Pausing only to gently touch his mother’s shoulder, Cayphis crossed to me and offered an open hand in greeting.
“I am so glad you came.” His voice was stiff with unshed tears. “He isn’t peaceful. He frets and fidgets. The Mesitas says he has done everything he can. He even brought in the Sibley to lay healing hands on him, but still Father will not rest. The healers have given him all they can short of rendering him unconscious.” Suddenly lowering his head, he coughed and swallowed back the emotion that clogged his throat.
“Does he say anything?” I asked, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“He calls for a Ragetia. Mother is certain that it is a mistress from long ago and never tires in trying to get him to call her name. The Mesitas says it is one of the names of the goddess, but I doubt his motives. Is there anything you can do?”
I could feel the accusing eyes of the kings at my back. The suspicion that Cayphis might be attempting to sway my opinion lay heavy in the air. Full of their futures, they waited like scavenger birds for the old king to die so that they might fight over his remains. Little did they know that I had determined my choice for High King long before the mantle of Sept Son lay on my shoulders. Their cold attitudes only solidified my decision. Blind to the grief of the family, they watched with dry hearts while my heart ached with tears.
How can they stand here so coldly, Father? They are sons and fathers themselves, yet they cannot see the pain of this family’s last farewell. I turned my attention back to Cayphis.
“I will try,” I whispered. “I cannot promise anything, but I can try.”
“That is all I ask, Hadrian. Thank you.”
Leading me to his mother and sisters, he cleared his throat slightly. “It is time to say goodbye, sisters.” Both girls rose from their knees. With dainty, tearful sniffles they each kissed their father’s cheek while he continued to mumble nonsense. Then withdrawing, they passed by me with heads bend.
“Mother?” Cayphis lay his hands gently on his mother’s frail shoulders. “It is time.”
“I want to stay,” she protested without looking from her husband’s face. “He will remember me in the end. He has to.”
“He remembers you, my queen,” I said, kneeling at her other side. She turned to look at me.
“Hadrian, yes, you are Sept Son now aren’t you?” She looked down at my traveling clothes in confusion. “Where is your official clothing?”
“I had to leave it behind in my rush to reach you. I came to comfort you, my queen, and ease your husband’s passing.”
She turned to observe her husband’s feverish mumblings as he began to move his head from side to side. “He isn’t at peace.” She gently stroked the back of the king’s hand. “Even the Mesitas cannot bring him peace.” She raised flooded eyes. “He doesn’t remember me, Hadrian. He calls for Ragetia and weeps for her, but not for me.”
I gently lay a hand against her soft cheek and offered her the truth. “Deep within, I am sure he weeps for you, my queen. He has never strayed from your bed, and he shall pass from you as your faithful husband. Bid him farewell and ease his passing. He is waiting for your kiss.”
She wept anew at my words. “How do you know this is true?”
“He told me years ago, my lady.”
Accepting my answer, she offered a hand to Cayphis. “Help me bid him good bye, my son. Then escort me to my room. I don’t think I can walk on my own.”
Cayphis did as his mother instructed. I rose with them. Using my talent, I held the High King’s head still so that she could kiss his cheek without him bumping her face.
“Thank you,” she whispered, gripping my hand briefly on her way to the door. Cayphis echoed her words with his eyes and then lead her away.
The moment the door closed behind the pair, the chanting stopped and King Sabine stepped forward. A broad man of medium height, he came barreling up to me, perhaps with thoughts of intimidating me, and wagged a fat finger in my face. “You have a lot to answer to, boy,” he boomed, “Coming in late and not in your official apparel.”
I looked down at him calmly. “I could hardly have come any faster, sire. I only received news of the High King’s condition two days ago. If there is anyone you should be wagging a finger at, my liege, it is the Mesitas. It is his duty to notify me of the High King’s health.”
“Why you...” King Sabine sputtered up at my face. Though he was a big man, I was tall and his swaggering did not impress me.
“Don’t speak to my father that way,” his son, Tullius Sabine, interjected. “You have no right. I ought to have you whipped for speaking like that.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Tully,” King Marcellus advised as he stepped forward.
“Why ever not?” Tully asked, as he began to circle me. Like his father, Tully was broad, but more of it was muscle than fat. “He is only a Proctor’s son playing king.”
“Sabine, call off your son,” King Ilar ordered as Tully began to take a fighting stance. I drew my energy around me and waited. Though as Sept Son, I outranked the prince, my position was precarious. I did not know who believed the lies that I was certain the Mesitas was spreading. If I made the first move, it could turn the entire room against me.
“Enough,” King Adrasteia roared. Stepping between me and Tully, I felt him gather his own energy. Suddenly Tully was on the other side of the room looking a bit dazed as to how he got there. “Now
