An hour later, Rezkin stepped into his office. It was now furnished with a desk made of wood from the forest on the southern half of the bowl. Tam had constructed it for him and had even carved Rezkin’s sigil into the front panel. An inscription of loyalty and friendship adorned the underside. It was truly a beautiful piece, and Rezkin thought that Tam would have had a successful future as a carpenter. Tam had said that he found woodworking to be boring, but Rezkin thought that if Tam had put as much care into his other projects as he had the desk, he would have been lauded a true craftsman.
The other furnishings were modest by comparison since few luxuries existed on the island. Rezkin was averse to having an office bedecked in fineries when there were so many residents in need of basic items, but his people seemed to find pride in the contribution. The chairs and sofa were hastily made, but he had been told they would be replaced when finer items had been crafted. The black and green swirled glass goblets had been created by the earth and fire mage Morgessa Freil, with the assistance of her apprentice Calen Loom, whose affinities were for earth and water. The vases on the stone pedestals were projects made by a few of the other apprentices and were filled with plants grown in the new gardens and greenhouses. The wall hangings and rug had been embroidered or woven in the sewing circle led by Lady Shiela, who had mostly avoided Rezkin since Palis’s death. She preferred, instead, to focus on what she called the feminine traditions of the nobility. The decorative touches about the room were proof of her success.
Shezar was already present when Rezkin entered the office, as was Wesson. A moment later, Kai entered bedecked in weapons and looking ready for war.
“Is he on his way?” said Rezkin.
“Yes, Farson is escorting them.”
“Farson?”
“Yes, is that a problem?”
Rezkin pondered for a moment. “It is … interesting. Did he request the duty?”
Kai frowned. “No, I was busy when the order came. I asked Farson to bring him.”
Rezkin surveyed the room’s current occupants and said, “Retrieve Yserria and Frisha. I suppose Malcius should attend as well.”
As Kai left to gather the others, Rezkin turned to study a painting he had not seen the previous day.
Shezar said, “Viscount Abertine, it turns out, has a talent with the brush. This was his gift to you.”
“What do you think he is trying to say?” Rezkin mused.
Shezar studied the image. “I would say he fears you.”
The painting was of Dark Tidings standing in the portal to a crystal-studded hall with an army of elven wraiths at his back. In the foreground was a dim courtyard piled high with bloodied swords and broken shields, the cobbles awash in crimson. Reflected in the blades was the overcast sky filled with ravens, some gripping entrails in their talons.
Rezkin turned as his assailant, a man probably in his early forties, and a veiled woman were escorted into the room. The man stooped timidly and appeared shaken as his gaze darted about the room. The woman held the man’s arm, her unadorned frock rocking gracefully with each step.
“Please, have a seat,” Rezkin said, motioning to a couple of upholstered armchairs. He poured two goblets of wine and then strolled over to the pair. As the man took the goblet, he muttered a thank you. He met Rezkin’s gaze for the briefest moment before his soft blue eyes turned toward the floor. The woman did not raise the lacey black veil but whispered her gratitude.
Tieran stumbled into the room looking as though he had not slept the previous night and was probably still under the influence of the wine. “Rez, I have asked you how many times not to send those phantoms after me? Would it kill you to use a traditional messenger?” He held a hand out to Kai who was leading the others into the room. “You sent the striker for them. Can you not offer me the same courtesy?”
Rezkin said, “The shielreyah are faster, and you can be almost certain the message came from me.”
Tieran slumped onto the sofa. “Says you. You know how I feel about them.” He spied the odd couple sitting in the chairs and said, “How about you pour me some of that wine?”
Kai growled, “You do not ask the king to pour you wine.”
“I was not asking the king,” muttered Tieran. “I was asking my cousin, who thinks the world of me.”
Frisha and Malcius both bore looks of confusion as they entered the room. They took their seats on the sofa with Tieran so that Frisha sat between the two men. Yserria followed, taking up position by the door after closing it upon Rezkin’s request.
Rezkin handed Tieran a goblet of wine, primarily because it was a good excuse to place himself between his cousin and the assailant. He said, “I have gathered you all here for an introduction. This is Master Connovan and …” He glanced at the woman expectantly.
“Mistress Levelle,” said Connovan. The man’s voice was gruff and held a hint of Channerían accent.
“Greetings, Mistress Levelle,” Rezkin said with a bow, causing a few discomfited shuffles from those who no doubt felt the king should not bow to a commoner. “Master Connovan, I am told, is a fisherman. He aided Mistress Levelle in her escape from hostile forces in Channería. They were on the ship of refugees that arrived while I was away.”
Connovan glanced at Rezkin with shifty eyes and said, “Y-yes, that’s right.”
Rezkin looked around the room. “Have any of you met Master Connovan?”
A few shook their heads, but most simply stared at the man. Rezkin did not take his eyes off the assailant as he said, “Striker Farson, surely you remember Master Connovan?”
Farson immediately tensed, his stance becoming defensive, his gaze predatory.
Almost faster than anyone could see, Connovan snapped a dagger toward Tieran. Rezkin snatched it from the air and had already launched it back by the time his cousin reacted. Tieran tossed wine all over Frisha as he scrambled into the seat of the sofa and then fell over the back with a thump and shout. Frisha practically jumped into Malcius’s lap. Connovan had caught the dagger and slipped it up his sleeve by the time the strikers and Yserria had drawn their weapons.
Rezkin ordered his guards to halt before they could rush the assailant. Then, he casually said, “Master Connovan tried to kill me on three separate occasions today.”
Connovan’s demeanor changed. He sat straighter and affected a semi-cultured air. In perfect Ashaiian, he said, “You can hardly call it an attempt on your life when I fully expected you to survive.” His gaze roved over the strikers, Yserria, and Wesson. “It is interesting that you would choose to bring all of your best fighters into the room with me. Even more so that you would bring these three.” He nodded toward the sofa. “Why would you intentionally place them in this position of danger?”
Rezkin said, “They are in no more danger in here with you than they were out there with you. Tieran, as heir, has a stake in this.” He called over his shoulder to his cousin, “You may resume your seat, Tieran.”
From where he crouched behind the sofa, Tieran said, “That man threw a knife at me! He is insane.”
“He was only testing me,” Rezkin said. “Not even that. More like toying.”
Tieran’s head barely topped the back of the seat as he said, “This is a game to you? It is my life! What if you had missed?”
Rezkin turned and frowned at Tieran. “I would not have missed.” He said it just as another dagger flew at him from behind. Without looking, he slapped it from the air, and the one that followed, and then turned back to the smiling Connovan. The veiled woman placed a hand encased in a black lace glove on Connovan’s arm, and he seemed to deflate.
To the woman, Connovan muttered, “I was just checking.”
Rezkin went on as if they had not been interrupted. “To answer your question, each one has a purpose here. You brought a lady into the king’s office, and I do not believe her to be your wife. It would be improper for her to be alone with so many men. Ladies Frisha and Yserria are here for her benefit. Lord Malcius is Lady Frisha’s familial escort. Lady Yserria is a Knight of the Realm and is also my ward.”