Gavin stared at the vast portrait and tried not to look at the line of supplicants waiting to see the king.
I am not a supplicant. I am nearly his equal.
L’Marc interrupted his thoughts. “The king is prone to mercurial fits of rage.”
Gavin’s father smiled down at him, thirty feet high. He stood next to the old king.
I met him before he died, Gavin thought.
On his father’s left stood Mother holding an infant in her arms. The child must be Gavin himself. The current ruler, King Ormand, stood between his father’s legs, a solemn child of three. The line of nobles and their families was at least fifty paces long, stretching to either side of the dining hall.
“Who is that red-haired, pregnant woman standing next to my mother?” Gavin pointed.
L’Marc turned and smiled, “That’s Lady Maribelle of Terndowns. She was just a girl when she married the Duke. A shame what happened to him.”
The place settings were intricate, exact, golden. Not a candlestick out of place, not a speck of foliage to be seen. The vases in the corners were painted with enamel filigree, and stood empty. The wall opposite the painting stood tall with windows; the light of day only escaping near the baseboards. Long layers of wine-colored curtains threw everything into gloom.
A priest ushered L’Marc and Gavin into a line of guests, and began cleaning and blessing each attendant. Gavin stood perplexed, peering through the shadows. The ladies took it as a joke, laughing together as they gestured the ritual back at the priest.
L’Marc whispered to Gavin, “When the king arrives, try not to laugh. Unless he is laughing, then do not fail to join him.”
Gavin moved forward. He flinched as the priest took his hand and asked him which of the Six was his patron.
“The Sun.” Gavin replied, counting the months since he had last professed fealty.
The priest stared straight back at him. “A bold choice to bow at the feet of the highest.” The man scrubbed his other hand and then dipped it back in a basin. He removed the cloth, dripping, and reached for Gavin’s face. Gavin bit down and tasted blood on his tongue. It made the mint taste metallic. The broken tooth blazed with pain.
After L’Marc was washed, and professed his fealty to the Moon, they were ushered to the great table. “Why are there four other tables with a single place setting? Is that where he sends the people who displease him?” Gavin looked with curiosity at the four huge matching chairs which all faced the great table in the center. They were in perfect alignment.
“Those are where the king will sit.” L’Marc eased himself into his chair.
The priest pulled out a horn trumpet and blew a long, haunting note. It grew, rebounding off the high ceiling.
“No! I told you, no trumpets!” The voice was high and nasal, “The effluvium of the lung is spat upon the room itself when you honk that thing.”
Gavin searched for the speaker. There was no one at the great entryway. The curtains had a flutter. They were heavy, and so too was the man that stood before them.
The king was short, unshaven, but not bearded. He wore a heavy crown, but Gavin could see a spot of scalp through his black hair. His face was obstructed by a piece of silk held to his nose.
Silence fell, replacing the hushed conversations. All eyes stared. “Don’t stop talking on my account. You can keep whispering about me.” King Ormand walked to the nearest island table, to Gavin’s left. When he sat down, Gavin could not see him behind the knight at the foot of the table.
Forced conversation resumed all around. The woman immediately to Gavin’s left asked him about his ring. Gavin tried to respond, but L’Marc whispered to him, “Wait until he moves closer to us. Then try to be interesting.”
A steward strode to the empty place at the head of the table and began announcing tonight’s menu, course by course. When he got to the soup, Ormand stood up, “Bring it all out at once. I do not need you to describe it to me. I have eyes.”
The king began circling the table. He would pause momentarily and lean forward with his ear cocked. He would then interject his own opinions.
That is a brilliant approach, thought Gavin.
The woman to his left was now chatting with someone Gavin couldn’t see. All he could see was the back of her head, with its erratic part and unbalanced braids.
He turned to L’Marc, “There are forty people here, at least. Could we have not arranged a private audience?”
L’Marc spoke between the clatter of dishes being placed, moved, and crowded onto the overflowing table. “Ormand does not take private audiences. He is very reclusive.”
King Ormand had stopped his pacing, having arrived at the isolated table flanking the head of the large gathering. Gavin watched him past the row of courtiers. He did not spill as he ate. His neck never moved. Spoonful after forkful of food disappeared behind his handkerchief. Gavin could see not a single spot upon it.
Gavin forced himself to take a bite. Before him was an assortment of everything this kingdom and the next had on offer. He did not taste it.
The king stood and began pacing toward Gavin. He stopped to interrupt a Lady and a man dressed in general’s regalia. Gavin had not been able to hear what they were discussing, but he could hear the king’s reply, “That’s a stupid name for a baby. Doesn’t even have a chance.”
L’Marc began speaking to Gavin, “Lady Sapphiel’s work is exemplary as always.” L’Marc’s voice was loud and his words deliberate. “And the sword Montegue forged you, an equal to your father’s there in the painting.” Gavin felt the king’s breath behind him. He did not turn.
“The jewelry is beautiful, but it’s a shame it doesn’t match your sword.” The woman with the crooked part had turned and was staring at Gavin’s hand as she spoke.
The king replied, “What would you know about swords, you can’t even wield a comb.” The king stepped closer, his face nearly touching Gavin’s. “Is that really a Montegue?”
“It is, but the man fleeced me,” Gavin replied.
L’Marc cut in, “He fleeced me, you mean. It is unfair of you to say that. We already discussed this, Gavin.”
The king lingered. “I know you, L’Marc. I’ve never seen you get your hands dirty. I admire that about you, but as an avid collector, I cannot respect your opinion. You, who are you?” Gavin stared into the king’s eyes, transfixed. “I recognize you but I can’t place you.”
“I am Gavin Llanarth of Ariland.”
The king stood and whirled to point at the painting. “We’ve met! So your father is Siegfried Llanarth. The greatest general in the War of Coalescence.” He rounded on L’Marc, waving a finger in his face. “You would tell this man of swords?”
“The rapier was purchased only for ceremony, and at great cost,” L’Marc replied.
The king yelled for a page, and one scurried up. He shouted, “Inform the guards, Montegue is to be arrested. I will decide the punishment after I see the sword.” He turned back to Gavin. “Present your blade.”
Gavin stood and drew the rapier. The sound of the edge scraping the scabbard infuriated him. He presented it to the king. “I only used it once.”
The king dropped his kerchief and Gavin saw his full face for the first time. “Yes, it is set. And look—The symmetry is off on the gilding.”
Gavin gasped, “I could not believe it either, you hear tales of his craftsmanship, and he would pass this off?”
“The craftsmanship of a sword is not the purpose of calling this visit, Gavin,” said L’Marc.
Gavin turned to him, brandishing the tip of the sword. “If the craftsmanship of the sword is so unimportant, why did you parade me around shopping and make me wait an entire week in Kalden?”
The king’s eyes narrowed. “Why have you come?”
Gavin whispered, “I am concerned that my news may cause a panic. It is for your ears first.”
“You had him wait a week to speak to me?” Ormand’s words came out in a whine that turned into a shriek, “Guards, have him on the table!”
L’Marc waved a hand. “They do not need to drag me.” He lifted his shirt, and bent over the side of the table, his elbows burrowing between plates of food. Gavin stared at the spiderweb of scars.
An armored man stepped forward brandishing a bull whip.
“Two lashes this time. Come Gavin, we will speak in my room.” King Ormand waved Gavin to follow. “I can show you my swords.”