The Council of Seven served as advisors to Daemon Clovis. It consisted of Lenourth Clovis, the Lord-Prince of Central Velecor. Bellerio Savar, Master of Foreign Affairs. Ottaria Athure, Master of Laws. General Bredney Rockbone, Commander of the Military. Nycola Nyland, Master of Commerce. There were also seats for Candor Culayn—who had an undefined role. Jhafear Clovis was the last member, but he was nowhere to be found.
Perfect weather today. The snowfall had just entered its final month and was Daemon's preferred season. "Bellerio, you will go to Varholt and treat with King Alaric." Daemon alone sat at the short end of the rectangular table. Bellerio, who was closest to him on his left, gave a curious look. "If my Emperor may permit me to ask why?" The others gave serious looks except Candor and Lenourth, who knew already knew the reasons.
Daemon raised a finger in lethargy. "Geldryn has fallen into the hands of Vestelle." But two of the council members gave confused looks. "Leolyn Blaran betrayed us. I think. And so we must treat with Varholt." Bellerio smoothed his white beard and cast a light blue gaze at Daemon. "If the Emperor permits me to ask how that came to be?" Daemon looked ashamed. "They kidnapped Emon. Geldryn and the Blaran brats were the exchange made."
"If the Emperor permits me, I would ready the military to full attention." It was the Commander of the Military, Bredney, who made that suggestion. Bredney was an aged man; his greying brown hair and almost tired blue eyes hinted at his impending retirement. "Do so," Daemon said. "At once, Most High." Bredney called out for a young army officer to whom he whispered orders.
"How is the High Prince, Most High?" A plump young man, not more than thirty, asked. "He is well enough," Daemon said in reply to the Master of Commerce. "It is our great wish that the High-Prince continues to remain in good health. I can still recall the times he would follow you here as a boy of not more than twelve. Quite a while ago, though. If..." Daemon cut him off, albeit angrily. "You spoil the boy too much, Nycola. He is why we're in this mess. I would see him punished if not for his mother."
"Ottaria, Lenourth, Candor. Say something. It is ever this council's custom to always have something to say or ask." "Well then, Brother," Lenourth said. "Any tasks for me?" Lenourth asked, his bronze hair dancing to the breeze. "The Master of Laws, Master of Commerce and all the other Masters of whatever are under your command. Obviously, you will see to supervising them, as is your duty."
Daemon shifted his crimson gaze to Candor. "I would like to follow Bellerio to Varholt. Perhaps I might get a read on Alaric," Candor said without allowing Daemon's gaze to linger. "Ottaria?" Daemon called out. "Nothing really to add, Most High. But as by your command, we have administered justice without perversion." The light brown-haired man said with a smile.
Daemon looked at him with intentional confusion. "Thank you, Ottaria. That added something to our present predicament," Daemon said sarcastically. "Lenourth," Daemon called out. "When Bellerio and Candor are back, have a great council formed. Every Master of anything must be there." Lenourth gave him a nod of approval. "Of course, Most High. Even the Master of Sewage will be there," said Lenourth as a small smile crept onto his bearded face.
Daemon stood. "I will leave the rest of the meeting to you, Lenourth." Daemon walked to the opposite end of where his seat was and patted Lenourth's shoulder. "Off to your study, then." The other council members gave each other glances of surprise, except Candor of course. They hadn't expected Lenourth to openly use Daemon's pedantry to make a jest.
Daemon glanced back at Lenourth then gave a small smile. "Good one, Lenourth, but no. My anger towards Emon has quelled," Daemon said as he unclenched his left fist. "Am I a father first before the Emperor or an Emperor first before a father?" Daemon said thoughtfully. "Does duty come before family, Lenourth?" Candor gave a small smile. "I believe the Lord-Prince would refer you to your study, Most High."
Lenourth pretended to be scandalised as he looked at Candor, and then Daemon. "I was actually going to suggest meeting the Master of Academia." Daemon's face remained level. "Rich as your study is, it is no match for what Lord Ballus might provide you." Daemon nodded in agreement, then he left the council room.
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Emon sat in the anteroom of his chambers drinking tea mixed with herbs. It had only been two days since he disembarked from the Phoenix Class ship that docked at the Port of Feritrea. He had since asked for time alone before seeing anybody. But he was quite sure that his silence would be broken today.
Who would be the first to come? Emon stretched his legs on a cushioned blue stool in front of his black chair that was embroidered with golden leaves. The anteroom had five chairs in total—two large enough to fit three people. The walls were blue and red—an inspiration taken from his favourite Game of Knights team.
The anteroom had sixteen portraits—taken at each of his namedays.
A knock rang through his door—it was gentle and soft. "Noryn, eh?" Emon said to himself. "Come in." The door was opened by Juhsap Nesteys from outside. "The High-Princess Leanor, High-Prince," Juhsap said as he allowed her to enter.
"Good morning, brother," she said as she sat in the chair beside his. "You have looked better," she said in jest. "I half expected you to be crying. Or don't you care about your cool brother any longer?" Emon asked. "I am used to seeing you in this state already. Look, I might not be crying outside but I'm hurting inside. You're such a fool, Emon." Emon bowed his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Loryn."
Leanor had a new air about her. Over the last year, Emon only saw her mostly in passing. As she was now, she would most definitely reach at least his chin if they stood. "Stop calling me Noryn," she demanded. "No. You're Leanoryn Clovis after all," Emon said, laughing. "Alright then, I'll only allow it because it was you, brother." Emon made a happy smile.
That's the sister I know. "Emon, I wanted to tell you that... that I will always support you no matter what." Emon made a smile of graciousness. This was the most he had smiled since he was captured seven weeks ago.
Leanor, or rather Noryn as Emon liked to call her most times, looked like their grandmother, Daemon's mother. Her golden hair and red eyes were also from her. "I'll tell the Mistress of the Kitchen to cut you off from cakes," he said smiling. "Your cheeks are becoming a little fat. And this green gown of yours seems to tighten you a little." He said half concerned, half jesting. "Fool, brother," she said angrily. "If only you gave me some attention you would have noticed that I was a growing child."
Emon gesticulated for her to calm down. "Leolyn, Talia and your poems took your time. I had only Kellyn to play with and now she's gone." She continued. "I'm sorry. For everything," said Emon with penitence.
Tears finally rolled down her beautiful face. "You promise right?" She asked as she cleaned it off with a kerchief. "Yes, I would try my best." Emon had a weakness for females he loved. They could have him do what they wished. Standing at the top of that list was his mother, grandmothers, Talia and then Noryn, who stood above them all.
Emon and Noryn talked about trivial things before she finally left. The next to enter the room was his father and mother—about an hour after Noryn left. This conversation would definitely be less emotional than that with Noryn—Emon was sure of that, but he was proved wrong.
Sabella looked at him with her caring and motherly eyes. Surprisingly, Daemon also did the same. "Candor told me that your hair has refused to grow for quite some time," Sabella said as she broke the silence. "Some seven weeks I believe. Perhaps the Queen used some sort of alchemy," Emon said, trying to bait them.
He was sure his father was more interested in details about Vestelle than him. "I'll send for Netus. Perhaps he might have a cure," Daemon said, shocking Emon. "You must be ashamed. First, my hair becomes grey. Now, I'm bald," Emon glanced at them. "Surely you have reached the conclusion that Caster is my better," he said painfully.
Daemon made a small smile. "I have never thought of supplanting you as heir, Emon. Even after your debacle of an abdication." Emon gave a knowing smile. "I'm glad you remembered that. To me, I'm not the heir. I'm only filling in for Caster until this.... crisis? War? Ends." Sabella nodded disapprovingly.
"By now... never mind. Today is not the time for that. I would not be drawn into a political discourse with you. I am here for my son," said Daemon. "Your father and I came to see you. We might have turned our anger at you but we can't hold it forever."
Emon poured some tea from one of the two jugs on his table and brought the tea-filled cups to their table. "Emon, about the woman, what do you intend to do?" Daemon asked. Emon, now seated again, dived into his thoughts. "There is a way to terminate it. I think Netus will...." "I'm not trying to kill a baby, Father," Emon barked.
Daemon grimaced. "If you say so." Sabella grimaced at Daemon. "What your father means is that we would support you no matter what. He would rather hold his grandchild in his hands." Emon laughed. "His grandchild is not of legitimate birth. Not even a child of consent." Emon laughed again.
Sabella saddened with Emon's constant sad laughs. "We could arrange for the woman to be killed after....." "No," Emon shouted. "She can offer information about Vestelle." Only she can relieve my pain. They will be back, I'm sure of it. I can't feel it.
"Very well then. She would stay. In the second castle, there she would raise her child under close supervision," said Daemon. "No, I will raise your son myself," Sabella demanded. It isn't their child. How can she even know it's a son? It better be a daughter, for Talia's sake.
Daemon emptied his cup at once. "About Leolyn. You should cast him out of your mind. Do not let him hold sway in your heart," Daemon stood, advancing to the door. "There are boys your age in the houses of Damattis and Velecor. Your friend does not have to be a king, your brother or your manservant." Those were Daemon's final words before he left for the door.
With only Sabella remaining with Emon, the atmosphere became more emotional. Emon could predict the road their conversation was going to tread. "I would talk to Talia, make her see that this was not wrought by your hand," Sabella walked to where Emon sat. "I might understand her thoughts too. And I know, Emon. Don't think I don't know. Your marriage is not binding yet." Emon's eyes widened. "Since when?" Sabella chuckled. "All along."
"You might have had some experience. Sabella on the other hand kept herself for marriage. Proud as she was, she wouldn't allow you, without thinking you worthy," said Sabella. "Now though, I think she loves you—even if she doesn't realise it. And with what has happened, she is sure to be jealous." Emon smiled happily.
Sabella touched his left cheek. "You should tell her. Soon, I believe. Two things would happen," Sabella said as she raised a finger. "One, she consciously or unconsciously tries to assert her presence. Two, she gradually withdraws and tries to keep her pride." Her gaze at his eyes never wavered.
"But she made no moves to show her love," Emon said, showing his doubt. "She wept when you were taken. And I've seen the way she looks at you when you're not looking. But I can't be completely sure too," Sabella countered.
Sabella stood to leave and advanced for the door too. "I will talk to her about the baby and the woman, and nothing else. The rest is up to you," Sabella said before leaving the room. She seemed to give Juhsap some instructions as she left.
Emon was now all alone in his anteroom. He had a lot to think about. Talia. This is too complicated. If what mother says is true, then she returns my feelings. But if my headaches continue, I would seek out Emouri. Somehow, I know that.
I will hurt Talia if I seek remedy for my pain. But I will also hurt Talia if I don't seek remedy for my pain. How would she live, knowing I am living in pain to see her not become jealous? Is the headache the only effect of the removal of the Lonarym, or is it just the smallest of an armada of impending afflictions?
Emon spent the rest of the day in the anteroom reading, drinking tea and waiting for Talia to come—but she never came.