Peithon found the king and his queen out on the Orange Terrace, sitting on the stone benches and staring out to sea. Their heads were close together; they stopped speaking when he approached.
Markos smiled and stood, fixing a warm expression of welcome on his closest adviser. Although stooped, he still had the frame of a warrior, and there was no thinning of his thick, curly white hair. His matching beard covered his mouth but didn’t hide the small scar on his left cheek.
Peithon remembered when the king had taken that wound, long ago in the war against Tanus. Once they had both been young men, strong and invincible, with the athletic builds of the world’s finest warriors. Markos had been ten years Peithon’s senior, but a strong friendship had grown. He remembered how close they had been then.
Now Markos’s shoulders were hunched while Peithon’s muscle had run to fat. Time had passed. This world was a different place.
‘Peithon,’ the king said. ‘Please, sit with us.’
The queen didn’t stand, nor did she speak or smile. Over time Thea had poisoned the king against Peithon, and she now had her husband’s ear, whispering slurs against him, the king’s most loyal companion. Peithon felt rage build within him, both at Thea and her policy of befriending the disgusting creatures who had robbed him of a bride, and at Markos, who appeared to have forgotten the strong bond they once shared. He suddenly wanted to hurt them, to make them acknowledge that he deserved to be more than a glorified merchant.
Peithon remained standing. ‘King Markos, Queen Thea, I heard the news. The sacking of Orius was only the beginning, I fear.’
‘Word travels fast,’ Thea murmured.
‘You won’t sit?’ Markos asked, returning to his seat.
‘No, sire. It seems that I have many tasks ahead of me if we are to prepare for what might come.’
‘Yet still no word from Dion,’ Thea said, gazing out to sea. ‘It has been weeks since he left on his foolish quest.’
‘We all fear for him,’ Peithon said. ‘We must assume he is safe.’
‘So what are your thoughts, Peithon?’ The king turned his steady gaze on him.
‘They are going to return to attack Phalesia. I have no doubt.’
The king’s eyes widened with surprise at his conviction.
Thea frowned. ‘All we know is that they raided Orius.’
Ignoring her, Peithon spoke to the king. ‘The sun king’s men slaughtered our neighbors, our countrymen – Galeans all of them – before making threats to Phalesia and seizing the first consul’s daughter. We must send the army to help reinforce Phalesia’s defenses. Our soldiers need to train with theirs, and our officers should advise the consuls in preparation for battle. Our allies need our help.’
‘It would leave Xanthos defenseless,’ Thea retorted. ‘Who are you to advise the king on military strategy?’
‘Now, wife,’ Markos said, holding up a hand. ‘Peithon is a warrior first and foremost. Just because we are old men with new responsibilities does not mean we have forgotten who we were.’
Keeping his expression sincere as his gaze turned from the king to his formidable queen, Peithon thought about how much he hated her. The king had needed a second son, he understood that, but somehow this woman with no people and no home had wormed her way into his graces. She had betrayed the memories of her countrymen, slaughtered by wildren, by refusing to take the fight to the eldren they once were. Eldren once fought humans for control of the world. They were just biding their time before the war began again. If he were king—
‘Sire,’ Peithon said, revealing nothing of his thoughts. ‘The Shards protect our flank. Any attack from the sea must go through Phalesia to reach us here in Xanthos. Phalesia must be strong. Her navy and our army are all that will prevent our mutual destruction. We must combine our forces, sooner rather than later. The Ileans could arrive at any moment. The sun king is too powerful for either of us to face alone.’
Markos scratched his beard as he mused. Finally, he turned to Thea. ‘I am sorry, wife, but Peithon speaks sense. I’ll tell Nikolas to take the army through the Gates of Annika to Phalesia. We can always recall them if we have need.’
‘The men will need supplies.’ Peithon bowed. ‘By your leave?’
‘Of course,’ the old king said.
Leaving the terrace and walking through the arched entrance to the king’s audience chamber, Peithon glanced at the high-backed wooden chair that was the king’s throne.
Peithon had made inquiries. Even working together, Xanthos and Phalesia would never be able to hold out against the might of the Ilean Empire. Challenging the sun king was foolhardy in the extreme.
He thought about the message he would send. He had a captain in mind who would make the journey for silver.
The king would send Nikolas and the army to Phalesia. Xanthos would then be a very tempting target for the Ileans.