“Yes. He is a good boy,” Alexandal said grimly. There was disgust in his tone. “But how did Fervan’s arm break?”
“A boy that size could easily break his arm after trying to stop himself from falling. From what I gather, Fervan and others were frolicking quite aggressively in the street. I’m sure they’d fallen many times. Besides, I examined him myself. His arm is not broken, but the radius bone has a mild fracture.” Montague paused. “Please, don’t send Rayne away; the last Volpi in existence, the descendent of our creator. You can’t send him away,” Montague pleaded.
“Oh but we can if it is proved that supernatural forces were responsible. Then, if our creator’s blood has been spoiled, even royalty can be banished. It has before. That is the law. And you see, unfortunately, your knowledge of burdlap plants is limited. They are dormant this time of year and their leaves curl up into hibernation. They prefer the humid air,” the speaker said.
Montague swallowed hard. That was the only explanation he could come up with and the speaker saw right through it. It was an impressive amount of knowledge the speaker knew about a plant that is considered essential in the ‘craft’, Montague thought. But Montague knew all too well that the ‘craft’ had become a common practice by priests in The Temple. And the speaker was a high priest, a conductor of religious ceremonies. The Temple swore allegiance to the Nekrums and was responsible for the outbreak of mages now led by Demitri Von Cobb.
The speaker and a few other members leaned in close to Alexandal for a private discussion.
“Let us say this, we will agree to lower the boy’s sentence to high seclusion in the castle, if and only if, you agree to change the law so Alexandal can rule Ikarus until his death, and not hand it over to Rayne Volpi when he becomes of age,” the speaker proposed. He looked at Rayne. “And no more visiting that beast of yours.”
Montague looked to Alexandal, hoping to see a spark of the man he once knew. But the steward was lost, still immune to emotion. The crushed custard shells he’d been secretly adding to Alexandal’s soup and ale supply apparently had no beneficial effect. It had been just another failure.
“The boy isn’t going anywhere,” Montague said. “I guess you will have it your way. The throne until you pass.” His voice shook with repulsion.
Before the hearing came to a conclusion, a guard interrupted, “My lords and ladies, Graleons are approaching.”
Montague didn’t bother to wait for a formal dismissal. He took Rayne by the hand and just walked out after the announcement; guards followed.
OUTSIDE THE council room, lines of soldiers marched in uniform toward the castle with brilliant silver and glossy bronze armor. They hailed from the colony of Grale, proudly holding their blood-red flags high with a gold Graleon shield sewn on the front.
Indrid Cole was sitting on a bench in the courtyard with Anna, waiting for Montague and Rayne to exit the hearing, when his heart started pounding at the sight of the warriors approaching. Rows of knights lined the castle court. The army acknowledged their future leader, saluting him. They knew exactly who Indrid was. Grale was the colony he belonged to; the island where he was born and raised; the place where he’d made memories with his real family who is now long gone.
Alexandal burst out from the council room doors with a contorted expression and walked out to the balcony edge, gripping the railing. “What an interesting surprise. Whom shall I address?” he asked, looking at the shadowed faces within black helmets.
A knight stepped forward with armor as black as coal, “I, my lord. I am Simon Atikan.”
“Ah, another steward,” Alexandal huffed.
Indrid recognized the dark knight. Simon was the Graleon keeper and protector of the throne; one of the most respected knights in the entire land. “The knights of Grale have come to claim our blood-born ruler, Indrid Cole, son of Arland Cole. Many letters on the subject of his turnover have come and gone without a response.”
“You’ve stopped sending funds to Ikarus. May I ask why?” Alexandal asked, avoiding the subject.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but when our concerns went unanswered for too long, we decided that there was no other way to get your attention. It seems as though you still fail to acknowledge our request to have our count back.”
“You speak to me as though Ikarus is a charity case. Let me inform you that the monies that you were sending to us were rightfully ours. Ikarus is in no debt to anyone. And if I needed coin, I wouldn’t hesitate to come and take it,” Alexandal said.
The knight lifted his brow. “Indrid Cole is now eighteen. He is the count of Grale. We’ve come to claim him,” Sir Simon said.
Just to hear a Graleon authority figure say his name made Indrid feel special.
Alexandal looked agitated. There was no doubt he didn’t like Simon Atikan. “You will be leaving here empty handed,” he said, “Our people are threatened almost daily in some way or another; stealing crops or burning fields, and not to mention what happened to Queen Olivia, who was so dear to me. Indrid is now Ikarus’s active general and we are at a time of war. Until the issues are resolved, he must remain here.”
Ikarus general? Indrid wondered. He’d been only a mere soldier. Rage began to swell within Indrid, knowing that Alexandal was promoting him just to prevent him from leaving. The young adult couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How dare Alexandal deny my right to return to Grale? He thought.
“At war? Do you think that our people don’t suffer? We deal with the same threat as you. That excuse is not relevant…my lord,” the dark knight said with a careful bow.
“Watch your tone, young warrior,” Alexandal growled, “Why don’t we ask the boy?” He turned to Indrid, “Well,
