Page 14 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)
King Madlin
The four members of my royal advisory file in and find their places at the table, to left and right. There is no point in speaking while they shuffle about, pull out seats, and arrange papers into piles. I remain relaxed in my thronelike chair and merely tap the carved armrest with the butt of a silver knife. It’s a fancy knife, the blade serrated for half its length, with a smudge of red at the tip from the last girl I inserted it into. They’ll understand I am impatient to begin.
None of them is stupid.
Addicted to various substances and beliefs, yes, but not stupid.
Once the creaking and scraping of the heavy timber chairs is done, I nod and wait for their minor obeisance then assess them in order.
To my left sits my spymaster, the lean-faced crowshifter, Jenndar Fletch, and my ironskin edgemaster, Kroll Krasten. Both are clad in black, though Jenndar has brown cuffs and a fussy shirt collar that shows her slight cleavage. She is more pleasing to the eye than Kroll. Her straight, black hair is trimmed short, her nose elegant if curved, in reflection of her shifting animal. She’s leaner than I prefer in her sex. Not that I’d ever bed her.
Kroll is mean, sharp, and white blond, though pretty for a man. I’ve never met a more vicious fae. He’s a finely honed weapon that flies where I direct him.
On the right sits Sister Paloma of the Church of Artreos. Her face is covered in raised pink scars and purple tattoos—script with verses from their Book of Vitality—or so I am told. I can’t read any of the mess. Her purple-lensed spectacles and purple hooded gown conceal most of her.
And past her on the right is Venk Brust, elected representative of the fire mages and pain in the royal rear. I must replace him, soon.
They each give a short, half-incline of the head and a murmured “Your majesty.”
“Thank you for attending. I’ve brought you here to address the current situation regarding the rebels of the so-called Church of the Usurper, and the search for the necromancer girl, Wyntre Gothschild.” I let the knife drop to the table then pick up the correspondence Jenndar sent, several hours ago.
“I see the girl and this dragonshifter evaded a gaggle of townsfolk and killed a few, then he shifted and flew away?” I flick at the page. “Have we more than what is here, Jenndar?”
She leans forward. “My lord, I’ve received word that two booksellers may have secretly transported the girl. We are looking for them. From the direction of that road, W and R are going north so our search teams are concentrating on that area. And the blood hawks are doing the same.”
“Good. Or better than nothing. I think I need someone on the ground to direct our forces. Kroll, you’re to link up with Jenndar’s men and women. Coordinate efforts. Use any method you care to, to enhance extraction of information.” This is our code meaning torture is perfectly fine.
He inclines his head. “Yes, Lord.”
“Go now.” I wait for Kroll to stand and leave the room before I continue. “Anyone else have more on the girl?”
No one speaks, though the frostiness from the sister leaks through those lenses. The Church of Artreos may disagree with this pursuit of a necromancer, but they will find it matters not. One day, I will purge them. If the kingdom didn’t need etharum and a contented populace, they would already be under my heel.
“Next.” I pretend to check the papers. “The rebels. Jenndar, this church is a sham?”
“Yes, sire, as we suspected. They use it as a facade to gather arms and communicate with those of a like mind.”
“Their purpose is to do what?” I prompt her.
“To overthrow the throne or at least to ‘free’ Orencia and return it to being a separate country.”
“Something that we will never allow. That land was Zardrake long before the Strykes took it. I’m not sure why I’m explaining this to any of us. So!” I clap my hands. “Surveil that church, and once we know everything there is to know, we will close them down, permanently.”
“Yes. We are inserting an agent to gather the names of members.”
“Good.”
“Would you like me to contribute some of my men from the district of Fulow?” Venk Brust drawls from the depths of his chair. His ankle is up on his knee, his eyes lidded in dark pits, which tells me he’s been partaking of the lily far too often.
I wait a while before answering, hoping to get him to stir and sit forward, but no, he remains half-prone.
“You may,” I finally answer. “Sister, I need one of your novices to be a message focus for Kroll.”
“Ruelle cannot do this with her blood hawks?”
“No.” I smile rigidly. Showing displeasure to the church is a demonstration of power, and I could sup from that well daily. “They are being used for spotting from above, and you know they do not convey enough nuances for messages.”
She dares to let me suffer her silence for the tick of ten seconds, or more. “Of course, my lord. I will send you a novice. Do not touch her otherwise.”
That is an insult. Another word and I will risk the consequences of punishing her.
I say nothing. This game of silence is almost invigorating. The meeting drones on for another half an hour before I dismiss them. I crook my finger at the sister. Time to show her that she is not the dominant force in my kingdom. “Come. I go to pay my respects to my daughter. You will follow.”
Or I will lose my patience and behead you.
We wind our way down through the palace to the rear gardens. The white pathway stretches along a colonnade to where the tomb waits, white and square with sculpted blossoms dancing across the peaked roof. The stroll is peaceful, since neither of us speaks. A breeze makes flowerheads bobble in the lawn’s many garden beds.
The guards to either side of the tomb’s double, iron doors clap hands to sword hilts and bow as we pass. The doors emit only a whisper as they are opened and latched back to admit light. The major-domo needs complimenting on the maintenance.
We descend the steps together, the sister’s robes brushing the step behind her. I admire her poise if not her religion. Our world of Artreos simply is ; she does not need worshipping. The etharum exists whether or not the church encourages her worship. And I cannot say this no matter how it irks me.
“Behold, my sleeping child.” I gesture grandly to where Jennae rests.
“Sleeping, my lord?”
“Sleeping, for one day she will wake.” I smile at Sister Paloma. Her goggles reflect a slash of daylight. “You see how the stone effigy covering Jennae’s body is inclined? This is so she can see out the door on the day we lift the effigy, and she wakes.”
The skin around the sister’s mouth tightens.
“No reply? Do I detect some denial, some unhappiness?”
“My lord, we both know this cannot ever happen. Grieving is healthy but not this expectation.” She nods toward Jennae.
“Why do you think I need this necromancer? Surely you figured this out?”
Necromancy may be illegal, but I made that law. I am the king, and I break the laws I wish to break.
Horror spreads across her face as I smile and smooth my hand up the leg of the effigy of Jennae. The cold sinks into my fingers, ices the air. She is clothed in her battlewear, from the day she died. Armor, leather leggings, undershirt, chainmail tunic. “My daughter is a warrior.” I murmur, “and we have preserved her, fully, frozen by ice magik, so that her flesh and mind shall not decay. The day she rises, she will be whole.”
The sister’s mouth remains open.
I’ve shocked her. Good.
“You will stay here and pray for an hour, before you go. Do not touch the effigy unless you want to lose your hand to the cold.”
I leave her, climb the twenty stone steps, and when I exit, I order the guards to make sure she does not try to shirk the duty I gave her.
Her prayers will do nothing, but her anger and disapproval feed me.