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Nattas

Things not talked, in the King’s council

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The King’s council wrapped up close to midnight. The High Magister folded in the end, after a promise from the King to take the matter under consideration. Admiral Brakis was the first to take his leave right after him. Appearing relieved to exit the old palace relatively unscathed. The Navy man shook Lord Nattas hand before leaving with enthusiasm. So much so that Storm wondered, if there was meaning in the gesture. None other bothered talking with him, Lord Doris and his son being the last to depart.

King Alistair called for a servant and sent him to prepare the throne room, catching Lord Nattas by surprise. The King took his leave soon after not saying anything and left him wondering, whether he should go to his quarters as well. Flavia had departed that morning to return to her Academy, for a festival of sorts, having overstayed her welcome and probably taxing the King’s patience aplenty.

He didn’t expect anything to come from the affair, as Storm had gotten more information out of her, than sex. There was quite a bit of that as well, since the Priestess considered it vulgar to sleep without performing for the Goddess, every night. Lord Nattas had found nothing wrong with the practice and obliged her, with deserving devotion. It was at that point that a sergeant of the King’s Guard nudged Storm, -meaning, while he reminisced of lewd acts of debauchery- and informed him he had an audience, with the King of Regia.

The throne room had more light, than the last time Storm had visited it, a couple of weeks back. The fireplace was burning and send warmth to the cold walls, and enough candles were lit to chase away most of the old building’s shadows. King Alistair wasn’t on the throne, but sat relaxed on a chair, next to the scribe’s table, drinking from a gold goblet, which Storm assumed knowing him, had water.

He’d the crown of Regia in his left hand and placed it on the covered table, when he heard Storm approaching. He offered him the other seat with a gesture and Lord Nattas took it, with a small bow of the head.

“The first crown Lucius the first made,” The King said, his voice informal. “Had lead in it. Made his head hurt so much, he had it melted down and replaced with this one,” He smacked his lips, examining the contents of his goblet. “Somedays, I think he left the lead in as a joke, for his heritors.”

Storm wasn’t going to comment on that.

“You are not from Regia originally,” King Alistair continued. “Is that correct?”

Oh, you know that, Nattas thought, not liking this line of talk. But I could counter, a couple of hundred years back, very few Lorians were.

“I believe myself a man of Regia, to the bone,” Storm said, keeping his voice steady. Speaking to the King alone, -that is, with six hawkish King’s Guard in the room, watching your every fuckin’ move- anyway a thing like that didn’t happen every day. When it did, one should take care not to blurt out some idiocy or other. It’s a short trip from the throne room to the executioner’s blade. All it took was an order from the man questioning him. “But my family owned property near Flauegran,” He added, what the king probably knew.

“Your father lost it. A gambling bet wasn’t it?” The King queried, still relaxed. A great contrast from how he was, during the council’s meeting. Storm wasn’t gonna fall for that trick though.

“That is correct, my Lord,” He cleared his throat, the memory painful. “Worked the stables for the Davenports after that, a favor since he’d served with the King’s father, in his youth.”

“Not much of a favor,” King Alistair commented, watching him.

Well, the King of Lesia, had promised his father Storm would squire under a Lorian lord, and become a Knight. His accident took care of that. All his efforts to come back falling short, his limp too much an obstacle for a career, even in the army.

“It was my fault,” Storm replied with difficulty.

“Queen Vasia brought you here.”

“Aye, she did, my lord.”

Abrakas, protect her spirit.

“Ever wondered, why I gave you the position, Lord Nattas?” The King asked and Storm sat back in his chair, his mouth dry. A cup of water looking mighty alluring at that moment.

I’m loyal? He thought, but dared not say it.

“Queen asked me,” King Alistair said, accepting a second gold goblet from a servant Storm didn’t hear entering. He placed it on the table in front of Storm, with a grimace. Probably the memory of his late wife, troubling him. “At first I thought, she had you as a lover.”

Storm in the process of pouring wine from a carafe into his goblet, apparently the King wasn’t having water, another bloody shocker, coughed nervously almost spilling most of it on his pants and an amused King Alistair.

“Then I realized, she was right,” He continued, a glint in his eyes. “You are a clever guy, perhaps more than anyone else. But that isn’t your biggest talent. Do you know what that is, Lord Nattas?”

“I don’t know, my Lord.”

“You are a coward,” Storm blinked stunned, but kept his composure, but for a tremor starting in his good leg. “Your first thought and last, is survival. Trust me, in your position, it’s a quality.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” He croaked, fear bringing tears in his eyes.

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“Don’t thank me. Serve Regia. Honor my dead wife. Help my son keep this crown on his head, when my time comes. What we say here, cannot be talked about in the council.”

“Of course, my King.”

King Alistair got up and went to stand in front of the fireplace. He watched the flames for a time. Face tense and gaunt, his stare intense.

“Lord Doris informed me,” the King started, his voice tired. “You’ve taken upon yourself, a task I’ve given him.”

Storm in the process of getting up from his chair, collapsed on it again.

Think for fuck’s sake!

He urged himself and failing that he turned to prayer.

Abrakas, give helping hand, you foul beast!

“I wanted to help, my Lord,” There, the truth, he thought.

More or less.

More less, than the other way around.

“There’s a reason, I keep things from you, Lord Nattas,” The King said, turning to stare at him. “Your job is to learn from others.”

“Of course, my Lord. I took the opportunity, since I believe, I’m able to see through deception, easier than most.” Storm said quickly.

Alistair fiddled with his great ring in silence, as if measuring his answer.

“Is the boy useful?” He finally asked, wrong-footing Lord Nattas again.

“Young Veturius?” He asked unsure.

“He’s not that young.”

Storm nodded eagerly, in agreement.

“I believe… he’s extremely intelligent. He helped illuminate, several obscure parts.”

“Was what Gordian asked, a way out of the treaties?” The King of Regia queried angrily, not partial to his jabbering.

Ah.

That was it then, Storm thought relieved, finally clear what was bothering the King.

“Absolutely not,” He replied readily, finding his rhythm. The quiver in his leg ending.

“Why confront him?” Alistair asked, raising a brow.

I believe in the Old Gods.

Hear that? You stinking, old goat of a deity?

“I don’t like him,” Storm deadpanned in form. “I believe he works for Kaltha.”

There wasn’t a single untruth in his reply, other than a small omission, voiced in silence.

This time the King stood back astounded. It was surprisingly, Storm’s rare moment of candor that swayed him.

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“So you believe, his idea holds no merit?” King Alistair asked him a little later, after they had returned to the small writing table and the King’s excellent wine, Storm much more relaxed now, but still vigilant.

“I don’t think it is his idea, in the first place, my Lord,” He replied. “That is Kerholt speaking though our High Magister. But it is not without merit.”

“Continue.”

“If what the Duke discovered and we assume here, King Antoon learned about it; was that the Prince’s consort is a non-believer, I see no reason for him to escalate.”

“Sending the army to Raoz is just a reaction. A reaction to the Khan deciding to take the Duchy, simple as that, is your meaning?” The King said, legs stretched, hand supporting his jaw.

“Aye. No need for something else. He had to give up his sister. Refuse the ultimatum,” Storm put everything in order. “It is what happened behind the scenes that’s strange.”

“Explain.”

“Lord Bach was spooked. I know how to read people, can discern a scared man, as you aptly mentioned earlier, it is my talent.” King Alistair pressed his lips into a thin line, his patience running thin. So Storm got back on track. “Gordian touched on the matter, the Heir’s consort is the key to all this. Not in the way, he tried to paint it though.”

“Even if she worships the Old Gods, it doesn’t matter,” The King translated, finding the thread. “Because it doesn’t annul the treaties. You suspect, Antoon is willing to go to war on Cofol ground, because he fears… what, Lord Nattas?”

What we learned, Lord Bach had said. It shouldn’t be.

That wild story is true.

Storm had sat back in his chair, eyes unfocused. A shiver running down his spine.

No.

No way.

It can’t be.

“Lord Nattas?” The King of Regia asked intrigued. “You found something.”

“I’m not sure,” Storm said quickly, snapping out of it. He couldn’t tell the King… this theory. Nah, this craziness could land him in the dungeons, even worse… he could share the fate of that foolish historian. He forced himself onwards, speaking while trying to find something to say, as much ingenious as totally obscure, to buy himself more time. Digging himself in a bigger hole, without realizing it. “What we know about the consort, as I said… she’s the key, but we know so very little. Nothing really—”

“Brakis said, she’s from Dan,” King Alistair said, stopping him cold. “Heard it from his son.”

Storm shook his head surprised, sweat on his forehead.

Abrakas mouldy cockhead, rots in a fuckin’ jar.

“I have no idea where that is,” He admitted, his hard earned confidence going down the drain.

“Neither do I,” Alistair replied, surprisingly nonchalant about it. “And I’m the King. I ask and people tell me. There’s no such thing, nor such place.”

“I could find out,” Storm volunteered still in shock, before he could stop himself.

Stood over his grave and jumped right in, the fool that he was.

Lessons left unlearned.

“You should,” The King of Regia agreed, deathly serious. “It is your job.”