the cautious one, interjected. “We would be prudent to keep it hidden, to disguise our efforts under a guise of friendship, cooperation, and exchange of magical traditions.”
“Very well,” the King said. “See that it is done, Master Tzeremond. I expect periodic reports on your progress.”
“Of course, my Lord King.”
Kedehen moved to dismiss them, but High Mage Tzetobar gave a tentative lift of his ruddy hand. “If I may, my Lord King?”
Kedehen nodded and settled back into his chair. The diplomat’s blue eyes connected briefly with Tzeremond’s before returning to the regent.
“I thought we might use this opportunity to analyze the proposal made by the King of Roenfyn,” Tzetobar said.
Kedehen’s broad shoulders stiffened. “I have already made my decision, Mage Tzetobar, as you well know.”
A tense silence spread across the table. Tzeremond shifted in his seat. If Tzetobar could not resolve this, then perhaps no one could.
“With all due respect, my Lord King,” the red-faced mage persisted. “The Third Princess of Roenfyn is a very suitable match, a virtuous maiden of excellent lineage, and her father offers a generous dowry of goods and territories. There are many advantages to this opportunity and many risks in denying it. Among other considerations, you must know that it is not…” Tzetobar cleared his throat. “It is not prudent to let the future of the Crown to depend upon a single heir.”
“The destiny of my son cannot be questioned,” the King said. “With him the glory of Vortingen and the magic of East Selen have been poured into a single vessel. I require no other heirs.”
“My Lord King,” Tzeremond spoke with care, infusing his voice with genuine concern. “I agree this boy, if the Gods continue to favor him, could be the greatest Mage and King to have walked these lands, but we must take care with our own pride and arrogance. What would have happened, after all, if your father had set all his hopes upon his eldest son?”
Kedehen stood abruptly and moved away from the table. His jaw worked beneath the hard lines of his face. For several minutes the only sound was the heavy fall of his boots as he paced.
Tzeremond’s question burned in the air between them. Three of Kedehen’s brothers had gone to their deaths before the weight of the Crown fell to him. Experience had proven a single heir was not enough. What in the name of the Gods kept Kedehen from recognizing this? The very thought of accepting another queen seemed to fill him with distaste, inexplicable for a Prince of Vortingen.
Perhaps he did indeed love her.
As improbable as it seemed. Briana had lived out her last years as little more than Kedehen’s prisoner, confined to the East Tower behind doors sealed by magic.
Still, if there was no love between them, what force kept the King from taking another princess to his bed? What other explanation could there be for this strange attachment that transcended death itself?
The King took a resolute stance before them, powerful hands gripping the back of his chair. “I desire no other queen, and I require no additional heirs. The Mage Prince Akmael will assume the Crown of Vortingen, and the line of my fathers will continue through him. You may give this message to the King of Roenfyn: his offer is refused. I will suffer no further discussion of the matter.”
With that Kedehen departed, and the Council was adjourned.
Tempted to let his weary head sink into his hands, Tzeremond maintained his composure. He stood and retrieved his rowan staff. He acknowledged Tzetobar’s efforts with a silent nod.
Once again they had failed, but Tzeremond would not give up hope. The Gods had led him this far in his effort to heal the country of women’s magic and to ensure its future against any resurgence. It was only a matter of time and perseverance before Dragon showed him another way.
C hapter Seven
Three Rivers
“I want to be
“Very well,” the King said. “See that it is done, Master Tzeremond. I expect periodic reports on your progress.”
“Of course, my Lord King.”
Kedehen moved to dismiss them, but High Mage Tzetobar gave a tentative lift of his ruddy hand. “If I may, my Lord King?”
Kedehen nodded and settled back into his chair. The diplomat’s blue eyes connected briefly with Tzeremond’s before returning to the regent.
“I thought we might use this opportunity to analyze the proposal made by the King of Roenfyn,” Tzetobar said.
Kedehen’s broad shoulders stiffened. “I have already made my decision, Mage Tzetobar, as you well know.”
A tense silence spread across the table. Tzeremond shifted in his seat. If Tzetobar could not resolve this, then perhaps no one could.
“With all due respect, my Lord King,” the red-faced mage persisted. “The Third Princess of Roenfyn is a very suitable match, a virtuous maiden of excellent lineage, and her father offers a generous dowry of goods and territories. There are many advantages to this opportunity and many risks in denying it. Among other considerations, you must know that it is not…” Tzetobar cleared his throat. “It is not prudent to let the future of the Crown to depend upon a single heir.”
“The destiny of my son cannot be questioned,” the King said. “With him the glory of Vortingen and the magic of East Selen have been poured into a single vessel. I require no other heirs.”
“My Lord King,” Tzeremond spoke with care, infusing his voice with genuine concern. “I agree this boy, if the Gods continue to favor him, could be the greatest Mage and King to have walked these lands, but we must take care with our own pride and arrogance. What would have happened, after all, if your father had set all his hopes upon his eldest son?”
Kedehen stood abruptly and moved away from the table. His jaw worked beneath the hard lines of his face. For several minutes the only sound was the heavy fall of his boots as he paced.
Tzeremond’s question burned in the air between them. Three of Kedehen’s brothers had gone to their deaths before the weight of the Crown fell to him. Experience had proven a single heir was not enough. What in the name of the Gods kept Kedehen from recognizing this? The very thought of accepting another queen seemed to fill him with distaste, inexplicable for a Prince of Vortingen.
Perhaps he did indeed love her.
As improbable as it seemed. Briana had lived out her last years as little more than Kedehen’s prisoner, confined to the East Tower behind doors sealed by magic.
Still, if there was no love between them, what force kept the King from taking another princess to his bed? What other explanation could there be for this strange attachment that transcended death itself?
The King took a resolute stance before them, powerful hands gripping the back of his chair. “I desire no other queen, and I require no additional heirs. The Mage Prince Akmael will assume the Crown of Vortingen, and the line of my fathers will continue through him. You may give this message to the King of Roenfyn: his offer is refused. I will suffer no further discussion of the matter.”
With that Kedehen departed, and the Council was adjourned.
Tempted to let his weary head sink into his hands, Tzeremond maintained his composure. He stood and retrieved his rowan staff. He acknowledged Tzetobar’s efforts with a silent nod.
Once again they had failed, but Tzeremond would not give up hope. The Gods had led him this far in his effort to heal the country of women’s magic and to ensure its future against any resurgence. It was only a matter of time and perseverance before Dragon showed him another way.
C hapter Seven
Three Rivers
“I want to be
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