Young Writers Society

Note: I copied and pasted this from google drive, and so Jaycen's thoughts are not italicized, but they should be easy to discern. I apologize. I may go correct this later. Please enjoy chapter seven.

White is promise, an empty canvass upon which anything can be created. Green is life, the true bounty of the world. Red is blood, for which we spill with both swords and words. But Black…for Black is nothing.

- A Dorian proverb

Son of the Black

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He was not fond of the idea. As a matter of fact, he despised it. Yet nothing could change the king’s mind – not the words of the lord-baryn, nor those of Percy Greywind and Romulus Black. Not even those of the latter’s daughter, the king’s own lady-wife.

Yet Jaycen could not help but respect the king’s indefatigability, a trait that embodied a true man of Albus. Perhaps his overall feelings towards his liege, an uncommon mixture of boiling spite and passive admiration, was a result of his father’s own opinion of the ruler. Baryn Geoffrey Black was never a lover of the Siefrieds. Yet Isabela, daughter of Geoffrey’s dead cousin and sole heir to the arl, wed Ronin four years ago and was now with child. Her Grace sat silently next to Jaycen, a look of anxious disposition about her.

The both of them knew that Arl Romulus had the best of intentions. Yet the man was not getting any younger. After his death, by law, everything that he had would pass on to Isabela…and Ronin. But Romulas was a man of pragmatism and proper judgement. All of the Blacks trusted him…implicitly. Jaycen was no exception.

“It is the only solution,” exclaimed the king, as he sat on his stone throne, surrounded by the court and all of his advisors. “Treason is treason. Treason can only be repaid in blood!”

Jaycen was pleased when the words of his father echoed throughout the chamber. “Surely there’s another way to go about this,” he said.

“If you truly believe such Baryn,” said the king, “then you are greatly mistaken.”

Counselor Zorus was next to speak. “Sire, if I may; as both your advisor and friend, I have to agree with Lord Geoffrey. If we were to carry out what you suggest, we risk civil war. That is something we cannot afford during this troubling time.” The portly man sneezed and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his long, violet robe. “I agree that treason must not be tolerated, but the lordling Saren is but one man of many. How would an honourable trial not prove a point? And it is also to be mentioned that there was no evidence that he was even involved. The Burgundies have always been loyal supporters of the crown. Were they not among the first to swear fealty to you?”

Jaycen could not tell if the king smiled or grimaced. Whatever it was, the look on that face was not one of pleasantry. “Allegiances change, Minister. House Burgundy’s fate is sealed.”

The throne room went into an uproar and, with a heavy sigh Jaycen closed his eyes. They never get anything done. With composure, King Ronin raised a hand to calm everyone down, and silence returned to the hall. Jaycen’s granduncle stood up, a stern look on his wrinkled face. “You are making a terrible mistake, Ronin. House Burgundy is not at fault. Do not punish it and its members solely on the grounds of hearsay and mere speculation!”

“Arl Black!”

Uncle Romulus paid no attention to the king’s exclamation. “We do not even have proof that Saren was involved. It could’ve been a mere mercenary or spy who sold the weapons to the Fjord. The Burgundies are nothing but loyal to you. They followed you to war without question.”

Jaycen sighed, gazing intently upon the scene from atop his balcony. Here we go again.

“Arl, my patience is growing-“

Uncle Romulus cut him off. “Your war against Copenisle. That bloody mess. For nothing! Your house’s claims to the Fjord are garbage, and by declaring war, you risked open and blatant defeat. Regardless of Ao̊gar’s small militaries, Boraelgrasp’s involvement was imminent. It was all for nothing! And the price of it all: my grandnephew is to be sent North as insurance!”

Why must I constantly be reminded of that? he thought. The young man knew that his granduncle, in the eyes of the king, spoke out of turn. His majesty, from Jaycen’s knowledge, had always been a feeble man, incapable of receiving any form of criticism, even if constructive. The king made that known, and the arl was forced to stand down.

Jaycen turned over to the queen. “Your ‘dear husband’ is not in the best of spirits today,” he whispered in her ear.

“I do not remember the last time that he wasn’t,” she replied.

Jaycen grinned. “It also goes without saying that your grandfather has never been the kind of man to take orders from anyone but himself.”

“Especially not a Siefried,” the queen added. Jaycen nodded in agreement. He and all the rest of his house all knew that Isabela secretly despised her husband. Isabela, always one for distractible conversation said to Jaycen, “You’re nearing age, Jaycen. What are you to do about that?”

Jaycen groaned. He suspected that his cousin would bring up the topic at some point or another, but this hardly seemed like the appropriate time. “Please, Isa. I do not wish to discuss this.”

She smiled. “It’s high time that you find a love.”

“Prophet’s Blood!” he exclaimed in a low whisper. “Why must you be the one to pressure me like this?”

“Because I care, dear cousin.”

“Well, I am perfectly capable of handling this all by myself, thank you.”

Despite Jaycen’s urging that the conversation be done and over with, Isabela persisted. “It is quite clear that I am out of the question. That being so, I am going to ask if you have your heart set on someone special.”

Jaycen shook his head. He saw no point in badgering the woman to stop. She had always been a tenacious one, and it had bothered Jaycen even as a child. “Not at the moment, no,” he said. “To be honest, I am rather uninterested.”

“Oh? Really? What about other girl now? Hanna is it?”

Jaycen shivered at the mention. He knew exactly to whom Isabela was referring. Hanna Elizabeth Riddleton, daughter of the mayor of Highgate. Jaycen had loved Riddleton, or so he thought, and she said the same. It was such a stupid thought.

Jaycen should have seen red flags by the time that she told him that she heard “demons in her head.” He cared about her enough to overlook her affliction. She tried to hang herself at one point, and it was Jaycen whom she had sent her profession of suicide, but he did not receive it until the following evening. Her mother’s lover, thankfully, had thwarted her attempt, but Riddleton had been a thorn in Jaycen’s side for months. She had lied and manipulated. Jaycen knew it, yes, but did not want to admit it to himself.

It was over now. The both of them had had enough with one another. She had sent him a pretentious letter about how much of an awful person he was, but he did not care. Jaycen had just smiled, relieved of the liability that she was. Yet he could still not let it go.

He had since given up on whatever he thought love was. I’m just going to let myself age into my mid-thirties, and find myself a nice woman, brown haired and brown or green eyed, ten years my junior, who’s good at sex and likes books as much as I. Yes, that's what he’d do.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said to Isabela with a shutter.

“Why not?”

“Because it is over.” He took a long deep sigh and tried to erase all thoughts of that nightmare. He did realize that his cousin did truly care, and it was not his wish to entirely push the young woman away. He said, “I thank you for your concern. Perhaps I can use your assistance in the future. Have you any friends?”

Isabela perked up. “Of course, Jaycen! I am sure you would get along well with several young ladies in my service. Of noble birth, of course.” It was then when Jaycen diverted his attention from his cousin back to the floor, upon hearing his own name spoken.

“…Jaycen’s current situation is your doing,” Arl Romulus declared in a loud voice. “My great-nephew!”

“Your concerns for the lad are admirable, Arl,” the king said, “but this is how it must be. It is all for the good of the realm.” The king sat back on his seat and placed his arms on the rests. Light poured in through the many windows within the room, lighting the interior.

“The good of the realm?” the arl retorted. “Do you want to talk about the good of the realm? We wouldn’t even be in this situation if you hadn’t made those false claims to Copenisle, and you lost. And yet you wish to weaken it further through initiating civil war against House Burgundy? And now too, Jaycen, my nephew’s heir, is to be sent to Ao̊gar as a hostage! Does this sound like ‘the good of the realm’ to you?”

“Silent, Romulus! One more outburst like that and I swear to the Prophet that I’ll have you thrown out of this room!”

Reverently, the arl apologized. The king proceeded to muse of how Jaycen would be changed once he would return. Jaycen was quite offended by a comment made by the king, implying a potential shift in loyalty. Jaycen’s father made sure to question Ronin’s implication, but his majesty would not have it.

“If he chooses to associate himself with our enemies,” the king said, “then so be it. But sending Jaycen to prattle around with two idiot princesses and their dying brother is better than Ao̊gar forcing me to send my unborn son, your future king, as a hostage,” King Ronin looked around the room. “Where is Master Black anyway?”

“I’m right here, your grace!” Jaycen called from his balcony, waving his hands into the air.

“Speak freely, lad,” the king insisted, “Is it your wish to serve as prisoner to the wicked bastard Ao̊gar?”

Jaycen bowed his head. He wanted to speak the truth, but he did not know if he could. In a way, he was particularly embarrassed by what he actually felt, and how strong his convictions were. His thoughts were all divided. Keep it simple, stupid. “I only wish to do what is necessary, your grace.”

“There we have it,” Ronin stated as a wide grin grew on his bearded face. “The boy is ready to suffer through the laborious task of dicking about with little princesses in pretty silk dresses! Who knows, maybe there’ll be a marriage in it for him as well.”

Jaycen’s father spoke up from the crowd. “Yes, marriage to a nine year old. How absolutely glorious.”

“Young Bjoron is a sickly lad. Once he passes on, the throne will move onto the eldest daughter. With a Black as king of Copenisle, the dominance of the land can be assured.”

King Jaycen. That has a nice ring to it. How old did he say she was she was again?

“Ao̊gar wouldn’t even consider wedding one of his daughters to an Albusian hostage, let alone a Black!” his father said. “He’d see right through your schemes, your majesty.”

Ronin grumbled. “We’ll speak more on this matter later. We shall now move onto our next order of business.

Ronin finally stood up and yelled: “Bring in the prisoner!”

Jaycen turned to Isabela and said, “Why does your husband insist on holding a trial in the midst of court? Is this man nothing more than a common thief?”

Isabela shrugged. “He has told me nothing. All he has been speaking of for the past three days has been the ‘treason of House Burgundy’.”

“Perhaps there is some correlation?” Jaycen mused.

“It is possible,” Isabela said. “But then again, knowing my husband, absolutely anything is.”

Jaycen had seen the prisoner before. According to the reports, he had been caught thieving fine silverware from the kitchens, but was caught by an off-duty guard. Jaycen had maybe one or two interactions with the man in passing. There was nothing innately wicked about him. He just seemed like a poor wretch, looking to make a living. The thief bragged about his elaborate scheme of infiltration, and, assuming that he was not exaggerating, it was quite impressive. He was clearly a smart man.

King Ronin did not even bring up his thievery of the silverware, but rather touched on the man’s thievery of important documents bearing the seals of both Arl Killian Whitemane and the coun of Burgundia. Finally, Jaycen understood. Looking back to Isabela, he said, “A spy.”

“Not necessarily,” offered Isabela. “He could have stolen those as well. I do not understand why he would have documents belonging to both houses, especially seeing as Burgundy is allegedly at odds with the throne.”

“That would mean that the man does not discriminate,” Jaycen said. “That being the case, he may very well have stolen from the coun of Burgundia as well.”

It was true. The prisoner admitted, before the king, that it was his intention to sell the classified information to the highest bidder. Jaycen figured that those who would find them of the most interest would have been either King Ao̊gar of Copenisle, or Stewart Fortman of Boraelgrasp, the northern dogs that they were.

Finally, King Ronin approached the prisoner, who was kneeling on the ground with his hands bound behind his back. His majesty grabbed the prisoner’s chin and asked for the his name.

“Syr Pissoff!” the prisoner yelled. While Jaycen could not quite make it out, he could have sworn that he spat in the king’s face. Both he and Isabela gasped, looking at each other with their mouths gaping. All in the throne room too were shocked. Despite such, however, Jaycen could not help feeling slightly amused.

Ronin punched the man square in the mouth before once more asking for the prisoner’s name

The young man panted for breath. “Lawrence, your grace,” he said for all to hear. “Lawrence Edward Phineas Bennefield the third, esquire. Don’t forget the esquire.”

“No!” the king shouted as he once more punched the prisoner in the face. “You are a lowborn bastard! What is your bloody name?!”

“I’ve already told you, milord; my name is Lawrence-“

The king cut him off with a third smack to the jaw. “Do you take me for a fool? That is a made up name!” He got down on one knee again to face the prisoner, who, wheezing for air, hocked up a bloody piece of mucus and spit onto the floor. “I will ask you one more time,” the king said calmly. “What is your name?”

“Eugeneus,” answered the tired man in almost a cry. “Eugeneus FitzHerbert.”

Jaycen couldn’t fight a laugh, What a terrible name, he thought. If I were him, I’d make something up too. He concluded that he felt sorry for the thief. Not only did he bear the name of a bastard, but he was openly mocked by the court, and in physical pain. Sure a thief was a thief, a criminal more cowardly than a murderer in the eyes of the Architect Himself, but there was something about this man. Perhaps Jaycen, who himself realized that he was not a particular empathic person, felt for the man due to their closeness in age. Jaycen had not truly proven himself a man, yet the prisoner called FitzHerbert had clearly been raised in a life of misery. In the months to come, Jaycen’s own manhood would be tested, whether it would be slaving away at the behest of Ao̊gar or, Architect forbid, being forced to play with his daughters.

“He’s not just a bastard,” King Ronin said jocularly, “but a royal bastard!” Jaycen couldn’t imagine the embarrassment that the man felt. Frankly, he was glad he did not.

The king stood up to his full height and looked down upon the prisoner. “FitzHerbert, you say. Is your father not Lord Herbert Meryn of Yorkfall?”

FitzHerbert nodded. “Yes, your grace.”

“So what business does a royal bastard have resorting to thievery?”

“I never knew my father, your grace. He left my mother in Occidea.”

That explains the accent.

“You do know that the punishment for theft in this land is death, correct?” the king asked. The prisoner said nothing. “I could have you executed right here and now.” Ronin patted the grip of his sword. Jaycen knew that this was simply his way of trying to prove a point, as if to assert his own dominance. “But killing you would not serve my purposes. I understand that you acquired some delicate information regarding House Burgundy.”

FitzHerbert nodded. “Yes, milord. Not but three weeks ago.”

“And how, may I wonder, were you able to make off with that information successfully, but were unable to avoid capture here? Castle Burgundy is a bloody fortress.”

“Luck, I imagine.”

Ronin snickered as a spiteful grimace overcame his face. “Luck.” He shook his head. “But I imagine that you have some knowledge of the place, correct? The coun is hardly one to overlook the advantages of a sizable guard force.”

“That’s just it, milord. They were preoccupied with…something.”

“With what?”

“Well, it almost seemed as if the main bulk of the house was making preparations for war. I witnessed the comings of various enlisted regiments bolstered primarily by Coun Sevrin’s commonfolk.”

Jaycen suspected that the king would explode into a furious rage, but the man remained calm. He actually praised the coun’s decision. For the Burgundian soldiers were being dispatched to engage the Sarecs in the East, and every man knew that Ronin was no admirer of them. Yet still, amidst his praise for Lord Burgundy’s decision, the king refused to retract his hatred towards the house. “Despite the fact that I agree with Sevrin’s decision,” his majesty said, “I am not pleased that he did not consult with me first. Such actions should not be law.”

“Oh, but they are,” a voice said from the corner of the room. “The nation lingers, and the people allow for it to do so as if they beg for it to crumble, welcoming disorder as a mother does her child into the world.”

Jaycen grinned, pleased by the presence of the figure who had only just entered the room. He could see that the queen too was pleased. She said to him, “It appears that things are about to become far more interesting.”

Jaycen nodded. “And entertaining,” he said.

“Counselor Kremen!” the king welcomed. “Good for you to finally join us.”

The counselor did not acknowledge the remark. “I ever so admire your idealism, Ronin, but idealism is, in the end, nothing short of idealism: a flaw. You and I both agree that the division of your nation is its bane, but that is where the similarities in our own respective ideological mindsets end.”

“Oh, and I was so hoping that we’d end up seeing eye to eye.”

“Then I am sorry to disappoint you.”

It was truly a rarity for Counselor Kremen to speak while court or council meetings were in session. It was often said that, whenever Kremen spoke, it had to be a matter of urgency. Jaycen thought the same. Now that words were spoken and blood spilled, it was time, he knew, for everyone in the throne room to be silent.

The time had come for the advisor to arrive.

There was hardly anything non-cryptic about Kremen, who often spoke in cynical metaphors and offered advice that always inexplicably resulted in the product of a right decision. Jaycen believed that nothing was ever universally absolute, but, if anyone came close to knowing some sort of elusive, absolute truth, it was Kremen.

No one even knew exactly where Kremen had come from. The future advisor had just showed up in Highgate one day and somehow achieved a seat on the king’s council overnight. Some people had their own theories, such as the popular, “Kremen was the exiled ruler of a far off Counry,” or the, “Kremen was expelled from the Magi order for dabbling in dark magic,” and the ever so popular, “Kremen is a demon bent on consuming our souls.” Unlike the counselor’s truths, theories may never reach a state of universal objectivity.

Kremen approached the king and said, “You say you want a unified kingdom, but do you actually speak the truth? For years you have sat there and done nothing but raise your sword.”

The king began to pace. “I have been unable to centralize the houses for a number of reasons. You know that all too well.”

“No,” the counselor replied. “I do not”

Kremen did have a way about calling out the faulty rhetoric of others, and it was obvious to see that the king’s meaning was tangible. Kremen was just giving him a hard time.

Ronin grumbled. “Economic flux has been plaguing Albus for-”

Kremen cut him off. “The institutionalization of a centralized order is not a matter of economics. The economy is the product of the organization.”

Witnessing the scene from his perch, Jaycen could pick up on the king’s essence of near-aggravation. The ruler said, “It is a matter of internal relations as well. The noble families have their grudges. How must I keep them in check?”

“Are you not the king? Is this not one of his many duties? Each and every family – Black, Greywind, Brownstone, Whitemane, Burgundy –, they all swore allegiance to you upon your ascension.”

“You weren’t even-”

“There?” Kremen said, finishing his sentence. “No, I was not. But when was the last time that I was wrong, hmm?” The king did not respond to the query. If he argued, refuting Kremen’s wisdom, he would be a fool, but if he submitted to Kremen’s wisdom, he would be a weakling. And so he said nothing. Not a word. “I thought so, your greatship. Yet another flaw in your fundamentalist manner of thinking.”

“War keeps us from banning together,” King Ronin said. “We are too busy fighting that we are unable to focus on what truly matters!”

“You are at war, Ronin, and not in the good way. Most often it is war that brings a nation together, but the war you rage does the exact opposite.” The counselor swiftly rounded the pews where the others sat and approached the throne, gliding across the floor before stopping affront the throne. “In a way you are correct. A certain kind of war is plaguing this kingdom. You seek to assert the dominance that your office already possesses, thereby exhausting the power itself.

“For it is not until it is too late until you realize what you had. In this case, for you, it is power. This is the path that you are already on.” The counselor glared at him. The king was shaking in his seat. “And another thing: in spite of your argument’s unintended, partial validity in regards to your bastardized concept of what war is, the intention behind your saying of so is rooted in hypocrisy.”

The king did his best to hide his excessive anxiousness. “Enlighten me.”

“I would be happy to.” A wicked smile formed on Kremen’s lips. “You claim that war is what is plaguing your realm, yet you do not admit to being the spark that ignited its fire. The wars of past have not been ones of civil affairs of which you participate. You blame your faults on others through deflection. You think yourself only a bystander.

“The only wars that were raged of late were those that were waged by you. They were unprovoked and without justification, thus establishing yourself as history’s objective villain. The unnecessary loss when your men were smashed at the Teuton Spur was avoidable if you had kept your snake in its cage. Your actions spoiled morale of both army and nation, yet they still all bow before you. If that is not loyalty, I do not know what is. But you deserve none of it.”

“And they should,” retorted the king with conviction.

“No,” the counselor corrected, “they shouldn’t. Your actions – your wars – have divided the country, not the struggles of the people. And more wars shall inevitably come. You have not learned from the past. Yes, the past remains in the past and it should be left that way, but the past is the best prediction of the future. Either way, the past still exists and a man cannot escape the impact that it has upon his mind. But it is up to him to choose whether to learn from it or not, lest he wish to repeat it.

“Yet you wish to declare war on this House Burgundy, a loyal friend of the throne. Doing so not only demonstrates a lack of pragmatism, but also an inability to learn.”

Ronin stretched his arms out and yawned viciously, as if to disregard Kremen’s advice, which Jaycen thought seemed reasonable enough. The ruler obviously did not. “’War’ is too strong of a word to describe my conflict with House Burgundy. I would never repeat my mistake and invade Copenisle again.”

“You say that, but I do not believe you. Besides, there is no difference between the conflicts. Size matters not. The motive remains the same. Again, you are both not pragmatic and unable to learn. For both of these reasons, I disagree with what seems to be your final decision. If you follow through with this, everything you say you want will never have any hope of coming to pass. Your poorly waged wars will lead to the division you oh-so fear, and will ultimately be your undoing. You do so to assert the dominance that everyone thinks you have. As if you have anything to prove. It seems that war is already upon us: the War of Ronin’s Cock.”

Rage came across King Ronin’s face, his emotions visibly twisting his upper features into those befitting of the most vengeful of Hellspawn. But the virulent look upon the good king’s face was the product of what many would consider a common reaction on his part. Jaycen would have been surprised if Kremen’s socially unacceptable remark would have caused any other result.

Yet the king said nothing, seeming to take a much quieter approach. Perhaps he was exhausted. Jaycen had never seen him so worn out before. It almost made him feel sorry for the man.

Almost.

“Minister Kremen,” the king implored, “I ask you to leave this throne room at once.”

“No.”

The silence returned. Those who made comments as bold as Kremen’s usually did not live long enough to feel that regret. But Jaycen did not fear for the enigmatic minister’s life. If it had been any other person, Jaycen knew that Ronin would have ordered an execution in not but one heartbeat.

Kremen was no ordinary person.

King Ronin was more stubborn than a Jevintter ass. He always entangled himself into all kinds of disputes, ranging from those of deep concern to the most menial of topics. While Jaycen could relate somewhat, Ronin could never stop playing the devil’s advocate. Uncle Romulas was a wise man, a brilliant advisor, and a gifted tactician, but Ronin was not afraid to challenge his counsel. None of his advisors, not even the great Arl Romulas Black, hero of the Blackbane and Herald of the Teutonian Wall, could frighten the indefatigable King Ronin Siefried. Only one person struck fear into the heart of the king.

Ronin was afraid of Kremen.

Part of Jaycen could rationalize the king’s fear. There was something disturbing about Kremen, as the advisor knew secrets about the world that not even the world seemed to understand. A great revelation was present in Kremen’s fortress of a mind, something that eluded everyone else, even the wisest of the wise. Kremen had seen something – seen many things – that had either inspired or scarred a very dark mind, resulting in the aura that always seemed to linger in the air wherever the counselor was present. But, on the other hand, many of the other advisors were frightening as well, but not in the same unique manner that Kremen was. Many, including Great Uncle Romulas, were demanding and intimidating, and came closer to scaring Jaycen did Kremen’s mind games. Jaycen found it humorous that Ronin feared Kremen of all people, who was undoubtedly the most physically unintimidating and unremarkable of the king’s council.

The king finally surrendered. With a tired grumble, he said: “I have had enough of this broken dance, Minister. This conversation has gotten us nowhere and has done nothing but subtract from the amount of time that could have been spent attending to the matters of court. Is there anything else that you have to say?”

“No. I am finished here.”

For the first time in a while Jaycen empathized with the king. From personal experience, he knew that Kremen was difficult to talk to. That aside, he had enjoyed watching the exchange, and he figured that Isabela did as well. The counselor was the only one who could ever, in a million years, get away with talking to the king in such a manner, and coming out of it unscathed.

“Then, so long as you do not have another ace to pull out of that long sleeve of yours, I bid you take your seat once more, Counselor,” the king said courteously, managing to regain some of his composure. Without another word, Counselor Kremen glided in the direction of the door.

Jaycen turned to face his cousin. “Would you care to leave and go grab something to it.”

Isabela shook her head. “No. Please, Jaycen. I bid you stay.”

“Why?”

She smiled. “It pains me to see my friends abandon me in such haste.”

Jaycen rolled his eyes. “Very well,” he said, “but you better introduce me to one of your friends when this whole shitshow is over with.”

“But of course,” Isabela replied with a laugh.

“Still though,” Jaycen said, in reference to the whole situation with Kremen, “I found that to be quite entertaining. And I am quite sure that our prisoner is glad that all attention was drawn off of him.”

Although out of turn, the prisoner spoke up. “Well,” he said, “that was quite educational.”

“Was it not?” responded the king, “That Kremen is such a whore for attention that I almost forgot about you.”

The prisoner smiled back. “And I am glad that you didn’t. But then again, I am a hard one to forget about.”

“Quite.” The king sat up tall in his seat, as if to appear imposing. “But I am afraid that history is far more forgetful. His memory fades quickly.”

The prisoner clearly understood the implication, Jaycen knew, and his poise suddenly shifted from one of laid back charm to one of desperate anxiety. Jaycen was aware of FitzHerbert’s crime and, although he was a strong proponent of justice, he was rooting for the criminal’s life deep down. There was no reason that he had to die.

Gene gulped, and Ronin smiled wickedly. “So, tell me bastard, how would you like to die?

The anxiety present on the prisoner’s face doubled, and he seemed to have a loss for words. Come on, you can think of something. He certainly did not lack for intelligence. Perhaps he was a bit full of himself, but, then again, Jaycen was too, and he knew it all too well.

But what Jaycen could not figure out was whether or not the king, this time, was actually being serious or not. Where he was in a good mood before, or at least his own twisted variation of such, the conversation with Kremen had left him wary. Jaycen considered that the ordering of an on the spot execution could possibly help the king’s esteem, as to make himself more powerful.

The rogue finally developed a spontaneous revival of composure. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

The king rolled his eyes. “How, Mr. FitzHerbert, would you like to die?”

“With a belly full of mead and two maidens by my side…your grace.”

The chamber roared with laughter, Jaycen included. Even the royal guard could not help it. Now that, Jaycen thought, is the correct answer.

Once the laughing had stopped, he stood up and descended the stone steps once more. Looking down at Gene he said: “I have had enough of this nonsense today, and I have had enough of you.” He turned to the captain of the guard, who stood beside the throne. “Tell Lord Harrow that this man is to be hanged at the justice’s earliest convenience. We have no time to make this execution public.”

The soldier nodded and ordered his two underlings to leave the room. “Wait!” the prisoner shouted. “I’m no good to you dead!”

The turned his head, seemingly interested in what FitzHerbert had to say. “Oh? And why is that?”

“I have seen Castle Burgundy, your grace. You’ve already made known your plan to attack it, but, in order for you to do so, you will need espionage, something that I have unintentionally collected on your behalf.”

The king seemed to consider the offer, dressing himself in an aura of patient rationalization and piqued curiosity. “Go on.”

A bold smile returned to FitzHerbert’s face. Jaycen figured that he was most likely thrilled by the prospect of eluding certain execution. “I have seen the interior of the castle. I remember every crook and cranny. I could be of some use to you. I don’t like to brag, but I have quite the visual memory.”

“You will have to do better than that,” the king said. “I guarantee you that at least half of this court has visited Castle Burgundy.” He paused for a moment. “Is the baryn present?”

“Right here, your grace.” Jaycen’s father said.

“Geoffrey Black, you spent much of your youth at Castle Burgundy, did you not?”

“Yes, your grace. Anything to get out of my mother’s household, bless her soul.”

“From what I have heard, you were mates with Coun Sevrin many years ago. Am I correct?” Jaycen realized that Ronin most certainly already knew this, but he had a tendency to ask questions with the most obvious of answers, probably for the sake of boosting his own ego.

“Aye,” Father replied with a swift nod of the head. “I spent several summers at Castle Burgundy. The two of us got into all sorts of mischief. That was before I joined the navy.”

Ronin’s resolve remained calm, as if he had forgotten of the exchange with Kremen entirely. While not going about it with his usual arrogance, he still seemed to possess a poise that demonstrated his belief that he was in total control. “So, Baryn, I take it that you are still well aware of the fortress’ layout?”

“This was well over twenty-five years ago, your grace. I do remember, but I am sure it has changed tremendously.”

“Well then, your worship,” FitzHerbert said with a sly smile, “it just so happens that I am the most recent man in any way affiliated with you to visit Castle Burgundy. If you listened to your loyal friend here, you’d be subject to scheming via the use of outdated information.”

The king sighed. “Very well then. We’ll start by asking you what you saw at Castle Burgundy.”

Gene nodded. “Well, the army was clearly the most distinguishing feature.”

Ronin looked surprised. “Army? What kind of army?”

“The kind with soldiers. I don’t know.”

“You have no further information? Don’t forget that whether you live or die is dependent on your cooperation, and the usefulness of this information you claim to have in your possession.”

“I understand,” Gene snapped, obviously not wanting to gamble with his life for the sake of mere humour.

“Tell me more about this army you saw,” demanded Ronin. “Did you find out anything additional? Something useful?”

“He is planning to march East in January, upon the Feast of the Epiphany. According to some barracks chatter that I overheard, Coun Sevrin is planning on engaging the Sarecs.”

Zorrus cleared his throat. “This refugee crisis in the East, I admit, is starting to become a nuisance, but the Sarecs are growing more aggressive along the border. The Cult of Osiris has truly made their homeland a living hell.”

Jaycen was surprised when his cousin arose. “Love, I stand with you,” she lied, “but perhaps this particular matter can be settled following the inevitable war against the Sarecs? That is, assuming that this wretch is correct and the Burgundies are indeed preparing to march east.”

“I advise you to listen to your queen, your grace,” said Zorrus in a tone humbler than he was used to. “Besides, I have heard whispers from the East saying that something is rising beyond the Bara – something more sinister than Osiris. For it may be the reason that the Sarecs are departing their lands as quickly as they are. If this is true, we should expect nothing less than an invasion brought on by mere desperation. The desperate fight stronger than the greedy.”

Ronin asked for additional information regarding the Burgundian forces. FitzHerbert told him that he had overheard that, on the seventh day of the New Year, four-thousand men were to begin the march, with a smaller force commanded by Sevrin and his second born son due to set out three or four days later.

“That gives us the perfect gap.” Members of the court looked at one another. Jaycen understood the implication. Clearly the rest of the men and women in the throne room did as well. “Anything else?”

Jaycen saw what looked to be a smirk find its way onto Gene’s own face. “If I tell you anything more, there’ll be nothing left for me to bargin with.”

“Smart boy, eh?” the king said. “Clever of you. You may be of some used to me yet.”

“I’d hope so.”

“In spite of the little bit of information you have given me, assuming it is correct, it can be used to my own advantage. Perhaps it was a good idea of me to spare you after all.”

The prisoner bowed. “I am ready to cooperate, your grace. Thief’s honour.”

The king laughed again. “Because the honour of thieves goes a long way.”

Gene cleared his throat. “So how’s about I help you by accompanying you to Castle Burgundy? I’ll utilize further knowledge that I have regarding the fortress. I assure you that I will be of much help.In exchange for letting me go.”

“Perhaps,” said Ronin, “Although I have yet to make my final decision regarding your ultimate fate. But rest assured that your proposal has been taken into consideration.” Ronin motioned for the guards to grab a hold of the prisoner. “Take him back to the dungeons, but make sure that no harm comes to him.”

Two guards siezed FitzHerbert. “Take me away, gents,” he said.“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. You have been a great audience!”

“If what the bastard says is true, there is a simple way that we can go about handling this,” King Ronin said, “We will take advantage of this so-called ‘gap’, and send a letter to Coun Sevrin that the Siefrieds and the Blacks wish to assist in the war effort and march with his personal company. We will send a forward party to Castle Burgundy led by an emissary of House Black. Once the coun’s main army departs, the emissary will then inform him that our own armies are running behind, which will delay the coun even further. Then, in the middle of the night, while all of the bloody Burgundies are drinking, we will utilize the bastard’s intelligence and proceed to sabotage the guard force and silently open the gates. Then we purge the household.”

Jaycen noticed a looks of shock on the faces of both his father and Arl Killian Whitemane. The latter said: “That will not bide well with the other houses, particularly those under the vassaldom of the coun. Imprisoning the Burgundies is one thing, but murder? Why, that is something else entirely.”

“I wholeheartedly agree with the arl,” added Jaycen’s father. “While my loyalty is pledged to you and you alone, I will not condone my house participating in the slaughter of an entire household, let alone one led by an old mate of mine.”

The king shook his head. “You’ve not seen him in decades.”

“He’s still my friend.” There was a break in the exchange, and both the baryn and the king stared at one another. Arl Whitemane moved closer to Jaycen’s father’s side and too began staring at the king.

Ronin finally shook his head and broke the silence. “I see your point, my good lords. If the Burgundies are to die, it will not be until after they are given a fair trial.”

There’s no such thing as a fair trial with you, Ronin, Jaycen thought to himself, rolling his eyes.

Zorrus looked at the king and nodded. “A good plan, your grace,” he praised, “that is, assuming that the prisoner told us the truth.”

“If he does, then we will simply kill him where he stands at the first chance we get. If he is telling the truth, which I have no doubt he is, we will execute the plan. Once our own representatives arrive, the army will be long gone. Once we let our own in through the gates, the Burgundies, including that wretched boy who started all of this, as well as the seneschal, the servants, and what soldiers they have, will be taken into our own custody. They wouldn’t dare fight back against the soldiers of the crown.”

“And if something goes wrong?” one of the counselors inquired skeptically.

“If something goes wrong, then we still have our army.”

“And who shall represent the crown?” Zorrus asked.

“Baryn Black,” the king said with a sly smile.

Jaycen’s father looked taken aback. “Your…grace. Are you sure? I don’t know if I feel comfortable-”

“It does not matter if you feel uncomfortable or not, Baryn. You had a fairly solid friendship with the coun. With you there, he’ll have his guard down.”

“I will not betray my old friend.”

“Lord Black, are you saying that you’d disobey my direct command?”

“No, I’m saying that-”

“Geoffrey.” Jaycen looked and saw Uncle Romulas standing, solemnly glaring at his nephew.

“Yes, your grace. I will do as you command.”

Father clearly did not like the plan – the plan of even taking House Burgundy hostage – but he most certainly knew that it was the only way to avoid further conflict with King Ronin and, by extension, all of House Siefried. He obviously cared about the coun, but he cared about his family and they’re safety even more. It was the only way.

“Lord Geoffrey,” added the king. “I have another request.”

“What is it, your grace?”

“Your son. I wish him to go with you.”

“I wish for your son to accompany you to Castle Burgundy.”

“Which son?”

“Your firstborn.”

Jaycen closed his eyes and started rubbing his temples. Why does it always have to be me?