“Are you sure you wish to be seen with me?” I blurted out.
He laughed again. “Yes, Donellea, I wish to make up for my blunders this evening. I have twice been terribly rude. If Clovis or Blandone got wind of my behavior, they would give me a dressing down. Now, please consent so that I may avoid crossing paths with your brothers’ ire.”
“I doubt Blan would give you much trouble, but I can understand your concern about Clovis.” Clovis was a well-known warrior, excelling in all forms of fighting. As formidable as Master Aleron looked to me, I was certain that Clovis would be able to best him easily. “I consent.” I offered my hand as I had seen Mother do.
“Thank you, my dear Donellea.” Taking my hand he lifted it to his mouth and then surprised me by kissing it. “Now allow me to escort you to the safety of the well-lit palazzo. I can hear the first strains of the dancing music and I am sure there will be many waiting to watch you dance.”
I let him lead me back to the golden glowing windows of the assembly room, but I refused his offer of an escort inside. Thankfully some young men he knew appeared. I was able to slip off unnoticed.
Chapter II
Hadrian
The whispers about the High King’s absence from the formal breaking of the fast the next morning kept the gossips busy. Right afterwards, the talents gathered in the southern parlor to discuss how to handle the ascension of the next High King. Among the gathered were all of King Ilar’s sons, a prince of the house of Sabine, and two of the house of Marcellus. Aside from them, forty others of lower houses and common houses filled the room to capacity.
I chose a chair at the back. Within the ranks of the talented, outside political rank meant nothing. It was drilled into our heads from the moment we began training. A commoner’s son could out rank a prince among the talented. The current Sept Son was a pig farmer’s son. Within the talented, level of talent and courtesy to others was all that mattered. I, being a Proctor’s son, ranked higher among the talented than all the princes present because of my age, training, and ability. Yet, it was something that one didn’t call attention to.
Tristan, a prince of the house of Ynyr, rose to his feet. The whispers lowered and all conversations dropped to the mental level.
“Talented young men,” he began, “There is an issue that the Sept Son wishes for us to address this morning. He sent Master Horace with a special missive for your discussion and recommendation.” He then bowed Master Horace into the place of honor.
Master Horace proceeded to explain what I already knew. The High King stood on the brink of the downward slope toward death. The doctors gave him three years at best, nine months at least. The Sept Son wasn’t much better. Old Neleck neared his ninetieth annum. Though his spirit and talent remained strong, age worked against his body. Thus everyone worried about which man would die first and how that would affect the succession.
The High Throne did not pass from father to son, but from kingly house to kingly house. Right now, the royal house of Honorus led by Uiseann held the High Throne. But once Uiseann died, the Sept Son would appoint the new family to take the rule.
“But what if Neleck dies first?” one of the young talents asked as Master Horace took his seat.
“Then the new Sept Son will appoint the new High King,” Tristan of Ynyr replied.
A few of the younger men stole glances in my direction. As one of the three current seventh sons in the kingdom, I was one of the candidates for the position.
“So, if High King Honorus dies first, may he live forever, Euginius becomes High King because Neleck favors him, but if Neleck goes first, we will not know.” The same young man persisted to state the situation despite his comrades’ efforts to stop him.
“Boy,” Tristan of Ynyr growled, “If you do not cease, I shall have you removed.” The boy fell silent, but the angry look on his face bode ill for his temper.
“Now,” Tristan continued, “I have summoned you all to find a solution to another possibility that we hope does not happen: the High King and Sept Son dying within a month of each other, thus preventing the instatement of a new Sept Son before an heir must be named.”
Murmuring flowed across the room like wild fire. I glanced over at Errol Silas. He and I had discussed this possibility only three weeks ago. Sitting back in his chair with his hands folded on his broad middle, Errol didn’t look like he was paying much mind to the proceedings at all. I frowned. He looked too calm.
“You put him up to this,” I accused.
Errol didn’t even shift. “It seemed that no one other than us has given thought to the possibility. I simply mentioned it as an unlikely scenario to the Sept Son. He felt it needed to be discussed.”
I resisted frowning at him. The only solution we had come up with for such a scenario was to have the successor installed and acting as soon as possible. That would be the only way to insure a smooth transition for both positions. Unknown to all but Neleck, Errol, and myself, I was already chosen as the next Sept Son. It wasn’t a choice I relished, but for the glory and work of the one true God, I was willing to do it.
I waited and listened in unhappy silence as the men around me debated their way to our conclusion. It took them even longer than Errol and I on our own. Partially because the youngling with the big mouth kept interrupting to ask answered questions or insert completely
