Relam stood, retrieved his gear, and waved to Tar Agath. The sword master nodded briefly in farewell, then went back to correcting a boy’s technique. The prince smiled to himself as he slipped through the outer gate. Tar had always been a teacher first, ahead of everything else.
Relam made the trip back to the palace in record time, hurrying up flights of stairs and along corridors. His father was waiting in the sitting room when he arrived.
“Best get cleaned up,” the king said shortly. “You’ve got twenty minutes ‘til we leave.”
Relam said nothing, merely ran into his room and began his frantic preparations.
Twenty minutes later, Relam emerged, washed, refreshed, and dressed in court finery, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the light fabrics and rich half cape. He much preferred the rough and ready feel of half armor, like he had worn during his mission in the Midwood for the last week.
“Good,” his father said, tossing aside a sheaf of documents. “Now we can get going. Are you ready?”
Relam looked around hesitantly. “Is mother here?” he asked. He had not seen her since he had returned.
The king’s expression darkened. “Your mother is very, very ill this morning, son. I don’t know what ails her, but she has the attention of every healer in the palace at the moment.”
“What?” Relam demanded. “What happened?”
“We don’t know,” the king said, shrugging dispiritedly. “Yesterday, she was extraordinarily tired when she woke. She hardly got out of bed before she was on her way back, saying she needed more rest. Then, this morning while you were at training, she summoned the healers.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Relam asked angrily.
His father nodded sheepishly. “Well, I wasn’t worried yesterday. Your mother is always tired these days. But today . . .” his voice trailed off and he looked away, clearly troubled. Relam looked past him to the closed door of his parents’ room. Somewhere, on the other side of that wooden portal, was his mother, weary and weak. The thought drove Relam to distraction, nearly banishing all thoughts of the Midwood raid and the upcoming council meeting from his mind.
“We can deal with this later,” the king said finally, his voice unsteady. Relam snapped out of his reverie, shaking his head to clear it.
“Right now,” the king continued, “We need to stay focused. The Assembly will be looking to tear us apart today. The good news is, we have a surprise up our sleeve.”
“Right,” Relam agreed, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Let’s go.”
The king smiled slightly and rested a heavy hand on Relam’s shoulder. “Good man,” he said gently.
Narin joined them in the hallway outside the royal apartments with a contingent of four guardsmen. They would stay outside the council room, as Relam’s father had ordered, but Narin had refused to let the king go to the meeting with no guards at all. Orram had conceded the point, knowing that it was only for his own safety.
As they marched through the palace, the king began giving Relam final instructions quietly.
“Remember, do not speak unless I ask you to. If one of the Assembly addresses you directly, check with me before you answer. They will likely see you as a weak link and go after you, trying to make you say something that will destabilize our position. Of course, there’s more risk of you having to speak now since you led the Midwood raid and everybody knows it. If I had foreseen the success that you had I would have asked you to return by night to avoid drawing attention to the whole thing . . . but we’ll just have to make do with the situation as is.”
“Is Clemon still going to be there?” Relam asked. The king’s chatelain had many faults, but his experience in these matters would be welcome today.
“Yes,” his father confirmed, nodding decisively. “Which is a very good thing.”
They continued walking until they reached the council room’s heavy ironbound doors. The small band halted there and Narin pushed his way into the room, sword drawn, checking it for threats before letting the king and the prince enter.
“All clear,” he reported a moment later, sticking his head back out into the hall. “There’s no one else here yet, your majesty.”
“Good,” the king replied, entering the council room. “That gives us a moment to get situated. Narin, stand outside and let me know when our guests approach.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Relam followed his father into the council room, looking around curiously. He had never had cause to enter this particular area of the palace before, and all of this was new to him. The council room was perfectly circular, white columns spaced evenly around the perimeter, the stone walls in between hung with banners displaying the crests of the royal family and the great lords. The table in the center of the room was circular as well, surrounded by eleven carved wooden chairs. The one opposite the door was larger than the others, and solid at the base while the others stood on four legs. Relam’s father made straight for this chair and sat down, shifting it closer to the table. Relam followed his father around the table and took his own place at his father’s right hand.
They did not have to wait long. Only a few minutes after Relam and his father had arrived, Narin opened the council room door a crack to announce that Lord Clemon was approaching. The king’s chatelain then swept into the room and sat at the Orram’s left hand, nodding perfunctorily towards Relam.
The others arrived as a group: Lord Thius came first, frowning and sweating lightly. Then the great lords, Garenes of the green hawk, Laurencian of the blue lion, Umeron of the silver stag, and Farad of the red boar. Lord Reshi, Jatt’s
