“What is this?” he shouted.
The guards shifted as one to see what had disturbed their king. As soon as they saw the intruder, they rushed to surround Moldovan in a ring of swords and spears. Despite their prompt reaction, Moldovan was not satisfied with their blatant lack of awareness. His aged face contorted, and his eyes bulged as he fumed.
“A man is sitting in my throne, and you all just stand there! A filthy beggar—” His rant abruptly ceased, and he turned to look more closely at the intruder. He stepped to the foot of the dais, his guards shuffling around him. Narrowing his eyes, he hissed, “You. I know who you are.”
Rezkin lounged in the throne with his leg thrown over one of the gilded arms. He rolled his eyes and said, “I would be disappointed if you did not.”
“You managed to invade my castle and claim my throne while a dozen of my guards stood here doing nothing, all the while dressed like that?” The man took a deep breath and lifted his chin. “I am impressed. You will do well.”
“What do you want, Moldovan?” Rezkin said with feigned apathy.
“Should I not be the one to ask you?” He waved his arm around the room. “You are the invader.”
Rezkin sat up and pretended to admire the gilding on the throne as he spoke. “You know why I am here. You have known for months that I seek the Sword of Eyre. The fact that you insisted I come all this way to retrieve it means you want something.”
Moldovan’s aged voice cracked as he laughed. “What if I do not intend to give it to you?”
Rezkin shrugged and plucked a stray thread in the seat cushion. “I can take the sword, or I can take your kingdom and then take the sword. The choice is yours.”
Moldovan grinned. “At least we are in agreement, then.”
Rezkin was confused and a little concerned by the king’s statement, but rather than show his weakness, he sighed in boredom.
“Leave us,” Moldovan said to the guards.
“Your Majesty?” said the guard nearest the throne.
“I said go!”
The guards slowly filed out of the chamber, several glancing back as if to check that their king had not gone mad. Once the doors were closed, Moldovan ascended the steps. He stopped in front of the throne and looked down on Rezkin. He said, “You may drop the pretense. I know you are a cunning and devious man.”
Rezkin rose and stared back at the man, peering down into eyes gone pale with age.
Moldovan said, “It is strange to see that face looking back at me. You are your father’s son, no doubt, but I would recognize my blood anywhere.” He shook his head. “I have met Caydean twice, once as a boy and again as a young man. He was not like his father. He had a darkness in his gaze. I see that same darkness in you. The darkness, I can appreciate. An effective king needs a strong hand and a cold heart. The people will fear you for your ruthlessness and love you for your strength. Make no mistake, they are animals—all of them. They go where you guide them, but if you are weak, they will stray.”
Moldovan’s gaze became distant, foggy, and confused, as if he were lost. He glanced at Rezkin, as if seeing him for the first time. “Bordran, have you come to claim my daughter?”
Rezkin tilted his head. Just as quickly as the man’s mind had left, it returned. Moldovan continued as if he had never stopped. “Thresson was too much like his father. Weak. Unable to do what was necessary. At least, that is what I thought. The fact that you are here makes me rethink my opinion of Bordran. He was shrewder than I believed. I always suspected you had survived. Everyone said it was the Ashaiian royal curse, the death of every third child. I knew, though. If any blood were strong enough to break the curse, it would be that of Esyojo. I understand, now, why Bordran hid you away. Darkness was not all that resided in Caydean. In him, I saw madness.”
Moldovan’s gaze turned toward the flickering forms on the walls. “Lecillia was a light amongst these shadows. I had thought to keep her here. I would have sent Merenia in her stead but for Ondoro’s insistence. He was a hard man, a worthy king of Ashai. Perhaps you are more like him than your father …” Again, Moldovan’s attention drifted for a moment before he spoke continued. “Ondoro, his wife Eyalana and brother Mandrite; my wife Belemnia, sister Erania, and brother Jonish—they are all dead now, have been for some time. I am the last.” He looked back to Rezkin. “What of my daughter? I have heard nothing of her in many months. Does Lecillia live?”
Rezkin tilted his head. “She is torn by recent events but seems to be in good health. She now resides in my domain.”
Moldovan nodded. “That is good. Perhaps … perhaps I may see her one last time.”
Rezkin said, “Give me the Sword of Eyre, and I will make that happen.”
His expression hardening, Moldovan pushed past Rezkin and sat in his throne. “Yes, that. You have gained a reputation as someone who can get things done and has no compunctions. You are now a legitimate monarch, First King of Lon Lerésh. Never did I think to see the day one of those women took a husband.”
Rezkin said nothing, and Moldovan smirked at him knowingly. “I am prepared to recognize your claim to Ashai and Cael, and I will give you that worthless sword, but you must first do something for me. You must kill my nephew Boulis and claim the throne.”
Rezkin paused as he replayed the words in his mind. “You want me to claim your throne?”
“I am sure it has not escaped your notice that my mind is not as sharp as it once was. It is time for me to step down. Does that surprise you?”
It did. Moldovan seemed the kind of king who would insist on being buried with his throne. Rezkin said nothing, though, and waited for Moldovan to continue, which he did after a moment.
“Ferélle needs a strong king, one who can stand against the likes of the Adana’Ro. I have become a liability, and I will not see this kingdom, which I have ruled over for nearly eighty years, fall into ruin. Bordran was blessed with three sons, while I was cursed to have only two daughters. Merenia, passed away several years ago. Her son Gereshy was killed at the Battle of Ushwick. It has always been my opinion that Boulis was responsible, either by intention or negligence. Gereshy died without an heir, so Boulis will claim the throne upon my death. It is the reason I have refused to die. Boulis cannot be trusted to manage the purse of a miser, much less the kingdom’s coffers. Thanks to you, an Esyojo will continue to sit upon the throne. The line will not die with me.”
“I cannot sit upon your throne, Moldovan. I already lay claim to three others.”
Moldovan stood and faced Rezkin, a light of passion in his aged gaze. “Precisely,” he said. “You are no king. You are an emperor—the first emperor to rule multiple kingdoms on the Souelian. My grandson, a King of Ferélle, Emperor of—what will you call your empire?”
Rezkin backed away and searched the dancing shadows. He said, “It was never my intention to create an empire.”
Moldovan scoffed. “You expect me to believe that? Prince Nyan was incensed that you stole his bride. When his father refused to hold Ionius accountable, Nyan organized a coup. He has taken half the Jerean army to march on Channería. Since you left, Serret has descended into civil war—something to do with this infamous Raven, who has acquired enough power in Ashai to make things difficult on Caydean and just so happens to support your claim to the Ashaiian throne. You have somehow convinced the Leréshi to name you king and already have deals with Ionius and Privoth to recognize you as king of the mysterious Kingdom of Cael. Even a fool could see what you are doing.”