Erisial glanced at Serunius, who continued to stare at Rezkin blankly. “Why would he do that?”
“He shows his love for you by helping to raise the standing of your daughter while you work to tear it down. She has been the unwitting pawn in the struggle between your culture and your love for each other.”
Erisial looked at Celise disdainfully and said, “That is an interesting fantasy, but Celise is the product of a union between myself and a man I hated, nothing more. I do not see what any of this has to do with the present situation.”
“You have just proposed taking a man other than your consort—the man you love—as your husband and king. I interfered in the attack on Celise. How will you assuage your guilt now?”
“I have no guilt. It is a political maneuver, no more. Serunius understands the circumstances, and he will continue to perform his duties as Queen’s Consort with honor.” She stood and retrieved something from a drawer in a side table. She turned to him and held up a silver ribbon. “I am going to claim you either as consort or husband. The former will do us little good. You would not have to accept the claim, which means we would not be required to consummate it, but you would still be mine. The latter is dangerous and distasteful, but we both gain much. Which will it be?”
Wesson opened the door once again at the timid knock. He always felt uncomfortable when Celise, or any of the Leréshi women, came to their rooms. She never even glanced at him, like he was not a real man, and yet he was supposed to be grateful for it. This time, Celise seemed particularly anxious.
“You are all summoned to the throne room,” she said. She paused as if to say more and then closed her mouth, apparently deciding against it.
Wesson’s companions joined him in the sitting room. Knowing it was coming, they had all dressed in their uniforms to show unity and support for their king. They felt that this was a battle, whether it ended in a challenge or not. Frisha and Yserria had been blatantly irritable, Mage Threll and Reaylin unusually quiet. Wesson tried to stay out of the drama between the women, but he knew more than one of them were attracted to Rezkin. It was to be expected, though. Rezkin was everything a woman wanted in a man, in addition to being powerful and wealthy. The one thing he seemed to be lacking, though, was the most important. According to Frisha, Rezkin was incapable of feeling.
Wesson did not believe it. He had seen the effect Frisha had on Rezkin, and he did not think the man would go to so much effort to help people for whom he had no feelings. He wondered if it was not that Rezkin was incapable of love, but that he was incapable of loving Frisha.
They followed Celise down the many corridors and stairwells to the throne room that held at least three times more people than on the previous night. Looking around, he realized it truly was difficult to tell nightclothes from court dress in Lon Lerésh. Wesson had wondered, the night before, if it was appropriate to attend court in one’s nightclothes, but now he considered that the Leréshi probably did not own nightclothes.
Rezkin was already standing before the dais in the gifted garb, and Queen Erisial lounged on the throne with her consort standing behind her. The woman did not look pleased, and Wesson was both relieved and concerned that Rezkin had probably not agreed to her terms. Knowing Rezkin, though, he had likely managed to manipulate the queen into adopting his own plans. He thought it an ill omen when the massive chamber doors were suddenly closed and barred behind them, with guards stationed at the exits. He turned back to see the queen staring at him with a smirk on her painted lips.
“This is a claiming,” she said in explanation. “We always bar the doors. It is not uncommon for men to try to run from their destinies.” The observers laughed and nodded appreciatively as if it was a common joke, and it probably was. Then, the queen pursed her lips and said, “You need not worry, Journeyman. You will probably never have that problem.”
The crowd laughed again, some of them leaning to whisper to each other in jest, while others did not bother to conceal their crude remarks with lowered voices. Wesson felt a welling within him, the anger and drive for destruction that he so carefully kept bottled at his core. He muttered his mantra over and over in his mind and thought of hazel eyes framed by strawberry blonde locks.
Once he had reacquired his distance, he focused on the present. The queen was now standing and appeared as a goddess incarnate in the silky-blue strips of fabric she called a dress. They hung from her shoulders, stretching to the floor with gaps between them. The only thing holding them in place over her otherwise bared flesh was a silver sash at her waist and a few narrow horizontal strips designed to cover her intimate bits. Wesson wondered why she had bothered. He thought she might as well have been standing on the dais naked, and then he wondered if perhaps she sometimes did. He forced himself to stop wondering about that and looked to Rezkin for any indication of what might happen next. As usual, the man gave away nothing.
Erisial’s voice rang clearly throughout the hall. For the benefit of her guests, she spoke in Ashaiian. “I claim this man, the man with no name, the one known to his people as Rezkin.” She paused as the echo faded. Everyone watched in silence. “I claim him as my husband and name him King of Lon Lerésh.”
The crowd burst into an uproar. Although Wesson could not understand what was being said, it was obvious the people were angry. Queen Erisial held up a hand, and Serunius came to stand beside her with his sword drawn. When the crowd had settled down enough for her to be heard, she said, “Of course, anyone is welcome to challenge the claim.”
Matrianera Telía stepped forward. “I will challenge you. You have no right to claim a husband.”
Erisial smiled viciously. “Of course, I do. Every woman has a right to claim a husband. Your disapproval does not give you the right to disparage or reject my rights. You will risk your consort Naltis in challenge?”
Telía said, “I am not afraid of Serunius. Coledon will fight as my champion.” One of the royal guards stepped from around the dais and reluctantly took his place beside Telía. The man had broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and a hard stare. By the misery that suffused his stance and every mannerism, it was obvious he did not relish the fight.
Erisial said, “So you risk your brother but not your consort.”
Telía raised her chin. “Naltis is not here. You know Coledon often serves as my champion.”
“Too often, Telía,” Erisial snapped. “You are selfish. He should have been granted to another long ago. Regardless, he will not be fighting Serunius. I name Rezkin as my champion.”
Alarmed, Frisha leaned across Wesson to question Yserria, who stood to his other side. “She can’t do that, right? Not unless he accepts her claim?”
Rezkin did not look back at them as he said, “I accept the challenge.”
“Wait, no,” Frisha hissed. In a forced whisper, she said, “Yserria, do something. Challenge her.”
Yserria leaned across Wesson and replied, “If I challenge her, he could still fight as her champion. If he accepts, then I would be fighting him. If he doesn’t, I would fight Serunius. If I win, I would have to claim him.”
“Better you than her,” Frisha said.
“I do not want to claim him, and he would not accept.”
“Then be my champion, and I will claim him,” Frisha said.
Yserria said, “He already told you he would not accept.”
They glanced up to see that everyone was watching them. Rezkin turned and met Frisha’s gaze. His eyes were cold and empty as he said, “I have accepted her claim. Now be silent.”
Frisha gawped and then clamped her mouth shut. Her surprise was overtaken by expressions of anger and disgust, and Wesson could almost hear her thoughts as she seemed to remember Rezkin’s alter egos.
“The challenge stands,” Telía said.