‘Father,’ Nikolas urged. ‘That wouldn’t help our alliance with Phalesia. Nor would it help Peithon. We need trade, which means we need the sea.’
‘What we truly need is knowledge,’ Dion said. ‘We are a smaller nation than Phalesia, and smaller by far than Ilea, but our future could be determined by the tide of events between them. Kargan of Ilea now has an insider’s view of Phalesia’s harbor, defenses, and governing Assembly. Whatever Aristocles and the other consuls learned from him in return, little was shared with me.’ He looked from face to face. ‘I think someone from Xanthos, one of us, should return to Phalesia so we may learn what we can, before the warship leaves.’
Markos grunted. ‘And my guess is you think that someone should be you.’
‘Nikolas is busy at the training ground, you have the kingdom to run, and Peithon sees to our trade. I want to be useful, and I truly believe this warship heralds danger.’
‘What if the Ileans have departed?’ Nikolas asked, scratching at his thick black beard.
Dion was prepared for the question. ‘Father, you always said a good leader maintains initiative and acts decisively. A good warrior makes actions rather than reactions. If the warship has left Phalesia, I could follow in its wake. I could visit Ilea, posing as a trader. We need knowledge.’
Thea drew in a sharp breath. ‘Across the Maltherean Sea? The voyage is too long, the dangers too many.’
‘I could consult with the Oracle at Athos on the way, which would give the journey a secondary purpose. I know there are dangers—’
‘Dangers?’ Peithon cut in, arching an eyebrow. ‘Have you ever spoken to a man who has beached at Cinder Fen? Surely you’ve heard tales of the Sea of Serpents?’
Dion set his jaw with determination. Ignoring Peithon, he addressed his father and brother. ‘It is the longer journey, but I could sail via Orius and Parnos, missing Cinder Fen altogether. Navigating the sea is to me like leading warriors is to you. Let me do this. Let me use my skills to do something for Xanthos, the same way Nikolas does every day at the training ground.’
Markos looked uncomfortable. Dion was worse than useless with a sword, awkward to say the least with a shield. But in front of a father who valued the skills of a warrior, it was rarely spoken about so openly.
‘Think about all we could learn,’ Dion persisted. ‘Their ship-building techniques. Their intentions. Their strengths and weaknesses. Even if danger never comes, the knowledge will help us. Trade on the Maltherean Sea is as important as the struggle to control it. Silver buys many swords.’
‘I will think on it,’ the king said, and Dion knew that was all he would get from him tonight. ‘In the meantime we have my grandson’s naming ceremony.’ He paused, and then spoke decisively to everyone in the group. ‘I will make my decision by then.’
13
Stools, benches, recliners, and bed-like sofas lay clustered around the banqueting hall, framing the walls and cluttering the interior but leaving much of the center bare. Tasseled pillows, embroidered cushions, and dyed linens covered items of furniture and were covered again by lolling occupants in opulent costumes. Fires roared in the six great hearths, filling the hall with warmth that was utterly unnecessary on an evening in early summer.
The forty guests wiped sweat from brows, laughed uproariously, ate salty food, and then called for more wine to slake their thirst. The aroma of roasting lamb and goat rose from the cooking hearth, an iron bed the size of a table, occupying a wall near the wide-open doors leading to the Flower Terrace. Two servants stood at either end, regularly rotating the two spitted beasts that sizzled over the crimson coals. The noise of loud conversation drowned out the music, though the two seated musicians with lyres played on regardless.
Dion sat on a bench near his brother, who drained his cup and then held it up into the sky to call for more wine. They were near the banqueting hall’s back wall, which afforded them a view of the entire room. Nikolas had been saying something about the different lengths of a pike and the effect on tactics when he’d forgotten what he was saying, had his cup refilled, and now suddenly looked at Dion with an expression of alarm.
‘Luni . . . My son. Where is he? The magus will come at any moment.’
‘Nikolas,’ Dion said, shaking his head and grinning. ‘You’re drunk. Look.’ He nodded. ‘Over there. Next to my mother. There’s Helena, and your son next to her.’
‘Good, good,’ Nikolas said, smiling. He sipped again at the wine and his smile fell. ‘What if the magus doesn’t choose iron?’