“That is what I thought. Very well, Giles, I guess I must wear the uniform.”
“Yes, sir.” Giles bowed me into my bedroom and hurriedly began the preparations for dressing me.
I wasn’t sure if his rush was because we were behind schedule or because he feared I would follow through on my passing fancy of scandalizing the court. As tempting as it was, I knew I shouldn’t give the Mesitas fodder for his campaign against me. I had to only wait one more day. Then I would be on my way to my new home, the Sept Son’s estates in the Northeast, far from the goddess’ city and its hold.
The morning session went as well as could be expected. I managed to stay alert and interested. Next on the schedule was the last feast of the Caelestis Novem. It came right before the Kings began the packing up to return home.
“Are you ready for the final meeting of the talents?” Tristan asked as he came alongside me. I nodded my greetings to the older man. My senior by twenty years, he was an experienced aid that I was hoping to promote to a position that best suited his skills at negotiating and bargaining. The last talent convention was scheduled for after the noon feast.
“As ready as I am going to be,” I replied. “I have rosters of duties laid out for the trainers and a schedule of classes. Then, after choosing officers, I am hopefully leaving for the estate.”
“And leave before the last meal?”
“Neleck’s health is failing, Tristan. I need to return as soon as politically allowed, which means directly after the talent meeting.”
Tristan stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Listen to me, Hadrian.” I turned and met his eyes. “Mesitas is planning something. Stay until after dinner.” Out loud, he said, “I am not willing to sit by and let you start off on the wrong foot. I believe that High King Honorus will take it badly if you leave too soon.”
“What is he planning?” I asked as I lowered my eyes and studied the space at my feet as though thinking about his warning.
“I don’t know, but I do know that his sons and followers are gathering about him. Whatever the reason, I think you need to be here for it.”
He had a point. I nodded. “I will stay.”
Satisfied, he released my shoulder with a mild smile. “See you at the meeting.” Walking away, he disappeared into the gathering crowd of nobles by the dining room’s entrance.
“What was that about?” Korneli asked. “What is for lunch?”
I turned around in time to catch my friend’s teasing half grin.
“A warning from Tristan that the Mesitas is planning something.” I grimaced. “I have no idea, and my stomach isn’t interested.”
“You have to eat something,” he protested. “Not good.”
“Dry bread sounds about to my taste right now.”
He shook his head. “I will see you eat if I have to force it down your throat. Your father has entrusted me with the task of looking out for your health.”
I groaned and turned toward the waiting guests.
The following meal was draining. I consumed the blander items on my plate and lifted the rest onto Korneli’s when no one was looking. Thankfully, he spoke nothing of the spiced lamb and yellow beets that miraculously appeared on his plate. It was either give them to him or eat them, for if the Sept Son didn’t eat everything he was served, the cook was dismissed.
The talent meeting went especially well considering my distracted thoughts about the Mesitas and what he could possibly have planned.
I gave everyone their new assignments for the year. Keeping in mind Silas’ requests that I assign all of Zezilia’s brothers to posts in the Northern half of the country so that they couldn’t visit her, I even planned on taking one of them back to the estate with me. Renato, a young man of eighteen, showed great promise. I hoped that someday he would become a great assistant. But before that, he needed a great deal of specialized training gained only by working among the elite of the talents. Korneli and Tavey I assigned to two problem areas in the south. I knew that they could be counted on to keep things under control and report to me with any problems.
Next came the testing of the new talents. One by one, the new trainees were presented to me for testing of their basic skills, these were the fifteen year olds that had made their first salute to the High King on the first day of the Caelestis Novem.
There was nothing remarkable among them until Junor brought forth his pupil.
“Septimus Pewlin,” Tristan announced. It took a great deal of self-control not to look at him quickly. Septimus meant seventh born and it was very unusual for parents to give such a name to a son as a first name. It could almost be considered grasping, like naming a daughter Beauty or a son King. I carefully turned my attention to him as I had all the others.
As I observed him with both my eyes and my mind, I sensed nothing unusual about the boy. A lanky frame with the usual awkward movement and uncomfortable presence that came with rapid growth spurts, he looked like all the other fifteen year olds that had stood before me. The thought activity was about the same also, feelings of nerves, shaky joints, sweaty palms, worry. I reached out and brushed his mind like I had brushed Zezilia’s and the countless other boys before this Septimus. He shuddered slightly as the taste of his thoughts touched my tongue, but his consciousness remained open before my mind. I recalled Zezilia’s sudden closure, clamping down so that not a trace of her mint essence leaked through.
“Bring that goblet to me,” I instructed, pointing to a heavily inlaid vessel displayed on a pedestal against
