Interlude:

A Matter of State

‘My liege, this will not stand!’

‘We demand justice!’

Ciaran sighed and slouched down further into his throne. For days now he had been trying to avoid these useless state-of-affair meetings and shouting matches. The throne of Mizzaro was open to the public and every citizen had the right to ask for a royal attendance. In the wake of the recent events, it seemed the entirety of Voltare was exercising this right. He had put off this kangaroo court for as long as he possibly could have while getting on with his own plans, but he knew he could not keep the nobles and politicians in the dark forever. It was all well and good using the excuses of “being in shock” and “grieving” to avoid having to deal with the petty politics of the Kingdom, but those excuses, unfortunately, had run out quickly.

There had been such a clamouring for a royal court to be held that the palace had been forced to move in what seemed to be fast-becoming permanent additions to the throne room to accommodate the proceedings. Not only had a raised podium on which every nobleman in existence could preach from atop a personal soapbox been installed, but also a slew of raised, tiered bleachers to house the ever-growing audience that wanted to attend this infernal meeting. Most of the seats were taken up by actual politicians, scholars, philosophers and nobles from the city’s highest houses come to discuss politics, but there also seemed to be an unusually high concentration of “concerned citizens” who were just here to shout at the throne’s perceived inaction. Those who could not get seats crowded all the way into the hall outside of the throne room, pressed together so tight there was no room for an apple to fall.

The nobleman currently on the podium hushed the other citizens in the audience gallery. ‘Your highness, we simply mean that some course of action must be taken. We understand that you have been thrust into the position of King prematurely, and must surely be still grieving for the atrocities that have been committed upon the royal family and the throne, but inaction against an invasion – nay, a declaration of war – cannot simply be ignored or forgiven.’

‘Speak clearly,’ Ciaran responded, his voice low, barely above a hiss. This was the first time he had responded to a solicitor, after what must have been two hours of the meeting already.

The nobleman was taken aback for a second but recovered himself admirably. ‘We just mean… I mean, your highness… It cannot have been a wise decision to dismiss so much of your council, especially in these trying times. Furthermore, no investigation has been made into how the palace was infiltrated in the first place. No interrogation was made of the captured soldiers from the invading force, only public executions. There have been no diplomatic envoys sent, or received. No mustering of the army, no discussions for war, no rescue party for the kidnapped royal princess. Nothing, your highness. The public demands justice for the death of the King and the Queen. They want to see the princess delivered back to the palace safely.’

There was a general murmur of agreement from the audience in attendance.

Ciaran knew that the council had been culled to get rid of any dissenters or unswayable witnesses. Any who had refused to be bought off or he thought was a threat had been taken out. It was just the nature of things. The kidnapping of the princess by Carmel had been an unsuspected snag in his plans, of course, but it had not derailed anything at all in the grand scheme of things. Everything else was just about tying up loose ends and keeping everyone in the city occupied and paranoid of a foreign threat. He did not expect there to be this much judicial work, however, and it was starting to annoy him greatly.

‘Do you know what the other Kingdoms will do if they think Mizzaro is weak, Lord…?’ Ciaran asked as he stood slowly from the throne.

He strode down the steps towards the podium, his eyes never leaving the gaze of the noble lord atop it. The guardsmen that flanked the throne and the room at large started to get noticeably agitated.

‘Um, Lord Pagiani, your highness,’ the nobleman said, with a bow, as the King drew nearer and nearer.

‘The other Kingdoms will strike at us like starving vipers if they get the merest hint of weakness,’ Ciaran continued, ignoring the other man completely save for the fact that he continued to stare deep into his eyes, unblinking and unerring. ‘We are the most powerful among them and always have been. The Kingdom that the others look to for guidance and support. The one who can unite them or tear them apart, just as easily.’

He now stood in front of the podium, face to face with Lord Pagiani. ‘They would love nothing more than to see us brought low. To take advantage of any momentary fault on our part. A chance to drive the knife into our backs.’

The lord was starting to get uncomfortable with all the attention and the eerie stare of the King. His gaze faltered for a second – a mere glance down at his shoes – and the King simply took the lord’s face in his hand, ever so gently, and forced him to keep looking. ‘They would love nothing than to invade our lands and claim it for their own. To pilfer our technology and wealth and knowledge and influence. They would rip each other apart to feed on our scraps! My father – May Galielylë grant him rest – knew that to show weakness was to court disaster, and, make no mistake, we were weak!’

Ciaran pushed the noble’s head away, finally breaking eye contact with the terrified man. He walked around the podium and addressed the audience attending him now. ‘We allowed a foreign nation to kill our sovereigns! To kidnap a princess out of her crib! TO RANSACK VOLTARE! And you want discussions and diplomacy? You want delegations and deliberations? Is this what you want?!’

This last question, Ciaran addressed to the stunned Lord Pagiani behind him. He turned back to the audience before even receiving an answer. ‘No, you want action. You all clamour like roaches here today asking for action. You think I have been idle. You think I have been too scared or inexperienced or simple-minded to take proper action against this aggression. I promise you, I have not been.’

Ciaran walked towards the bleacher seats. The audience members looked amongst themselves as the King paced before them slowly. The throne guards had already crossed the room to be nearer to their precious charge, but he kept them at bay near the podium with a simple wave of his hand. ‘I executed those surviving soldiers because they had nothing of importance to tell us. And because the city demanded swift justice. They were simply a band of Namarian pirates. Mere mercenaries hired by one of the Kingdoms, no doubt. As I’m sure Lord Altegra, Lord-Commander of the City Watch, will corroborate?’

He stopped his pacing in front of one of the men who was seated in the front row, closest to the podium. He didn’t even make eye contact with the man – one of the few surviving and thriving members of the King’s council – a rotund, moustachioed and ornately draperied piece of work.

‘Why, yes, Your Highness!’ the man exclaimed loudly, his shaking voice betraying his confidence a little.

‘And he will also corroborate that relief efforts have been hard at work for days – repairing damage to the city, and providing food, coin and temporary residence in the Palace gardens for those who lost their homes in the attack? All from the Kingdom’s own coffers?’

‘Yes, Your Highness.’

‘And Lord Romeo himself is overseeing a massive undertaking in the other Kingdoms, in an effort to ascertain who ordered the attack in the first place. He has eyes and ears in every court on Thiara, and he is personally travelling to the Kingdom he suspects the most. I will not disclose this location at this time to ensure the Lord’s safety and discretion but rest assured that the crown and its agents have not been idle. We are taking every action necessary so that we do not go blindly and foolishly into a war that we would surely lose. To know your enemy is to guarantee victory, as my father used to say, and his wisdom will not be squandered simply because he is no longer here to dispense it.’

He was silent for a time and the audience waited for his next words with bated breath. Eventually, he said simply. ‘We will ensure justice is served. We will prevail. A little patience is all that is required on your part. If the crown requires you, you will be called on. That is all. This court is dismissed.’

Ciaran walked to the edge of the room now. His guardsmen rallied around him. They pushed the citizens milling around the throne room entrance back into the hallway to allow the King space to leave the room unmolested. He turned around one more time before exiting the throne room to address all gathered there. ‘In exactly three days we will inter the bodies of the King and Queen in the Temple, after which we shall hold my official coronation ceremony. If it pleases, I would see you all there then. The entirety of Voltare is welcome.’

Ciaran stalked out of the room, his guard keeping the quizzical citizens at bay silently, like an invisible wall. He made his way straight to the King’s office, a little way down the main hallway, although cutting through the throngs of eager citizens made the journey feel like an ordeal in and of itself. When he was finally free, he gave one last cordial wave to the audience still observing him and then shut the heavy door and was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

The pale blue lighting of the office cast heavy shadows around the cosy room, cluttered as it was with a heavy oak desk, bookshelves, chairs and ottomans. A small fire was going in the fireplace. It took Ciaran a good while to notice that a man stood in the shadows near his desk, silently observing the King.

‘You have news?’ Ciaran asked the man, trying to play off as if he had known the man was there the entire time.

Lance stepped forward into more agreeable lightening before replying to his King. ‘Some good news at that. That was a good speech, my liege.’

‘It’s all theatrics in the end, isn’t it? They eat it up, but it tires me to have to make these speeches in the first place,’ Ciaran lamented. He sat down in the chair in front of the fire, grabbing a small book off the end table next to him and opening it up to where he had left off. ‘Unfortunately, we can’t leave it all up the heralds and spokesmen. Sometimes it requires the words of a King to quiet rebellion. It’s just good we got rid of the dissenters on the council as quickly and efficiently as we did.’

‘You should get used it. You’ll have to do many more of these.’

‘Hopefully not for long. Now, the good news?’

‘We found it, my liege,’ Lance said with a small bow.

Ciaran stopped absent-mindedly thumbing his book and looked up with interest. ‘Yes? Where?’

‘It was well hidden. It’s not even in the Palace. It resides underneath the statue of Galielylë in the Temple District. One of my “friends” found the entrance this morning.’

‘Ah yes, this is excellent news indeed. I was starting to suspect your “friends” would never actually find it, despite your assurances.’

‘Myself and the Imperative do apologize for the delay, my liege. Unfortunately, it still needs to be excavated, which we are working on. By the time of your coronation, it should be open to you.’

‘Good, good,’ Ciaran mumbled. He stared into the fire, watching the flames lick the small wooden logs, his mind racing with the possibilities. ‘And you’re quite sure it is, in fact, there?’

‘Of course, my liege. There can be no mistake. We scoured every inch of the city and this is the first place we’ve found that matches what we saw in Camar.’

Ciaran nodded silently. Lance shifted somewhat uncomfortably before continuing. ‘There is the other matter as well…’

‘You wish to find Carmel and the child?’

‘Yes, my liege… If it is your will, of course. The Imperative does not take kindly to traitors, especially since what Carmel did was in direct violation of the contract. It is still, however, up to you to direct me on what course of action to take. Since my work in the city is now concluded, I was hoping you would allow me to find them. Another agent will be dispatched for your personal detail, and to handle anything else that might arise. If that is your will, my liege.’

Ciaran heaved a sigh and stood up from the fireplace. He walked over to the desk, looking Lance in the eyes as he spoke. ‘I had hoped against hope that we might just forget Carmel altogether. My sister— the princess is but a babe, there is not much she can do to threaten me now. Carmel is another matter entirely. If he slips into one of the other Kingdom’s courts or tells anyone what has occurred, it could be disastrous. Do you think he would seek aid in another Kingdom?’

Lance considered this a moment. ‘I honestly do not know, my liege. He has become… unpredictable. I thought I knew him… considered him a brother… but his actions have made me doubt everything. I advise termination before he can become a problem for you.’

‘I know you have a personal stake in this as well.’

‘That will not get in the way of my work, my liege. And if you command it, I shall do nothing. I just worry that he will disappear completely. If he does not work to derail your plans, I suspect he will slip to the free continents and be lost to us forever.’

‘Is that such a bad thing?’

‘Not necessarily, my liege…’ Lance conceded. ‘But as I said, he has become unpredictable.’

Ciaran walked around the desk and sat down at it, placing his fingers in a steeple and staring into the middle distance for a time. Eventually, he said, ‘Do you think you are fit enough for the pursuit? The scar on your face is still fresh and vicious. I worry you might be too eager to jump back into the fray.’

‘I am perfectly healthy, my liege, I swear to you. Tis nothing but a superficial scar. I lost nothing from it,’ Lance responded, slightly irritated but hiding it professionally. He wanted nothing more than to hunt down Carmel as one would hunt a particularly stubborn stag, but he took care not to appear too fervent in front of his King.

‘Very well then, you may pursue him. Regrettably, it comes to this, but do what must be done,’ Ciaran sighed.

Lance bowed low. ‘Thank you, my liege. I shall return to your side as swiftly as I can.’

‘I shall like you to introduce me to your replacement before you leave,’ Ciaran said. He waved his hand to dismiss the assassin from the room. ‘Oh, and find me Lord Pagiani on your way out. I would have words with the man.’