“Not until we find the enemy’s headquarters,” said Mongs. “And it’s up to the Ikarus army to do that, General.”
High tension filled the room after blame had been passed back and forth; neither the Ikarus army, nor the representatives of The Temple were willing to admit they’d failed. But there was another sensitive subject Montague had to bring up. “We’ve received another letter from Grale. This is the fourth in regards to their count, my lord. They are expecting his return.”
When Montague spoke, all voices ceased. Everyone stared at him as if he had disturbed the meeting.
Alexandal twitched then finally addressed the concern. “Indrid is a soldier in our army, the new capital’s army. We will contact them when his services are no longer needed.”
“We must at least reply,” said Montague.
“Mr. Speaker, you’ve been sitting there for the last few minutes listening to this conversation. Have you looked at the document under your hand?” asked Alexandal.
Montague didn’t even notice that he was the only member in the room with a paper on the table in front of his seat. When he turned the document over, it read: Formal Resignation from the Ikarus council.
“I don’t understand. I was the queen’s chosen voice. I’ve been on this council for nearly a decade, serving the people of the kingdom that I love. What’s the reason for this?” Montague, asked.
“It’s been too long,” said Alexandal. “We need to make changes to the length of political positions. Now please, Mr. La-Rose. If you don’t mind, the council has matters to discuss.”
Montague swallowed his objection. An argument would only make the situation worse, he thought. Just like that, he was forced out of civil affairs, without a reason. What are they plotting?
Lord Alexandal had become a changed man. After Olivia’s death, the steward had insisted that Gretchen foster the children, Indrid and Anna, and resigned all responsibility he had sworn to them when Olivia was alive. With Montague’s help, the head maid of the royal castle had been accountable for their upbringing.
In the years before the queen’s passing, Alexandal had always been motivated to optimize his leadership as army general by strengthening the bonds between himself and his soldiers, himself and the people of Ikarus, embracing everyone’s ideas. Montague had thought of him as one of the strongest and most caring generals in history, and that was what the queen had loved about him. But ever since she had passed and Alexandal became the steward of Ikarus, he barely left his room. When he did, he would leave the kingdom for weeks at a time. Montague had heard the thundering screams that echoed from the steward’s room at night. The ash print left on Alexandal’s forehead after the new king had been born at Angel Falls was no simple blot of dirt. Montague was certain of that. It had been an attempt by the mage to connect Alexandal’s mind with the Nekrum’s host. And she’d succeeded. Montague had no doubt that Alexandal was under Demitri’s influence. But, without the support of the Ikarus army, there was nothing he could do, publically.
As guards walked Montague out of the room, he leaned in to the council messenger. “Tell Gretchen to meet me at my chambers at once. And tell her to bring the supplies I asked for.”
FROM THE top floor of the Ikarus library Montague La-Rose stared through the balcony windows watching the drops descend. He wondered why each was in such a hurry to splatter. Maybe, they were ready to reunite. Such a short life, he thought, birthing in the clouds then falling to the ground within seconds. It was just like Montague’s short-lived position as speaker of the Ikarus council.
Life for Montague would return closer to the way things were before; non-political, besides the facts that he didn’t have to pay taxes and his home was larger than his farmhouse, and that food was provided and cooked for him. But he missed his farm: the land, the animals, the smells, the sights, the sounds. He’d had no need to barter for food. As a farmer, he’d grown fields of wheat and gardens of vegetables and fruits. Montague had domesticated chickens and fished for his protein. He’d kept goats and cows to make cheese from their milk. There was never any slaughtering of cattle on his land.
The ex-farmer of the free land and former speaker of the capital would now become an educator of the people of Ikarus, he thought. At his quarters in the library basement, where Gretchen taught reading, writing, and music, Montague could hold classes for both children and adults: geography, botany, and medicine. He was forbidden to discuss his beliefs about the planet’s ancient past. No one in Ikarus besides Gretchen knew Montague’s true beliefs. The Temple would crucify him if they knew. Only priests were allowed to preach the words from The Book of Volpi, the manipulated version of creation, to the public at the Ikarus temple. Montague refused to teach what he believed was a lie.
On the streets below, Montague could see the head maid of the Volpi family approaching the library. Moonlight flickered off of her wet bonnet.
Downstairs, Montague met her at his chamber door.
“Just in time,” Gretchen said, walking in from the night drizzle. “Don’t want to get caught out past curfew.” She rolled her eyes.
“Ah. No, you don’t,” Montague said. He played along with Gretchen’s sarcasm. The steward of Ikarus, Lord Alexandal Duncan’s curfew was just one of many new restrictions he had placed on their kingdom along with a dozen new trade taxes that upset both the islands of Grale and Mern.
Gretchen untied a bag and emptied it across a table near Montague’s fireplace, “Twenty custard shells and three pounds of charcoal. Do you really think you can help Alexandal?”
“After eight years of seemingly hopeless research, it’s the last idea I’ve got,” said Montague. “It came from Demitri’s thesis on metal toxicity. In order to cleanse Alexandal of
