Taeg is sitting in his drawing room mulling over a letter from the High Priest when Nathis enters. He looks up from the parchment, grinning at the older man, noting his flushed skin and the sweat pooling around the neck of his tunic.
“Breakfast ran short this morning. But your cup didn’t, I see.”
Nathis’s face does not change. “My king,” he says, nodding his head. “I am sorry to interrupt. An acolyte came from the Church. Drair Abidan was found missing from her cell this morning. They do not know the details, but I can only assume she was captured. I do not believe she would escape.”
Taeg, dumbstruck, holds his letter floating above the table. His brows furrow. “You don’t think she has any reason to escape? If she knew that her people were being sold as slaves, I could almost understand.”
Nathis shakes his head. “She was not informed before the discovery of her Lynac. She has been unconscious for the extent of what has happened.”
“Any ideas, General?” Taeg sets the parchment down, sighing deeply. He fiddles with the bands around his wrist, leaning back in his chair.
“I believe she was taken. By Denand.” His lips draw into a line. “For sale.”
Taeg hears the general’s voice crack, but his stature does not break. He remembers Kelo in the antechamber, huddling in the darkness. The boy had known of Drair’s lineage. Perhaps he should not have been so easy on the boy. His mother’s sobbing replays in his head and he softens.
“I need to speak with Kelo. Maybe there’s something he’s not revealing.” He hesitates for a few moments, blinking at his hands. “What do you advise, Nathis? You have more experience than I.” He raises his eyes to the general standing in the doorway unmoving.
“If you wish for my council, I advise we take action upon Denand for intrusion upon our lands, capture of a Crown Guard, and the sale of human beings. I have never seen eye to eye with those who are capable of such things.” He shakes his head. “Call the council.”
Taeg nods, removing himself from his chair. “Call the council, then. Tell them I will be with them momentarily. I have an audience with Kelo.”
Nathis nods, ducking under the doorway. His footsteps echo down the hall. Taeg moves his eyes back to the parchment on the table, skimming through the words again.
“King Taeg,
As the Church is bound to the Crown, I grant you and you alone access to such information. I have searched through anything in my records that could possibly relate to your inquiry. I apologize that I do not have additional information.
Your mother came to me in the few months after her marriage to the king, regarding a handmaid that was in her service at the time. The young serving girl was with child and experiencing a difficult pregnancy. I delivered her stillborn child weeks later, and the handmaid was taken under the protection of the Church per the Queen’s orders.
Shortly after, records indicate that your mother, a very young woman herself at the time, visited the infirmary for persistent bleeding. She denied any examination. In the following days, she gave birth to her firstborn child, reported stillborn by the handmaids that delivered him. Our physicians were denied entry. The child was never seen by my physicians, and the Queen insisted upon burying the child herself. This was several years before your conception.
The young handmaid was released from my care after the reported loss of your brother. Her and the Queen seemed quite close, though I believe she may have been relieved from the Crown’s service thereafter.
I hope this information brings some solace.”
High Priest Deland's scrawling signature bleeds into the parchment at the bottom.
Taeg folds the paper into fourths and stuffs it gently into the breast pocket of his black velvet doublet before blowing out the candles and closing the door behind him. When he finds his way into the cells below the mess hall, he is greeted with musty darkness. A torch, burning low, is set high on the wall, it’s crackling the only sound. He grabs it and walks down the cells through the darkness, feeling the chill in the air. At the end, he moves the torch to shine through the bars, spotting the ragged captive and his dark eyes. Kelo looks up with hope, gazing about for guards.
“It’s just you and me,” Taeg says, his voice echoing through the space. He pauses, shuffling his feet in the dirt below. The captive does not move. “The last time we spoke, you told me that you had family in Tauris that raised you. Why are you living in the Pfeists?”
“My king,” the boy finally moves, stretching the dry, withered skin about his colorless lips in a gruesome attempt at smiling. He shifts his body in an upright position, crawling about the floor on his hands and knees. “I...uh, moved from Tauris. The desert air was…not good for my skin.” He smiles as he speaks, tilting his head sideways to look at the floor and reaching to scratch absently at his balding head.
Taeg deposits his torch in a wall sconce and takes an awkward seat on the floor across from Kelo’s cell, dragging his boots through the dirt. He watches as Kelo’s eyes widen.
“Kelo, you had a birth family. Do you know that?”
The captive blinks his great black eyes. The king continues. “Your family in Tauris did what they could to protect you, and it ultimately saved your life.”
Kelo laughs nervously, wringing his hands. “You know my family?” His voice is halting.
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“I know your birth family, yes.” Taeg moves hair from his eyes and folds his hands in front of him. He looks down at the floor. “The woman that raised you was a handmaid for my mother, the queen. I can only assume that the girl ran from this country to protect you. She escaped to the only place that the Crown could not find you, under my mother’s orders.” He looks at Kelo, lifting one corner of his lips.
The boy picks at his tattered robe, his hands shaking. “My mother was a fishmonger in the port of Izevel. She never mentioned Larynth as I was with her.”
“Do you know if she is still alive?” Taeg questions.
“No, I don’t.” Kelo’s voice is quiet. He pauses, his teeth biting at a peeling lower lip. “I have no intentions of going back to Tauris. There are wicked things people do that I wish to have no part in. I could not bring myself to live near such evil.”
Taeg’s attention perks and he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What wicked things do you mean?”
The cells are quiet. Kelo covers his white face with two decaying hands, rubbing at the places where his skin has cracked. When he speaks, Taeg can hear pain in the boy’s voice. “Humans are treated like animals. Slavery. Magic. Alchemy. It’s not a place I would raise my children.”
Taeg feels the soft pang of pity in his chest. Had the circumstances been any different, their roles may have been switched. Kelo was a vagabond running from his wretched past as the king of a foreign country stands between him and fate. Kelo’s life was at his mercy.
Taeg clears his throat. “I want you to know something. And in doing so, I commit my family to a reputation that does not befit royal blood. But were I to put myself in your place, and you in mine, I could not fathom enduring the amount of pain that you have endured.”
The captive nods, his eyes still glued to his cloak.
“Kelo, you are of royal blood. The woman who raised you was my mother’s handmaid, and having lost her child in the months before, the queen used her as a tool to hide her own grievous mistake. You are my half-brother. My older brother. The firstborn son of Vilania Kerrich.”
Kelo shakes his head vigorously, his black eyes meeting Taeg’s green. His mouth opens, then closes, like a fish out of water.
“Do you know what happened to you, why you’re like this?” Taeg nods softly at his brother.
Kelo shakes his head. “I was born this way.”
Taeg's heart drops hearing the shame in his brother’s voice. “I want you to come with me,” he says. “Our scouts have found Denand selling Xelinites to your home country. For whatever reason they have to do so, it is deemed a threat to my kingdom. To your kingdom. I have called the royal council and I want you to attend.”
The captive boy, held in shackles by his past, spits out a mindless reply. “Yes, Your Grace.”
A soft laugh escapes Teag’s mouth. “We will have to work on that one, eh?” the king jests, heaving himself from the ground. “Come.”
-------
The council of lords, filtering through the door one by one, are greeted with the sight of a corpse boy sitting next to their king. A cacophony of gasps and curses rip from their mouths as they enter, a shadow hanging around his brother like a wraith. The Grand Master, last to arrive, curses loudly as his great brown eyes meet Kelo’s black, and he reaches for his sword.
“Argos,” Taeg interrupts. “Sheathe your sword.
The chamberlain is silent as he takes his seat on the other side of Taeg, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, nodding slowly to the corpse boy across the table from him. Argos stands awkwardly near the table, refusing to sit, and the Treasurer surreptitiously slides his chair farther away from the decaying young man, pulling his arms into his lap.
“Kelo has been to the capital of Denand,” Taeg begins. “He has met with Silon. The information he holds is crucial if we are to launch an attack upon our neighbor, don’t you think?” Taeg slides his gaze about the table, leaning back in his chair. The table is barren, save for a couple of cups stacked in front of the Chancellor. The High Priest is missing.
“I have called council to determine what our next move should be. We have witnessed and captured scouts invading our country and our castle.”
“Do not forget the sale of Xelinites to Tauris!” the Grand Master shouts.
Taeg nods. “Of course. However, we are not certain these are the Xelinites. We know of their dark skin and dark hair, yes? Not unlike our own Cavalry General.”
Argos grumbles, taking a noisy sip from his mug. “Aye.”
The Chamberlain, poised in a red and gold doublet emboldened with white lace ruffles at the neck, speaks steadily from his perch. “This is a matter of security, Your Grace. Regardless of the identity of these slaves, our neighboring country and thought to be ally is invading our borders and our capitol in secret without undo permission from the Crown. They are a liability.”
“Agreed!” the Grand Master roars.
“And to know that these scouts are looking for a powerful magical ally—one within our own castle walls.” the Treasurer shrieks. He glares petulantly at Kelo.
“Not to mention the fact that they are involved in the capturing and selling of human lives, regardless of their origin. Slavery has been frowned upon since your father’s rule, my king.” The Chancellor seems fraught with worry, his large bushy eyebrows falling low over his wrinkled, thin face.
“I agree,” Taeg says, playing with his wrist bangles atop the table. “Grand Master? Would you propose an approach, please?”
Argos pulls his great shoulders behind him. The chops about his face shine red in the light from the eastern windows. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he barks. Taeg smiles once, briefly, as the burly man flicks his eyes to the corpse boy who occupies his seat. “The Pfeist Mountains are their more fearsome ally. They are the gates that guard their cities. But they also provide shelter and cover for our armies.” He hesitates. “Now, I cannot say how their capitol is set about but-”
Taeg cuts him off. “Kelo is here to assist with this, Argos.” He watches Kelo flinch as the Grand Master turns his attention to the corpse boy, eyeing his missing nose with disgust.
“Y-yes,” the commander grunts. He clears his throat. “The boy should be of some use,” he sniffs, turning to Kelo. “Boy! What defenses does the capitol possess?”
Kelo flinches again, staring wide-eyed in Taeg’s direction, pleading for help. Taeg nods, his eyes soft.
“I can-” Kelo stutters, choking on his own tongue. Several hacking coughs erupt from his throat before he settles, speaking quietly. “I…remember that the city did not have walls such as yours, my king. The castle was smaller than this, settled down in a valley between the mountains. There were guards.” He swallows.
Taeg smiles at him, noting his brother’s shaking hands.
“Anything else? Large weaponry, gatehouses, towers?” Argos presses, ogling the space behind the king.
“Not...that I remember.”
The Grand Master screws up his face. “Seems unlikely. Roland was smarter than that. The valley gives them an advantage, but there is a way about it.” He walks to the window, chugging mead from a clay mug. He swallows loudly. “Your Grace, I will have our generals assemble the vassals and soldiers this afternoon. We will move on the morrow.” He turns, smiling from ear to ear, an eerie sheen in his eyes.
