small, indecipherable text.
She would have been in her thirties, maybe a little older, but not by much.
“Librarian, I’m after books on?—”
“The Ninth Line. I’m aware, Mr. Taeme. We librarians have quite the network all over Ebrus. Knowing the Conclave was being called, I gathered all the information we had on the shelves regarding the Line and their powers. That was what Librarian Enora suggested you were looking into?”
I hadn’t even realized that was the Librarian’s name at Boellium. I’d just kind of thought of all Librarians as, well, Librarian.
My mouth was hanging open, and I snapped it shut. “Uh, yeah. I am. Thank you, Librarian.”
She waved a hand, like it was nothing. “Come, I’ve placed them all in the reading room. If you’re going to look at all the material tonight, you might need to get started now. I expected you earlier.” Was there light censure in her tone?
“Apologies for keeping you from your bed.”
“I’m the night Librarian, Heir Taeme. I would have been here among the books, whether you arrived or not.” She stepped up to a door and unlocked it. “I don’t need to tell you that some of these books are very old and need to be handled with care. Also, none of them may leave this room.”
“Of course, Librarian.”
Her eyes were knowledgeable, like I was just a babe in the woods who needed to learn to find my own way home. “You’re welcome here. The library holds the answers to many questions, if you just know where to look.”
With that, she was gone, and I dived into the huge pile of books in front of me. It was going to be a long night.