Vol 5 Chapter 6

Needless to say, the very first thing that happened was being summoned before the King.

All I had time to do was send Asha to the capital's healers, change clothes, and order the wheels moved into the palace's guest room. There were only a couple of days left before departure to the Commonwealth, and I still needed to convince my grandfather. Doing that without samples would've been a lot harder. So the poor griffon had to carry not only an unconscious girl, but also four whole wheels.

After handing my sword to the guards at the door and adjusting the uncomfortably luxurious doublet, I stepped inside.

The Privy Council chamber hadn't changed a bit since my last visit. The same semi-darkness, walls lined with dark velvet, and the ever-present aroma of wine in the air.

"What took you so long?" my grandfather hissed at once, pulling me toward the chair beside him before I could get a proper look around.

And there was plenty to see. For starters, the seating arrangement was rather unusual.

The hall could be roughly divided into three parts. First — the King's side.

Grandfather sat to the King's right; the seat to his left was empty. So was the one beside grandfather, the one he was pulling me toward.

"Wait. It looks like the Second Prince won't be attending. Sit here," the King said with a nod to the seat on his left.

Bowing, I took the seat — now between the King and Marquise Klaus. She was the last member on our side of the room. Not a big group.

Still, the fact that grandfather and I had been placed beside, not opposite, the King was already a very good sign.

A little distance away, almost dividing the room in half, sat the High Inquisitor. Across from him, an elderly mage with a magnificent beard, to whom the Fourth Duke was whispering with a wide grin. The Second Duke sat alone, twirling a wine glass and idly watching the swirling reflections. His wife was absent again.

The other side had far more seats — five aristocrats I didn't recognize, led by the First Duke, and also the Third Prince, seated beside the Queen. Arms crossed, she sat directly opposite the King.

"Let us begin," the King said, rising from his chair. Everyone followed immediately.

"I convened this session to discuss the tragic death of Marquis Short, who perished in the prime of his life. In his memory, I declare a minute of silence."

Silence fell. Even the Fourth Duke quieted down.

A minute later, the King signaled for everyone to sit, and the session began.

The First Duke spoke first. Naturally.

"We must begin by examining the circumstances of his death. Specifically, that he died while repelling a treacherous assault by the Condors on his lands!"

My grandfather grimaced, ready to defend himself, but he didn't need to.

"The Crown is not concerned with minor territorial disputes," the King cut him off. "We are gathered solely to discuss the tragic passing of a prominent noble. Nothing more."

"Of course! You don't care at all why my nephew died!" the Queen screeched.

"I do care," the King leaned back slightly, then delivered a verbal blow. "That's why today we will determine the amount of the weregild and the payment arrangements."

"The Crown now sells indulgences for the murder of high nobility. This is what our kingdom has come to..." the Third Prince commented sarcastically, and approving murmurs rippled through the hall.

The King frowned but said nothing. It seemed like time to speak up. I waited for an approving nod and rose to my feet.

"First, let me state that I had nothing to do with his death. The Marquis was already dead by the time my forces reached his headquarters."

The velvet-covered walls of the hall seemed to shudder from the outcry. The noise was so loud I couldn't even make out individual words.

"My son saw Short die with his own eyes!" the First Duke's guttural voice cut through the uproar.

"Silence!" the King commanded, and his crown pulsed with blue light, dispersing the chamber's gloom. "Is he in the capital? In that case, he must testify personally to what he saw."

"Unfortunately, no. He is currently suppressing deserters and rebels who rose up in the Short provinces after their liege was killed."

I cleared my throat.

"I also have a witness. Countess Erin von Klaus was the first to discover the Marquis's body..."

But the Marquise cut me off suddenly.

"On behalf of House Klaus, I state that we are not yet ready to make any declarations. And frankly, I don't believe this matter concerns us in any way."

Well, thanks a lot, I thought bitterly. Very ally-like.

The King seemed to share my sentiment. At the very least, the look he gave the Marquise was rather stern.

"Very well. Since there are no witnesses, let us agree that this was a tragic battlefield accident. Sadly, such incidents can happen to anyone," the King declared, prompting another wave of murmuring.

"All the evidence points to the Condors, and you want to write it off as a mere accident?" the First Duke protested.

"My father is so eager to defend this bastard that he doesn't realize he's ruining his own reputation," the Third Prince scoffed, plunging the hall into dead silence.

"I demand you explain yourself immediately," the King said slowly. His crown glinted ominously with shades of violet.

Dastan Dorn smirked and picked up a wine glass from the table.

"It's common knowledge that Randall Condor was born out of wedlock, with more than one or two candidates for his father. That Karl Condor accepted him into the family, and the Crown endorsed that decision, doesn't change the fact that he's a bastard. That's all I meant. What did the rest of you think?" he finished slyly, sipping his wine.

"I heard that Alex Hornet..." the Queen began, but the King interrupted her sharply.

"Enough! That's not what we're here to discuss today! We are here to decide the weregild that House Condor shall pay for the death of Marquis Short."

"Pay for something we had nothing to do with?" I objected.

All eyes turned to me.

"The Condors are going to pay the weregild?" the First Duke asked coldly.

"No!"

"Yes!"

My grandfather and I snapped at the same time. He grabbed his head, clearly signaling for me to stop resisting and just accept the punishment. No way.

"I swear on my House that neither I nor my soldiers killed Marquis Short," I stated firmly.

The Third Prince muttered something about lies, and the King studied me intently.

"Are you certain of that?" he asked seriously.

"Absolutely."

"Good... That is very good. Where is the body?"

"In the ice cellar at Condor Castle," I replied. Seemed I had made the right choice not burying him. At first, I thought one of his relatives would claim the body, but it looked like everyone was more interested in some missing church relic than a marquis lying unburied next to a beef haunch.

The King thought for a long moment before pronouncing his verdict.

"I order the body brought to the capital. I will dispatch a ship to the lands of the djinn to summon a master capable of examining the corpse."

The hall erupted in outrage. It might have been the loudest it had ever gotten in the Privy Council. Even the Fourth Duke was laughing loudly, rubbing his hands. My grandfather rolled his eyes.

As for me? I had no idea what was going on... except that apparently the King trusted me more than my own grandfather did. What a world.

"You're going to defile my nephew's body?" the Queen shrieked.

Taking advantage of the chaos, I turned to the Marquise and whispered, "Who are the djinn?"

She shot me a disapproving glance but answered nonetheless.

"Desert-dwellers on the border of the Theocracy and the Commonwealth. Their skin is black as coal, and so are their souls. They openly practice the forbidden art of necromancy."

Meanwhile, after a quick consultation, the High Inquisitor and his counterpart from the Commonwealth stood.

"On behalf of the Theocracy and the Commonwealth, we jointly express our disapproval of this decision and remind you that under the treaty between our nations, the necromancer will be executed once his work is done."

"So be it," the King agreed to the terms.

The Third Prince set his empty glass down, poured himself more wine, and raised it in a toast.

"You are making a mistake, Father. Let us drink to that."

The gathered nobles nodded in agreement, even the Second Duke, who had been indifferent throughout the session, gave a solemn nod.

"Since we're waiting for an investigation, the Viscount should be placed under house arrest," the Queen remarked.

"No. He will accompany the delegation to the Commonwealth, led by the Second Prince," the King snapped.

"I can rearrange my schedule and go in his place," offered the Third Prince. "It's inappropriate for a murderer to represent our nation. It would reflect poorly on us."

"Exactly! That's how it should be done!" the First Duke chimed in.

The King's face contorted in fury. His crown flared, brightly lighting the room, and it felt like a bag of cement slammed down on my shoulders, pinning me in place.

"You would all do well to remember that I am still the King. And this is my decision! The composition of the delegation is already finalized. That is final."

The chamber doors opened, and a figure in a luxurious robe entered.

"Agh, the Abyss, why is it so bright?" the Second Prince groaned, shielding his eyes.

"You're late," the King said reproachfully. The crown dimmed, and the crushing pressure vanished.

"Yes, yes, my apologies! Very sorry and all that," the prince said offhandedly, then walked over to me. "Hey you! You took my seat!"

"Sit next to Lord Condor," the King ordered. The Prince shot me a glare and slumped into the vacant chair.

"I have a question. What happens if the necromancer confirms Condor's guilt?" the First Duke asked, fingers interlocked.

"Then I will personally execute him for lying," the King growled.

"And what about the treacherous assault by the Condors?"

"I command that all hostilities be halted as of this day, and that negotiations begin without delay. Any who disobey shall face my wrath. Are there any further questions?"

A male aristocrat with long hair, almost feminine in appearance, stood.

"Your Majesty, the church relic that was lost..."

"That is not the Crown's concern. Discuss the ransom for battlefield spoils directly with House Condor."

The High Inquisitor rose as well.

"On behalf of the Theocracy, I support Count Gaston's request and ask that—"

"Discuss it directly with House Condor," the King repeated irritably. "Any other questions?"

The Fourth Duke raised a hand.

"Will there be cheese at dinner?" he asked with the utmost seriousness.

"Then we are done. This session is adjourned."

The nobles rose with dignity. A hand landed on my shoulder from behind — the clearly displeased Second Prince.

"You took my seat," he reminded me, eyes glinting with anticipation.

Maybe he expected an apology, but he wasn't getting one. Since we'd be traveling to the Commonwealth together, I might as well draw the line now instead of later, in front of enemies.

"That's right. I did. So what?"

He gave me a light shove, but I didn't even budge.

"Choose the terms of our duel. My honor demands satisfaction."

I rolled my eyes. Damn Capital. If there was one aspect of the Capital I truly didn't miss, it was this. Hornet was right...

"Can I choose any weapon for the duel?" I asked.

"Anything. Makes no difference to me how I win," he said pompously, puffing with pride.

Hmm. Maybe I could turn this to my advantage. For self-serving purposes, of course.

"Alright, I agree. We duel tonight. Our duel will be... on carriages."

"On... carriages?" the Prince asked, puzzled.

"Exactly. Let the servants map a route through the nighttime city. Whoever reaches the finish first, wins."

"Ha... Bite me, manticore, that sounds fun! I can't wait!" He gave me a friendly clap on the shoulder and walked off, cheerfully whistling.

I stared after him, confused. Was he just... bored?

Hopefully he won't drag the entire delegation into trouble just because he's bored. But something told me — he absolutely will.

After retrieving my sword from the guardsman, I was planning to catch up with Grandfather to discuss our little venture, but a healer intercepted me. His yellow robe was singed on one side.

"Viscount, your companion is out of control! Please, calm her down!"

I had no choice but to head for the infirmary first...

**************************************

Which was a disaster zone.

Flames licked one side of the walls, while the other was coated in frost. Fire and ice intertwined unpredictably, crackling and hissing, filling the room with swirling steam that sometimes turned to snowflakes, sometimes to rain, only to evaporate again.

Some potions had frozen solid, others were scorched into an unappetizing mush. I grimaced—such careless handling of alchemy was a blatant safety violation!

In the middle of this chaos, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was Asha, meditating with her face hidden beneath a hood.

"Knock-knock," I called loudly, tapping the charred doorframe with my revolver's hilt.

The girl quickly rose from the floor. The magical storm instantly subsided, and the room's temperature returned to normal.

The flames extinguished, the frost melted into puddles.

"Finally, a familiar face!" she exclaimed with joy. "What's going on?"

"What's going on?" I repeated skeptically. "That's what I should be asking!"

"You? Maybe you were the one who passed out in a field and woke up who-knows-where while some idiots poured disgusting sludge down your throat?!" she snapped.

"What exactly did they pour down?" I asked, professional curiosity piqued.

She waved toward a small table, where a nearly empty vial of golden liquid sat. I picked it up and sniffed. Sunstone tincture. Fairly common remedy. Seemed the healers did everything by the book, nothing suspicious. Good.

"You did agree to come to the Commonwealth with me, remember? Congratulations: you're in the Capital. And we brought you straight to the healers, so you really have nothing to complain about."

"Oh sure, nothing at all to complain about," she snorted. "Let's drag you off somewhere unconscious and see how you like it! Then you'll understand!"

"I wouldn't go smashing everything around me before figuring out what's going on. Why did you do all this?"

"Why? To get rid of those yellow-robed clowns and to..." She paused dramatically, throwing back her hood with a sweeping gesture. "To test out my new power. It turned out to be surprisingly easy. No wonder even that old man managed it. But I doubt he can do it anywhere near as strongly as I can!"

I was intrigued. Could it be...? Damn, it made sense. Meister Orin had also advanced in rank, after a simple electrical surge.

"Just to be sure, you're still a Lesser Mage?"

"Not telling!" she stuck out her tongue.

But judging by her satisfied look—definitely not.

"You're welcome," I smiled.

"Wasn't going to thank you!" she replied, then quietly added, blushing, "Okay, maybe just a little. Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime. Now, how do we pay for all this damage and ruined potions?"

"Oh..."

I looked around, mentally calculating costs. Maybe the King wouldn't make me pay for all this? I touched one of the scorched bottles on the floor, trying to identify its contents. Suddenly, the vial shot forward like a rocket!

It smacked Asha in the head, ricocheted off toward the window, shattered the glass, and vanished into the street.

I let out a low whistle, watching the rogue potion disappear. I could think of several reactions that might cause that effect—all of them unpleasantly expensive.

"Right. We need money. Fast," I said, brushing potion residue from my hands. "Luckily, I have an idea. We need a carriage, a couple of potions, some thrill-seeking rich brats, and some juicy betting odds!"