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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
The Gold Egg
Part II
-Find it Hesam-
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-
>
>
> Third Era Imperial Wetull
>
> Royal Court positions
>
>
>
>
>
> King Arguen Garth Aniculo
>
> Princess Inis-Mir
>
>
>
> Goras Court
>
> (Not everyone was always present or staying in Morn Taras. Garth’s court employed large numbers of ‘people’ and it functioned in a semi-autonomous manner following standard Imperial protocols and practices unless Garth got involved personally with a project.)
>
> Fikumin Flintfoot (Monarch’s Shield, Governor of Goras, priest of Luthos)
>
> Lord Onas (Master of War, King’s diplomat, Ani Ta-Ne)
>
> Lord Suraer (Master of Horse, Keeper of Royal Stables, Governor of Lo-Minas)
>
> Lord Anfalon (Hoplite Leader –Silver, First of the Hallowed, Lord of the Phalanx, Dia Castle)
>
> Lady Olonelis (Keeper of Nesande’s Garden, Abarat)
>
> Lord Paeris (Unknown position, Goras)
>
> Lord Elwuin (Royal Architect, Archaeologist, Baltoris Port)
>
> Roran (Hoplite Leader -Bronze, 1st Othrim, 2nd of the Phalanx, Ani Ta-Ne)
>
> Priest Voldomir (High Priest of Nesande, Goras)
>
> Priest Feyras (High Priest of Eodrass, Goras)
>
> Priestess Soletha (Court’s Healer, Moon’s Daughter cult disciple, Mayor of Synia Goras)
>
> Voron (Lord of Public Works, Goras)
>
> Folen (Master of Silence, former bard? Former adventurer? Brothel owner? Goras)
>
> Rybel (Master of Ships, Goras)
>
> Vaelenn (King’s Judicar, Governor of Abarat)
>
> Laedan (Denmaster, Master of Beasts, Goras)
>
> Viceroy Metu (King’s diplomat, former Treasurer, Governor of Ani Ta-Ne)
>
> Kamat Fin (Master of Birds, Morn Taras)
>
> Rama (managing the stables’ horses and pets, like camels, ostriches and the Nimra lion Raro)
>
> Rimeros (Advisor, Morn Taras Castellan)
>
> Kilynia (Royal Chamberlain, Morn Taras)
>
> Sir Delmuth (Royal Rokae Leader, Morn Taras)
>
> Sir Maderas (Royal Rokae, Lo Minas/Lord Suraer’s Adjutant)
>
> Sir Qildor (Royal Rokae, Morn Taras)
>
> Sir Nyvorlas (Royal Rokae, Morn Taras)
>
> Sir Nuvian (Royal Rokae, Morn Taras)
>
> Sir Alan Kirk (Royal Rokae, King’s Adjutant)
>
> Hagen (King’s bodyguard)
>
> Samak & Hesam (King’s bodyguards, slavers)
>
> Luvon, (Bank of Goras)
>
> Flardryn (Imperial Marines Leader, Captain of Galleons, Ani Ta-Ne)
>
> Angrein O’ Mecatan (Imperial Blacksmith, Gimoss cult disciple, imprisoned)
>
> Berthas of Aelinole (Court’s Sorcerer? Morn Taras)
>
> Iskay of Morn Taras (Royal Courtier, Morn Taras)
>
> Eilven (Royal Artist, Sculptor, Painter, Morn Taras)
>
> Lefyr (Marines Leader, Commander of Rain Minas)
>
> Maeriel (Imperial Rangers Leader, Princess’ Guardian)
>
> Whisper Jinx (Unknown position)
>
> Soren (Unknown position)
>
> Assara of Nerisea- ‘Nerissa’ (Unknown position, a Ticu from Mussel)
>
> Vulreon (King’s Scribe, Morn Taras)
>
> Phinariel (Royal Scribe, Morn Taras)
>
> Vycaris & Oelinael (Royal Tailors, Taras)
>
> Lon-Iv Sopat (Merchants Guild, Sinya Goras)
>
> Kalac, the Brave (Lord of Snakeville, unknown whereabouts)
>
> Guests
>
> Troy (Arena Champion, Former Chiliad Leader, Gladiator)
>
> Ziba-Ra (Former slave, late Sir Emerson’s wife)
>
> Emerson, the young
>
> Asper (Former Chiliad Leader, Gladiator, Adventurer)
>
> Beskar (Former Chiliad Hoplite, Gladiator, Adventurer)
>
> Kelly (Former slave, Adventurer)
>
> Asmudius (Retired Slaver, Author)
>
> Doris Alden
>
> Laius Cinna
>
> Theron Gravelbrow (a northern dwarf)
>
>
> (Several people visiting from Eplas and Jelin were staying at Taras)
>
>
>
> Council of Twenty
>
> (Known Zilan Elderbloods)
>
> Lord Onas, ‘Old Eye’. (Ninthalor’s Era)
>
> Lady Olonelis, the Astute (Lady Darunia)
>
> Lord Anfalon, the Great
>
> Lord Paeris, the Fair (Ninthalor’s Era)
>
> Lord Elwuin, the ‘Scholastic’
>
> Lady Aenymriel (Elas’ line)
>
> Lord Suraer, the ‘Mithren’ (Shaelor’s line, Lady Aelinole)
>
> Princess Lithoniela (Baltoris’ Era, unknown whereabouts)
>
> Aelrindel (Night Moon’s Daughter, Sibyl? of the Coven, unknown fate)
>
> Galadriel (the ‘Ice Lady’, 2nd Sibyl of the Coven, unknown fate)
>
> Kallister, Raza Sapthan, the Traveler (unknown fate)
>
>
>
> King’s Council
>
> (Known members)
>
> Fikumin Flintfoot
>
> Lord Onas (absent)
>
> Lord Anfalon (absent)
>
> Folen
>
> Aenymriel (presumed)
>
> Kamat Fin (presumed)
>
> Voldomir (occasionally)
>
> Feyras (disputed, occasionally)
>
> Voron
>
> Rybel
>
> Viceroy Metu (disputed, absent)
>
> Vulreon (King’s Scribe)
>
> Maeriel
>
> Whisper Jinx (self-proclaimed)
-
image [https://i.postimg.cc/wBR9JF64/Qodras-ink.jpg]
Glen paused shoving the fried potatoes in his mouth and gulped down slowly, the whole procedure painful due to the crispiness of the narrow cut chips. He reached for a goblet of Goras wine called Aranel to honor the princess and washed his mouth afore swallowing.
“Repeat what you just said slowly,” he told Voron that had stopped to hear the Monarch’s reaction. The Council meeting moved to the table where Glen had his breakfast since he couldn’t bother walking to the central hall. He’d a bad night and an early morning startle since Inis-Mir had a bit of a fever that had gone away thankfully. Soletha was convinced it was nothing but Glen knew not to fully trust any healer by now. Their work was similar to the fools running illegal races and offered you odds to wage on. You could win sure, but the chances varied depending on luck and Luthos’ whims.
“Elwuin wants a shaded boulevard build at least to Baltoris Port to combat the heat of the summer,” Voron repeated and Glen sucked at his upper lip to better think.
But hearing it again the proposal still sounded preposterous.
“When you say shaded…” he started, index finger tapping edgily at the surface of the table.
“Roofed. Pillars supporting it, planted on both sides of the road about three meters high or four.”
“Wouldn’t want the wagon drivers to bump their heads on the roof right?” Glen commented in a mocking manner.
“That’s the idea Hardir.”
“And you countered with?” Glen asked reasonably with a glance at the scowling Fikumin.
“Forgo the roof and just tile the road with granite.”
“Why not marble?” Glen queried sarcastically still tapping the finger on the table.
“We need to mine more, but granite we can repurpose from the ruins,” Voron explained oblivious to his tone.
“Isn’t it more difficult to work with?”
“We’ll just hire more crews.”
“For free?” Glen smacked his lips audibly.
“It’s a big project great Monarch,” Voron replied hauntingly. “Something everyone will see upon traveling to the capital.”
“You think someone traveling for months on laden wagons and watching mules’ arses from the driver’s seat would find solace at the quality of the pavement?”
“That’s the idea,” Voron said pleased they had come to an agreement.
“Clearly we’ll go another way,” Glen started puffing out since they hadn’t.
Obviously.
“I told Elwuin this couldn’t be done,” Voron agreed very pleased but still wide of the mark.
“Your proposal is also rejected,” Glen informed him and Voron blinked in utter shock.
“Sire…” The Master of Public Works croaked and then he nodded afore attempting to haggle. “Of course we could further talk of this—”
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A sober Glen stopped him raising his hand. “My decision is final. You’ll double the width of the road, better yet make a line to be used by those coming to Goras and another for those making the return trip. Use gravel or cobblestone for it. You mentioned ruins and debris. That sounds cheap so go ahead.”
“An Imperial road out of gravel?” Voron protested in disgust.
“Is there any of the old road left at all?” Glen asked patiently.
“Some parts.”
“Leave them. The rest you’ll build how I just told you. Matter of fact, you’ll head there to rein Elwuin in and stop him from delaying the project any further. What is he doing now exactly?”
“Excavations?”
“For material?”
“Artifacts, unearthing precious works.”
“Looting? Yeah, he better leave this to professionals. Stop him.” Glen decided with a frown.
“I have important works planned here,” a peeved Voron argued and Glen snapped his fingers to quiet him down.
“As soon as you finish this project, you can return to work in the capital again,” he told him.
“Great Monarch, I must protest here formally,” Voron insisted and Glen shrugged his shoulders and reached for another fried potato.
“Go ahead. I don’t give a shit.” He turned to Fikumin whilst munching audibly. “Next topic? I’m pressed for time today Fikumin.”
“You are always pressed for time my Lord,” the dwarf grunted.
“It’s called being busy friend,” Glen retorted with a toothy grin. “But rest assured I’ll look to find some time for you soon. Hurry up though. Today is not that day.”
“I have a petition here to free Angrein,” Fikumin grunted working at his long beard with his fingers.
“Mmm. By whom?”
“Soletha.”
“You’ll get him out.”
“What changed your mind?” Fikumin asked.
“Peer pressure.”
“Seriously?” Fikumin asked not believing him. “Anyways, Luvon of Beimaris wants to move a smelter out of Taras due to complaints for excess pollution from the residents. There were two attempts to beat him up last week alone. I suggested Hardir’s Port. Nice property near the sea. He can have the whole block at his disposal there.”
“What for?”
“The smelter. Offices, the main vault,” Fikumin explained. “I can’t guard a building all day and night. They can take over security in a new space.”
“What does he do…?” Glen asked a little distracted with Kilynia talking to Iskay that had just entered the room adjoined to the main Hall.
“He’s the director of the Bank my Lord,” Fikumin reminded him and seeing Glen’s blank stare he added with a deep sigh.
“The Bank of Goras.”
Ah. Damn this happened pretty fast.
Then again I was away for a while last year.
“Right. Why did we agree to put him in charge in the first place?”
Those excruciating parts of the meetings Glen usually dosed off due to extreme boredom.
“Worked for the Imperial Bank. A high level clerk turned board member. I’ve written and sent you a multi-page report on the matter.”
Which explained why Glen didn’t recollect all the details.
“Any past experience?” He asked clearing his throat.
“Extensive. Fourteen centuries. Luvon served in the Signatures Board for a while. Vaelenn suggested we use him. He’s a person of few words.”
The Bank had ten board members ruling it.
“What’s wrong with gold Dinars?” Glen asked going back to their previous subject.
“The Bank wants its own coin so it can control the export prices,” Fikumin said. “So we need to repurpose the gold and put our coins in circulation again.”
“Our own coin,” Glen murmured remembering the square coins he’d ‘found’ in Shroudcoast.
“The Kingdom’s,” Fikumin grunted inflexibly and Glen nodded not bothered with the minutiae.
“I ain’t giving him access to the royal vault,” he told the dwarf.
“My Lord, Soletha brings in boxes of gold every week from Sinya Goras. The Sopat are paying premium for timber. Three thousand coins per load. Two loads per month. We have guards sleeping outside the barracks to house the gold and no one knows how much of it goes missing each night. Everyone just takes what they need and spends it in town. We need Luvon to finish his building quickly else we’ll have very rich citizens and tavern owners soon but a poor Goras.”
“People are stealing from the profits?” Glen asked ogling his eyes. “That’s outrageous!”
“Lately they’ve been reports of the Thieves Guild moving in milord.”
“Who in all that’s holy invited them?” Glen snapped angrily.
“I believe you did Garth,” Fikumin replied pursing his mouth. “Nigel Grim is a thief by profession. You called him a friend?”
He had.
Well. Glen grimaced and then puffed his cheeks out troubled. All his life he’d strived to join the Thieves Guild and always thought fondly of it. This was a little confusing.
Glen felt conflicted.
“You think they might have pocketed my gold?”
“Again Garth,” Fikumin replied with a small pause. “The gold belongs to the kingdom’s coffers and I don’t know who steals from the warehouses or the barracks. My guess is everyone with arms.”
Good grief!
“Didn’t I order Rybel to use all available funds to make his ships? We’re having a surplus of coin?”
“Rybel finished the naval yard in Hardir’s Port last month. It takes time and expertise to build ships Garth,” Fikumin said. “You need to hire more skilled people and not employ slave crews.”
“Would Rybel work with humans?”
“Rybel has two assistants,” Fikumin explained. “If you opt to only use Zilan for this then we’ll have a fleet made in about twenty years. Might as well move the bank to Lord’s Burrow or Scaldingport then. You pay half the profit for each load just to rent cargo space from pirates and the Issirs at this point. They know we can’t move our products and charge us premium.”
What manner of excessive crookedness is this? He wondered paling at the dishonesty.
Fucking criminals!
“Can we hire people from Scaldingport?”
“They are busy now and the war absorbed the best naval engineers already. Same with the Peninsula. The Khan enticed all the skilled manpower to Rida,” Fikumin grimaced and stared at his papers for a moment. “What are you going to do with Dia Castle? It’s a drain to our resources.”
“Anfalon wants the land approaches to Pale Mountains controlled.”
“The Khan might ask for them back.”
“I have an agreement with Prince Atpa,” Glen reminded him. “I doubt the Khan’s too keen on challenging us so far from his base. He’s also busy with bigger targets.”
“Atpa might not be the next Khan,” Fikumin said.
“Who says that?” Glen asked and got up to stretch out.
“Rumors from the Peninsula,” Fikumin murmured. “And Rida.”
“There’s no way Atpa would relinquish the throne without a fight,” Glen assured him and the dwarf nodded. “Tell Captain Horton I want Angrein released and find me a solution on the finances Fikumin. Metu was doing a good job keeping us appraised. I don’t want the Bank controlling the treasury. Nor a Zilan.”
“You want me to find a Folk to do the job? Theron isn’t skilled with numbers, but he can dig a mean mine.” Fikumin grunted thinking out loud. “I’ll have to travel to Jelin.”
“You can’t,” Glen retorted a little anxious. “I need you here my good friend. This doesn’t work without you Fiku. It just doesn’t. Not yet anyway.”
The dwarf furrowed his thick brows. “The Folk want their place in the realm as well Glenavon.” He rustled using his real name. Fikumin rarely did it.
“The Northern dwarves aligned with the warlord,” Glen said. “It makes you worry this could lead to a conflict.”
“If Blunthorn dies.”
“I don’t know any of these people Fikumin,” Glen argued. “What do you fear?”
“The next Jarl of the Northmen might not be a friend of the Folk or this warlord. He rules in Regia now by the way.”
Glen nodded. “I’ve heard of Regia. Sort of know it. No wait, I don’t really. Emerson was from Lesia, so that’s close though perhaps. Right?”
“The Folk should rule and not be ruled by treaties and the whims of humans,” Fikumin rustled.
“You are upset.”
“These are my people.”
“And I’m your friend,” Glen countered. “If I can help I will. But if your people are divided, who do we side with?”
“Theron believes the new King’s reign will bring prosperity,” Fikumin said.
“Uhm. What do you think?” Glen probed him.
“Humans are not to be trusted. Their reigns don’t last usually.”
“You’re a pessimist Fiku. I’m also human yes?” Glen reminded him.
“You have a wyvern Glenavon.” The dwarf countered simply and Glen nodded with a frown.
“I do,” he rustled. “I sure do.”
-
Two hours later
Morn Taras Castle
Throne room
-Garth’s Hall of effigies-
Glen cut through the air with his sword, hearing its whistle and the jackal’s cackle filling the elongated hall. The large black granite columns leaving dark spaces between them and the polished black tiles glowing where the light touched them. The gold details and glossy marble finishing of the ceiling sparkling and coming alive. It showed Glen standing before the black throne, on top of the stone platform that now appeared a bit empty since the silver and gold thrones were missing.
Glen had them removed after Sen had passed.
The sword slashed at the air once more angrily and Glen lowered it, the point of the blade touching the tiles. His eyes turned on the approaching fit figure of Angrein. The Blacksmith had lost some of his bulk but a lot of the muscles were still there especially at the arms.
“It’s a good sword,” Glen said evenly as Angrein paused to glance at the Rokae escorting him. “But it’s not my sword.”
“It never was Hardir,” Angrein said in his rasping voice.
“I could keep it,” Glen argued.
“You could,” Angrein agreed.
“The Phalanx’s camp was hardly a prison,” Glen commented.
“Only a former slave can understand the difference,” Angrein replied soberly. “Between freedom and incarceration.”
“I blame you for what Sen did,” Glen said clenching his jaw. “But most don’t.”
“My only thought was to help Lady Sovereign,” Angrein replied. “I’m no sorcerer.”
“Could it have worked?”
“I don’t know Hardir,” Angrein replied. “I wanted her to have the option. I didn’t expect she’ll give it to the princess.”
Glen pursed his mouth and returned to the throne. He sat down, left leg resting on the armrest and the sword touching the right leg over the pants.
“She could see further than you,” he finally said. “Further than I can. It’s a gift what she had. Not born out of magic but skill and intelligence.”
“I’m relieved the princess survived Hardir.”
“Risking her is something I couldn’t do,” a sober Glen continued tapping the blade on his leg at an even tempo. “But in Sen’s wondrous strategic mind it was worth the risk. How does a person become so harsh Angrein?”
Why would a non-wagering soul opt to wager everything that day?
“You don’t believe that Hardir.”
“You think my wife had turned mad in her final moments?” Glen asked and he secretly feared that.
“If you place a wyvern’s egg inside clean water for a few days,” Angrein said as if reciting from a book. “The water soothes the skin and repairs its wrinkles. But leave it for a while longer and it turns into poison.”
“I’m not getting your meaning,” Glen grunted.
“Moderation. There’s an equilibrium in the dosage. A quantity that works usually for adults,” Angrein continued. “That it worked for the princess is a miracle surely or the scales were already tipped one way violently and your wife’s action balanced them. Restored something that was broken when it shouldn’t have. Could she have known that in her heart? We’ll never know. Still the dosage was very big for the princess.”
“I’m struggling to make sense of your words.” Glen informed him. “Speak clearly.”
“I was good with metal and now I’m better but not by a lot,” Angrein replied and got a beautiful mask from a satchel he had over his shoulder. He smiled seeing Glen tense up. “They searched it. I carry no weapons.”
Angrein could hurt you with his hands of course, Glen thought and stared at the mask.
It was a Rokae face-cover but made out of polished black metal with openings at the eyes. The mouth forming a slight smirk. Neither serious nor fully smiling. The face familiar and very skillfully carved. Lifelike but for its color and material.
“What is this?” Glen asked narrowing his eyes.
“This is Hardir O’ Fardor. How people see him,” Angrein replied turning the mask this way and that in his hands. “A Zilan stray of thirty years working at your stables made it. I had him work part-time at the workshop and when I got taken away, Zaos continued working there. Experimenting without the burden of a tutor looking over his shoulder. He’s not good enough yet with a blade but his crafting skill on armour is excellent.”
“Better than yours?” Glen asked intrigued.
“In some parts yes,” Angrein replied. “Not a drop of wyvern’s blood in him. Just skill and a desire to work the metal ingots.”
“The princess is different,” Glen grunted and got up from the throne. He walked down the raised platform’s stairs and approached the blacksmith. Angrein offered him the metal mask and he took it with his left hand.
“The princess is growing up.”
“It happens too fast,” Glen murmured and turned the mask around to examine it more closely.
“Like a wyvern,” Angrein whispered and Glen stared at him intently.
“Do you… has this happened to you?” Glen finally asked him worried.
“I was almost twenty at the time Hardir,” Angrein replied. “But I have dreams sometimes.”
“What was the wyvern… where did the blood come from?” Glen queried and Angrein stared at the sword the Monarch still had in his good hand.
“A red one,” the Imperial Blacksmith said. “Very rare. It needs extreme temperatures to hatch.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From Curu Nulema herself. The Black Sorceress. Dudrina O’ Tinyssos.”
There’s a mouthful of a fucking name!
“When was that?” Glen fired away aggressively.
“Before your time,” Angrein replied vaguely and there was a lot of time that one could cram into his statement.
“Was she any good?” Glen grunted and Angrein nodded. “I know about Onyx Wyverns what about Red ones?”
“She claimed it possesses fiery resilience. A sense of self-acceptance and importance. Like all wyverns.”
“The potion?”
“The blood.”
“Angrein I’ll need a bit more than that,” Glen hissed through his clenched teeth.
“Gold can describe opulent vanity and red could turn to lustful desire,” the blacksmith replied evenly but remaining ambiguous. “Black is chaos. What is better? It’s always difficult to put into words or help our understanding of things. For Gold is also majestic and red could be the passion for all things.”
“What about black?” Glen asked thinking of Uvrycres.
“Black is chaos,” Angrein droned in a devout tone and seeing the snarling grimace distorting Glen’s face, the Imperial Blacksmith added respectfully with a slow bow of the head. “With occasional bouts of wisdom.”
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Long after Angrein had left him Glen stood in front of his late wife’s large polished bronze mirror inside the sealed bedroom. He stared at himself, the once youthful face marred with small scars. A cut above the nose, crossing the bridge. A white line on his left cheek and a scar under his lower lip touching the cleft of the chin. Another running his forehead. The left ear still missing the earlobe where Zestari’s blade had touched him. The medium length curly hair still rich and very thick but mostly white with some leftover grey now. Wrinkles forming near his eyes and the tanned skin hiding the dark circles from the lack of sleep for the most part.
Glen looked much older than his twenty-four or twenty-five years but not by a lot. He raised the mask of Hardir O’ Fardor, the metallic sculpted face a perfect version of the one underneath, when he placed the mask over it. The amber pools gleaming through the slits, not the eyes of a young man.
Glen wasn’t sure who the person he saw on the mirror was.
“Your Grace,” Hesam the Cofol slaver and caravan guard said with a slight knock at the door. He was standing respectfully outside the massive white sheet-covered boudoir. “There’s a man requesting an audience from the King beyond the Pale Mountains. He came from afar.”
“From where?” Glen asked and reached to pick up the Crown of Horns helm from Sen’s dressing table, the headpiece now missing its face-cover for Glen intended to secure a new one in its place.
“Regia great Caliph,” Hesam replied and Glen turned to look at him a little surprised. “He’s seeking asylum sire for him and his friend.”
“Do they have names?” Glen asked sternly.
“Laius Cinna and a Doris Alden, your Grace.” The former Sopat guard replied.
He thought of Fikumin’s advice on looking to hire more people and expand their talent pool.
“I’ll see them,” Glen decided and Hesam bowed his head deeply. “Samak still has the egg guarded?”
“He gave it to Iskay great Caliph,” Hesam replied a little confused. “Per your instructions.”
A numb Glen licked his lips slowly. “I gave no such instructions. Why would you even listen to her?”
“There’s word…” Hesam gulped down nervously. He started sweating profusely. “The princess told the courtiers the other day. We assumed… it was true.”
Inis what are you doing girl?
“It isn’t,” Glen lied stiffly clenching his teeth.
A worried Hesam stood back and stared at the corridor extending on both sides outside the door with a deep frown marring his tanned face. “Mistress Iskay,” he finally said addressing probably the woman that had come out of Glen’s bedroom at the end of the first floor’s long corridor.
“Hesam,” Iskay replied pleasantly. “Is our Monarch inside?”
Glen sighed and stepped outside of the bedroom. He closed the door behind him carefully. “Did you just get up?” He asked her brusquely and Iskay nodded with a smart curtsy. The many bracelets she had on jingling. “Did you go downstairs at all since last night?”
An uncertain Iskay bit her nicely painted lower lip trying to think of a proper answer.
“Yes or no?” Glen helped her. “Don’t venture into the specifics.”
“No, oh great Monarch,” Iskay replied throatily.
“I don’t understand,” Hesam murmured crooking his mouth. “Samak was certain he talked with her.”
“You guys have lost the egg,” Glen surmised remaining remarkably calm but it was all a façade. “Find it Hesam. Else I’ll be very displeased and probably lose my shit.”
“Yes Monarch,” the rattled man bowed.
“Inform Samak and Sir Kirk. Lock the palace up. Alert the other Rokae and get Troy involved.”
“Troy sir?”
“Yes him.” Glen retorted less calm now. “It’s a big gold fucking egg Hesam. Find Assara and you’ll get it back. Find it Hesam.”
It was relatively obvious to him the shapeshifting Ticu must have been responsible for this malarkey.
Glen was seventy-percent certain it was her but only because he was making a considerable effort not to gut-react to everything. Work all probable solutions inside yer mind first, Glen counseled himself. Then do what yer gut tells you.
Yep.