Thunderwyrm III

The square had been frivolous and merry, where the common people were blessed in the presence of not only so many noblemen, but the king even too. Many a clown was taken hire that day, and many a pint and goblet drunk. Money rightfully spent, Fiara concluded. Yet she was given not a moment save the greeting to converse with King Boeris the Sixth. From a distance he was not much; the same auburn hair, wavy to his shoulders, with broad palms and a ripe belly. Yet Fiara had been the first to notice his silver lining; age and stress were visibly seeping their poisonous toll on the Brighthelm’s Stone like a pearl moss. For a time of peace still tainted the youth of a man that sat the throne. It was little an augur for a time of conflict.

By dusk’s shadow had the procession moved to the court hall. There the hum of glee was in concentrate, and the intoxication prior had only sought to spill more wine than was drunk by the time everyone was seated. Maids and waiting-ladies were cleaning and tending, but the affair was not sordid, for the debauchery was pious and in good taste; even the head of faith, Pious Celestiam Saint De’elys the Second, was capricious and exuberant. A time of fun beyond all, and as much as Fiara found disappointment in her seating away from friends, it gave her time to watch from the head of the table and be with her father.

‘You grow finer every year, darling daughter,’ Boeris cut into Fiara’s thought. ‘When will you come to visit me,’ he bellowed. ‘It seems I’m the only one travelling, progressing as they call it. Terrible how much a monarch is told to advance without ever using their own legs.’

‘Well, father, if I were to leave then who would watch mother? More still, who would run Scarshire for you? She can’t alone, it’s too lonely, and I daresay old uncle Riquard may sow seeds against you–’ Fiara’s response was ignored by the raw breath of merriment. As was the way of an eve such as that; the king listened when he wanted and spoke whether or not he should.

‘Your mother’s lovely. Riquard’s a good man, a Parasquall. Your mother’s lovely,’ he announced. A weighty arm fell upon Fiara’s shoulder on one side of Boeris as was mirrored on the other side with Leoise’s shoulder. He swayed for a few moments, revelling in the noise, but most of all, in the moment of space to relax. Yet even in such a moment were his closest advisors around him. One seat past Leoise sat Duke Edicus Whitewall and his wife, the Duchess, of the Roost. And past them, the Stone’s very own Honourable Lord – his personal right-hand counsel. Such an honour was given to Threid Hedet’s father, Theraide, a man of age whose body had degraded its muscle so that he was little more than a baggy sack. They said his mind was the sharpest chisel in Loullands, alas, and Fiara knew that Boeris trusted him dearly.

To her left, though, was a very different man. The Fury of the King, Duke Jaedd Summerose of Maben. His duty as one of the Six Enforcers of Will lay as the premier military advisor and coordinator of the armies of Loullands, but also as a sworn sword. His loyalty was tied to the trueborn ruler of Loullands, and songs were sung of his prowess as a duellist, strategist, and just man. Such a title was made worth doubly so, as he was amongst the youngest in the two-thousand-year history of the title, younger by seven years himself than Fiara was. By far the more engaging conversationalist compared with her father.

‘So, Fiara, do you think you’ll miss Scarshire?’ Jaedd asked.

Fiara was mightily puzzled at the urgency of everyone for her to leave Scarshire in recent days and was rather against thinking of it. ‘I suppose, should I ever leave. I don’t plan on leaving until I must, if it has to be said.’ Fiara paused for a moment, even a bit offended. ‘I must ask, Lord Fury, why it is they give you such titles as “Greenrose”?’

‘Ah,’ Jaedd Summerose began, ‘it is simple really. There are many amongst the magnate that wish curses upon those that bear the titles they lust over. Unfortunately, my age and my prominence as both Duke and Counsellor, with responsibility over both Hille and Maben, makes me an especially keen target. I hear “Greenfury” more often now, though it’s difficult to prove myself anything but green when your father holds peace so firm. The greatest peace since Easterntide, they’re saying. I fail to see how anarchic feudalism under loose dues to a foreign empire of slender scientists and mind-manipulators is really peace, but this certainly is. And it is bountiful, such so that many seek to stir it. Thus, peacetime is the reign of the Eyes of the King.’ He took a grand slab of crisped powder goose and somehow made it look in fine manner to attempt a whole swallow. ‘But that is the tedium of politics our exalted Stone is so eager to leave on hiatus. Unfortunately such a thing is wishful at best; hence why my contemporaries remain in the Blue Chamber whilst I appreciate this wondrous eve.’

Fiara had her ears alert to his talk, until Threid caught her eye again. He had grown some, though grown only riper it appeared, but each glance between them across the King’s Bench at the head of the banquet seemed so distant. Never had it been so cold between their glances. As sudden as their eyes broke, he stood, excusing himself.

Jaedd had noticed, though waited only until Fiara detached her searching eyes to comment, ‘he’s a fine young man that Threid. Ambitious and strong and proud. Since joining us at Meridian he has been expressing his deep information, and thoughts of reform for both Chilternshire and Loullands, making suggestions to your father and such. You know, over these last few years he’s frequented court at Brighthelm. Making connections, scoring trade lines, that sort of thing. It seems he’s nurtured a surprisingly effective mind for politics. I suppose the charisma of the Hedets never hurts, nor the privilege of one’s ear as a trader or climber of the ladder of life.’ As he had been all eve, Summerose spoke nothing shy of genuine to his king’s daughter. Fiara wondered if that nurturing had driven him from the kind heart many of such a caste would tell as weak.

‘I mean not to appear impertinent, my Lady, but are you aware of the arrangements?’ Jaedd asked. ‘Of course, betrothal to one’s relative is a… an odd suggestion, at first, though understand you are only related by distance. And there is no greater match, save maybe marrying you off to the King of Pearls, than to unify the great families of Squall and Hedet.’

Then Fiara realised it. ‘So this is the surprise? I’m to marry Threid?’

‘Oh… a surprise?’ Jaedd’s angular face went round and flush with a throbbing red.

Fiara was not with the beam she thought she would have, and far from the reaction that Summerose expected. ‘Our marriage would bury the Squall line.’

‘Not if you’re Stone. Your children would carry your name,’ Jaedd swiftly corrected.

‘And what of how I feel? I haven’t spoken a word to him since… Excuse me Lord Fury, I must… I’m a little flustered,’ Fiara said. She rose from her fine seat in a screeching noise so that everyman heard and fell silent. At least, that’s how it felt: that eyes were on her as she marched away toward her bathing chamber.

At the reach of the stairs, an even louder scratching pierced the noise of the room. Her father had risen to make some terribly grand speech. Fiara didn’t care to miss it; mother’s present was beside her seat, and she needed a moment with Maerk and a mirror to consider the weight of everything. Though as she stepped the first of many in the twisting passage up the proudspire, she rose her head to see Maerk’s own. ‘Fiara,’ he whispered, ‘I need to show you something, urgently.’

‘Not now Maerk. Not now, I can’t… I don’t want to be shown anything.’

‘But it’s Thunderwyrm…’ he replied in mourning. ‘She’s… Twyner’s just now pronounced her dead.’