14. Haldric

fourteen

Haldric

Nerves racked Haldric, twisting his stomach into knots as he followed his father into the banquet hall. Royal guards stood stationed around the chamber, intermixed with the personal retinues of the other governors. Aides wearing all manner of color and crest streamed past, carrying messages and important-looking documents.

"Don't let them sense your fear," his father murmured. He leaned in closer where he gripped Haldric's arm to steady himself. "It will only encourage them to pounce."

Swallowing, Haldric nodded. He took a deep breath. He had spent the past two years since Melisie's death preparing for this moment. If he was to become king himself someday, he had to be able to rise and meet these men and women as equals. At least today, he'd have his father with him, along with his aunt and Dexil.

And Benjin.

A slight frown marred Haldric's lips. The apprentice's presence shouldn't matter so much to him—it's not as if Benjin would be aiding with any negotiations, and they hadn't exactly ended their last runeflame lesson on the best of terms.

Still, Haldric found himself unreasonably soothed by the knowledge that Benjin would be there. Perhaps he was that desperate to see another semi-familiar face.

The central table appeared surprisingly small with the other governors' retinues positioned nearby. Eighteen seats surrounded it—six for the king and the other five governors, along with room for two advisers apiece. More chairs and stations encircled the main table for additional clerks and servants.

The other governors were already there. King Roland had insisted on arriving last to remind them who was in charge. From the annoyed looks Haldric caught on several of their faces, they recognized the posturing…and didn't approve.

The king settled into the high-backed seat reserved for him at the table's end. Haldric took the seat by his right hand while Dexil sat across from Haldric on the king's left.

His aunt, Duchess Janelle, gave him a grim-faced nod from her own position several seats down. Not content to live in her brother's shadow, she'd married the old duke of Catia, a small southern province bordering the Void Peaks. Since her husband's death, she'd worked hard to earn her position as governor.

Haldric hadn't spent much time with her since she'd left the capital. It was only after Melisie's death that she'd begun making it a point to visit more and take him under her wing. Though he found her a touch intimidating, it eased some of his tension to know he had at least one ally here today.

Still, taking in the well-dressed man poised at the opposite end of the table, Haldric's anxiety simmered. Duke Westley Cullford wore tightly fitted colored silks more in keeping with a Sanjarkan merchant than an Ilthabardian lord. Tall and thin, his bald head and stern face lent him a distinguished air only partially marred by the crimson eye patch he wore over his left eye.

Governor of the eastern province of Zaros along the Tholan River, he oversaw the majority of Ilthabard's trade with Khordan and Sanjarka, making him richer than even the king. Next to Haldric's father, he was the most powerful governor in attendance…and the most dangerous.

Duke Westley's single hazel eye fixed on Haldric with an intensity that unsettled him, though he tried not to show it. He gave the governor a polite nod before pointedly turning away.

As if of their own accord, his eyes sought out Dexil across the table from him. The Grand Magus gave him an encouraging wink that Haldric answered with a weak smile.

But when he looked past the Grand Magus expecting Benjin, he saw no sign of the apprentice. Disappointment curled through him. Had Benjin decided not to come after all? Had yesterday's argument scared him off?

It doesn't matter, he told himself, squaring his shoulders to ensure he looked suitably dignified. It's not as if I needed him here anyway.

An announcement from an aide caused the guests to quiet. Runeflame flickered over the sigils Dexil had etched into the tabletop. They began to glow, and a dome of opaque force enveloped them. Though it rendered it impossible to see or hear their discussions from outside the barrier, it did nothing to bar the dignitaries from coming and going as they saw fit.

"Honored guests," King Roland began once everyone had settled. "I thank you all for gathering here today for the Provincial Council's annual Summit. There is much I would discuss with you concerning the future of our kingdom."

"So long as there are plenty of refreshments," Duchess Iliana Marudin said with a tinkling laugh. "Though I doubt they'll compare to what I'm used to. No offense, of course—it's hard to compete with the freshest ingredients in Allaria."

Dressed in a flowing green grown that could barely contain her voluptuous curves, Iliana led the sprawling central province of Leonia that contained most of Ilthabard's farmlands.

Next to her at the table, Duke Haggerty Simik of Nillis snorted. A burly man with a thick gray beard that was oddly incongruous with his finely tailored suit, he said, "Whatever will get us out of here the quickest. I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say I have more important matters to attend to in my own lands than wasting time talking ourselves in circles."

Though his father's wan face remained placid, Haldric sensed the king's displeasure in a slight tightening around his eyes. "Of course, Duke Haggerty. I promise that we will be as succinct as possible." Haldric's pulse thrummed when his father turned to him. "Prince Haldric will kick us off."

Struggling not to shrink beneath the weight of all those haughty gazes suddenly turned upon him, Haldric flipped through the papers before him to give his fingers something to do, even though he'd long since memorized the documents' contents.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "Shall we begin by renewing last year's pledges for taxes and soldiers?"

Displeased murmurs echoed around the table.

Duchess Yasmine Fembrook, a hard-faced and rail-thin woman dressed in a crisp military uniform, scowled. "Only if you intend to invest those resources into shoring up our western border. Nalax's raids along the Crimson River grow more brazen by the month. Weatheford's defenses cannot hold—not if Nalax decides to attack in force."

Before Haldric could reply, Duke Westley leaned forward with a small smile, steepling his bejeweled fingers atop the table. "The dear duchess raises an excellent point, Your Highness. I know you're terribly new to all this, but if I may make a humble suggestion, I believe it is past time we renegotiate our existing pledges in light of recent developments."

The duke gestured to his side. An aide seated there slid a sheaf of parchment before him. "I've taken the liberty of drawing up new terms I believe more equitable given the declining state of the Crown. I'd be happy to present them, if you like." He glanced at the king, his brow wrinkling in apparent concern. "And not to worry, Your Majesty—I shall be brief. After all, we all know how badly your health ails you these days."

Duchess Janelle fixed Westley with a furious glare. "Watch your tongue, Cullford. You speak to your king."

The duke barely inclined his head. "But of course. My apologies, sire, if I have given any offense. I'm merely concerned for your wellbeing. It pains me to see you overcome with such weakness that you must rely on less experienced youth to act in your stead."

Haldric tensed, barely able to believe the duke's audacity. He'd expected the governors to be unruly, but this was close to open defiance of the Crown's authority. Not to mention how the duke's dismissal gnawed at his insecurities.

King Roland's smile showed entirely too many teeth. "Thank you, Duke Westley. Your generosity, as always, does you credit. Let us see if your proposal is equally generous."

Haldric did his best to contribute to the ensuing discussion, drawing upon his political lessons to help him counter the governors' concerns and keep the conversation on track. Yet, it was hard not to bristle at the barest modicum of respect the other governors showed him and his father, particularly Duke Westley. The insufferable man's every word seemed to contain a veiled insult.

Talk veered from topic to topic, jumping from negotiations over how much each province should be taxed and how many of their citizens they should contribute to Ilthabard's national army, to how to address growing rumors of Nalax's expansionist ambitions, to seeking support for restoring Ilthabard's crumbling roads and infrastructure.

This last was a particularly sore spot for Haldric given his sister Melisie's fate. Deteriorating roads were one of the main contributors to the rising number of bandits throughout the countryside…though general unrest also didn't help.

"If your citizens grow restless, it is because they require a stricter hand," Duke Haggerty said with a dismissive wave of his burly arm. "In Nillis, the people are used to harsh, rugged living. Not much hope for anything else when you spend your days mining in the Korvanthan Mountains. Execute a few of the dissenters, and the rest will soon disperse."

Before he could think better of it, Haldric said, "We already don't have enough soldiers to defend our roads and secure our western border. Now, you want us to declare war on our own people? It is hunger that drives them, nothing more."

Duke Haggerty fixed him with a condescending sneer. "Who cares what drives them? Motives matter not in the pursuit of order. Perhaps you've lived too sheltered a life here in the palace to fully grasp the harsh realities of the world, Your Highness, but sometimes violence is the only possible response."

"And sometimes it is the height of idiocy! I—" Haldric cut off when his father rested a faintly trembling hand on his arm.

"Apologies for my son's outburst," the king said. "Though I will remind everyone here to keep this discussion civil." His gaze lingered on Westley a moment before he glanced at the papers before him. "Now then, let us return to Duchess Iliana's point about increasing the export of food from Leonia."

Duchess Iliana smiled. "Thank you, Your Majesty. We have plenty in our stores and are happy to share with the other provinces…for a commensurate fee, of course."

And so, the negotiations continued.

By the time they broke for lunch, Haldric's jaw ached from how hard he'd been clenching it. Goddess' mercy, he didn't understand how his father could put up with this. Each governor seemed more selfish than the last, concerned only with their own province's wealth and prestige regardless of the cost to the kingdom as a whole. No wonder Ilthabard was dying if these were the people responsible for its upkeep.

Still, at least he'd managed to mostly hold his own. His father had only needed to step in a handful of times to offer advice or defuse an argument before it could fester. Haldric had thought of escaping outside to clear his head, but his father caught him by the door.

"That went better than expected," the king said in a low voice.

Haldric's mask slipped as he let out an incredulous huff. "How can you say that? They all seem so eager to tear the kingdom apart for their own greed."

His father took his arm, leaning on it for balance. "And yet, we managed to negotiate a tax only slightly lower than last year's, albeit with a handful of caveats attached over how the money is spent. And those fresh pledges of food from Leonia should help alleviate some of the suffering in the streets."

Haldric glared past his father at where the governors had moved to partake in the lavish refreshments laid out along the far wall. "It's not enough."

His father's heavy sigh rattled his chest. When he spoke, he sounded exhausted. "It never is. Yet, we do the best we can."

The king clapped him on the back and went to step past him, only to stumble. Reacting quickly, Haldric managed to catch him, allowing the king to slump against his side.

With a furtive look about, Haldric did his best to prop his father up, hoping no one had noticed. It would only add fuel to their disparaging remarks.

It was only when he turned his gaze upon his father that he realized how pale his father appeared. The king's features were drawn, the faint tremble in his hands even worse than usual.

Footsteps echoed behind them. Haldric spun, relieved to find the Grand Magus approaching with a look of concern. "Are you well, Your Majesty?"

"I'm fine." Roland struggled to extricate himself from Haldric's grip and almost instantly stumbled again. "Goddess' mercy," he cursed with a weary sigh.

"I'm afraid you've pushed yourself too hard, sire." Dexil held out an arm. "Come, let me escort you to your chambers."

The king set his jaw. "Not yet. We're only halfway through the negotiations. If we stop now, what small victories I've secured will crumble apart. Isn't there something you can give me to help—a potion or the like to lend me strength?"

"I've already done all I dare, Your Majesty. Surely, Haldric and Janelle can handle things in your stead?"

Panic jolted Haldric's veins at the thought of leading the negotiations without his father's guidance. Never before had he felt less prepared to be king.

"No," his father said.

"But—"

"Goddess' mercy, Dexil, I'm not dead yet!" King Roland's gaze flashed. For a moment, he seemed to regain some of his lost strength, every bit the fierce warrior he'd been in his youth. Then, he sagged, the sudden strength flowing out of him. "I may not live to see another year." Haldric's heart ached at the soft sorrow in his father's voice. "At least allow me the satisfaction of seeing this final Summit through."

Dexil's expression wavered. At last, he sighed and bowed his head. "Very well, Your Majesty. If you come with me to your bedchamber, I'll see what I can do."

The king nodded before turning to Haldric. "Take care, Son. Watch over these vipers for me. I promise, I'll return soon."

Gathering his resolve, Haldric gave a firm nod. As he watched his father depart with the Grand Magus, however, his determination wavered. He felt like a minnow swimming with krakens. Still, he'd do all he could to not disappoint his father.

He exhaled a calming breath and made his way toward the refreshments where the other governors still gathered. Grabbing a glass of water and a platter of dried meats, berries, and cheeses, he turned to discover Duke Westley blocking his way.

The duke inclined his head, his smile sharp as a blade. "Prince Haldric. I couldn't help but notice your father's hasty departure. I hope naught is amiss?"

"The king had other important business to attend to." Haldric forced down his nerves and took a sip of water. "He'll be back before we resume."

The duke's grin widened. "No doubt. Perhaps you and I might have a word in the meantime, then? I admit, I'm eager for the chance to chat with our heir and future king."

Haldric's stomach roiled at the thought of spending any one-on-one time with the duke. Seeing no diplomatic way to decline, however, he gave a begrudging nod.

"Of course, Duke Westley. I'd be happy to address whatever doubts or questions you have."

The duke chuckled and sipped his own goblet of dark red wine. "Oh, nothing like that, Your Highness. I merely wish to discuss the future…and the opportunities it presents."

Haldric arched an eyebrow. "Such as?"

Westley didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned to survey the room. His one-eyed gaze lingered on Haldric's aunt, his lips pressing together.

"King Roland means well. None would contest that he has Ilthabard's best interests at heart. Yet, he also remains stuck in the past. The days of a unified kingdom are long behind us. From Weatheford to Zaros and even here in Hasenbill, each province has its own concerns. It only makes sense that they should have the freedom to decide how best to handle them. Wouldn't you agree?"

Haldric could tell that he treaded on dangerous ground, though he had only the vaguest sense of the hazards that lay underfoot. "What exactly are you proposing, Duke Westley?"

"Why, nothing, Your Highness. I was simply commenting on the current state of affairs." He swirled the wine in his goblet. The dark liquid splashed against the rim, disconcertingly reminiscent of blood. "With central rule the weakest it's ever been, your position as king will be precarious. You'll have to rely more than ever on the support of your governors to rule. Why, without it…" Westley shrugged, taking a long sip of his wine. "Well, you may find it impossible to hold this fragile kingdom together. Better to control one province than nothing at all, eh?"

With a final smile dyed crimson from his wine, Duke Westley strolled away. Haldric stared after him. The duke's words had strayed perilously close to treason, but there wasn't much Haldric could do about it—not without risking civil war.

Movement beside him drew his attention, and he glanced over to find his aunt assuming the duke's forfeited place. Duchess Janelle wore her usual armor and battle axes. Like Duchess Yasmine, she looked more like a general than a noble.

She narrowed her eyes at the departing duke. "I came as soon as I saw he had you cornered. What did that snake want to talk about?"

Janelle was one of the few people in the room Haldric trusted, so he decided not to hold back. "Independence."

His aunt nodded, appearing unsurprised. "I love my brother, you know I do. And I will always support him, same as I will you. But he has a soft heart—too soft, perhaps, to have been the strong ruler Ilthabard needed. This latest unrest is but a symptom of a broader problem. It's only a matter of time before a revolt by the people, the nobility, or both brings everything crashing down."

A chill gripped Haldric at the grim pronouncement. "Why are you telling me this and not my father? And why now?"

His aunt pressed her lips together. "I have told Roland, countless times. But he refuses to listen. Even now, he's worried about how the other governors would react to any attempts to consolidate his rule."

Haldric glanced over to find Duke Westley in deep conversation with Duchess Iliana and Duke Haggerty. "Isn't he right to worry? By the Goddess, they're already close to open defiance. If my father tried to bludgeon them into submission, it could tear Ilthabard apart."

"Look around." Janelle swept her gauntleted arms out to indicate the chamber. "You heard them during the Summit, Haldric. Ilthabard is already falling apart. No amount of honeyed words or bartered deals will salvage it. Duke Westley and his ilk would happily see us dissolve into disjointed city-states like Razaketh. Unlike them, however, we wouldn't have the protection of a jungle and a slave army to deter would-be invaders. Whether by conquest or integration, Ilthabard would be swallowed up by one of its neighbors within a generation, our people sundered and our once-great kingdom consigned to oblivion."

Her expression hardened into fierce lines. She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a near whisper. "For all his bluster, Duke Haggerty was right about one thing earlier—sometimes, the only way to unify people is through force. I fear things will happen swiftly once your father passes, everyone scrambling to maneuver into position and consolidate power. It would be the perfect opportunity for you to do the same. To demand greater obedience from the governors…and to threaten them with the consequences should they refuse."

Haldric swallowed the lead lump in his throat. "W-what consequences?"

Rather than responding, Janelle held his gaze for a long, fraught moment. Then she turned away, patting him on the back. "Take care, nephew, and watch your back, even here in the palace. Whatever you decide, know that you have my support—and my province's armies—to do with as you see fit."

He watched her go, her words lending him some small measure of comfort even as they weighed on him almost as heavily as Duke Westley's threats. Goddess' mercy, he wasn't cut out for these political games. The governors called for independence while his father urged diplomatic marriage and his aunt voiced her not-so-subtle support for civil war. Not to mention the growing dissent among the commoners.

So many unhappy people. So many potential directions for the kingdom. So many threats, both from without and within.

And here, at the center of it all, stood unworthy him.

The full burden of his responsibilities bore down on him, threatening to crush him.

"Well then, don't let them."

Benjin's words echoed in his mind, relieving some of the crushing weight. That's what Benjin had told him when Haldric expressed his worries over the governors. As though it were that simple—as if Haldric possessed that sort of power.

Haldric took a deep breath, restoring his mask of calm. Benjin was right. Haldric couldn't let them intimidate him into giving up. Once he had his pulse back under control, he strode toward the negotiating table and the chatting governors.

Time to prove that the apprentice's faith in him hadn't been misplaced.