The king labored to walk across the room, a faint wheeze emanating from his chest. When he reached his oversized chair, he stopped to catch his breath before flopping himself into it. The protector and the servant took up station behind him just before an army of servers filed past, setting a feast before him. He started eating as if he hadn’t seen food in a week.
The guests took their seats and resumed their conversations, largely neglecting their now-cold appetizers and ignoring the overt display of wanton gluttony taking place at the head of the table.
The king seemed oblivious to his guests, gorging himself on a steady supply of different dishes placed before him. The service bell chimed again and the main course was served, roasted boar with rich brown gravy and crusty bread. Alexander was careful to ensure he didn’t draw undue attention as he delivered the plate of food to Grant.
The meal progressed, one course after the next, most dishes returning to the kitchen only a bite or two lighter. Alexander had marked all of the dangerous players in the room: the protector, the Babachenko, Nero, Tyr, and several other nobles who were also wizards, plus the twelve palace guards interspersed around the periphery of the room. He knew he could probably kill the king with the knife in his boot before anyone knew what was happening, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to escape now that he was faced with the reality of the situation.
Then he considered the alternative-the damage the Lancers were doing in Ruatha. So many lives lost. He decided that taking action was worth the risk. As he fetched Grant’s dessert, he had Chloe send his collar into the aether, stopping Anja on her way to the kitchen to free her as well and hoping that nobody would notice two slaves without collars.
Midstride, he slipped the knife out of his boot and held it with the blade along his wrist while he served Grant his pastry. He stood, focusing on the king, gauging distance, looking for any hint of magical protection and finding none aside from his bodyguard.
The king sat back and belched loudly, then leaned forward with both hands on the table and stared at Tyr.
“I want the Thinblade!” he shouted, pointing at Tyr as he tried to stand quickly, but losing his balance in the bargain and falling back into his chair.
Alexander cautiously returned to his place along the wall.
Tyr’s reaction actually surprised him.
“Your Majesty, I have humbly offered to give you my Thinblade several times,” Tyr said with sweetness dripping off his tongue. He stood and smiled as he approached the king, unbuckling his belt and holding the hilt of the sword out toward him.
Before Tyr could reach him, the king’s protector stepped between them, barring the way and slowly shaking his head.
“Enough!” the Babachenko said. “I’ve warned you about this, Lord Tyr.”
“I want the Thinblade!” the king said, drool escaping from the edge of his mouth.
“I’m just trying to please the king,” Tyr said, feigning innocence.
“I want it,” the king said.
“Your Majesty, Lord Tyr holds the Tyr Thinblade,” the Babachenko said. “It’s tied to his bloodline just as the Crown is tied to yours.”
“But I’m an Island King. I should have a Thinblade!”
“Perhaps someday, Your Majesty, but Lord Tyr’s Thinblade would kill you.”
The king crossed his arms and sat back, pouting and glaring at Tyr. For the first time since Alexander had met Lord Tyr, the man actually seemed happy.
Once Tyr had returned to his seat, the Babachenko stood and addressed the room.
“Lords and Ladies,” he said, raising his glass until everyone stood. “We have come here today to mourn the loss of the crown princess. Pray that the Maker has taken her into his warm embrace.” Everyone raised a glass, standing, heads bowed with mock solemnity, while the king sat petulantly glaring at Tyr.
“As you well know,” the Babachenko continued, “the Andalian bloodline must remain as pure as possible to ensure the viability of the Crown. We are currently in the process of examining lineage records to identify who will have the privilege of serving as king’s consort.”
A number of women around the table tensed, their colors flaring with fear.
“Of course, if any of you believe you have a greater claim … or perhaps a lesser claim that warrants special consideration, I welcome your petitions.”
There was a collective sigh from the women around the table. The Babachenko smiled slightly, motioning for the music to begin. Jack played an ode to the king, singing the praises of his courage and gallantry in battle. While the words were ridiculous, Jack’s delivery was superb, drawing in even the most jaded guests in the room.
The Babachenko led the applause, standing to honor Jack and remaining standing after the rest of the guests had taken their seats.
“As I understand it, many of you have had the privilege of listening to Master Colton before. I now understand why he is so highly regarded, but I have come to learn something about him that isn’t widely known … he is a true and loyal servant of the Andalian Crown.
“Just this afternoon, he reported suspicious activity to the authorities. He saw something out of the ordinary and he reported it. So new to our city and yet a model citizen.
“What he wasn’t aware of was that the house he reported was a secret store for the notorious criminal Nightshade.” The Babachenko stopped, nodding to the crowd. “We discovered hundreds of thousands of silver crowns, all stolen from shipments bound for the shipyards. It didn’t take long from there for the overseers to determine who owned the house.”
The Babachenko looked straight at Nigel Mohan, holder of the Cartage Charter, and shook his head sadly. “An outsider, doing his duty to the crown, has unraveled one of the most dangerous criminal enterprises in the empire, and I’m sad to say that Nightshade is, in fact, Lord Mohan.”
Mohan stood, eyes wide, mouth working furiously without making a sound and his head shaking quickly back and forth.
“Lies,” he managed to sputter. His wife started slapping him on the shoulder and berating him while two palace guards stepped up behind him.
“We will soon know the truth,” the Babachenko said. “All of it. Take him away.”
“No!” the king said, standing with visible effort, leaning heavily on the back of his chair.
“Your Majesty?” the Babachenko said.
“He’s a traitor,” the king said, motioning for the palace guard to bring Mohan to him.
The moment Mohan was close enough, the king quickly pulled a thin-bladed dirk from his sleeve and unceremoniously stabbed Mohan in the heart. He didn’t look the man in the eyes, or even seem to notice that he was a human being. It was as impersonal a thing as Alexander had ever seen. The table fell silent as Mohan crumpled to the ground, his face a mask of confusion and disbelief. The king flopped back into his chair as if he’d just climbed a mountain, huffing loudly to catch his breath.
Grant stood up, drawing the Babachenko’s attention. “I will buy the Cartage Charter.”
The room fell deathly silent for just a moment before it erupted into chaos.
“I’ll pay more.”
“He can’t own two charters.”
“Dissolve the Cartage Charter and let us transport our own goods.”
“No one’s ever held two charters before.”
“Preposterous!”
“Silence!” the Babachenko shouted, waiting for the room to quiet. “The Cartage Charter is not for sale until we can put it up for auction.”
“I can pay more than anyone at this table,” Grant said. “I will give the entire contents of the underdark for it.”
There was a gasp, and then the room erupted again.
“That’s not fair.”
“You can’t let him get away with this.”
“Only silver crowns are money.”
The shouting escalated even as the Babachenko tried to get the room to quiet down. When he was unsuccessful, he started casting a spell-a bubble quickly floated off his outstretched hand, rising into the air over the table where it burst like a clap of thunder, rattling the glass walls and ceiling and momentarily stunning everyone in the room.