The matrix should do it.
He paced out the area needed, which took up quite a lot of the room, and marked it out in chalk.The area would need to be worked smooth.Nothing more tangible than a mage on his knees, sanding down rough spots with sandstone and water.
No better time to start than today.
The stone gave the wood a whiter sheen and the slurry created by the friction helped seal the small cracks.Riven could lose himself in the work, gently rubbing the stone over the wood, using his fingers to detect any remaining roughness.The sun, the warmth, the working, they were all soothing.Almost like—
Riven paused, staring at the wet wood and the stone in his hand.
The craving, the emptiness, they’d faded when he’d lost himself in dreams of power, as they always had before the bottle.
They were gone.
Riven sat back on his heels.No, that wasn’t the truth.It was there, the strong desire was still there, would probably always be there.But he had more compelling desires now.
A threat to survival sharpens the mind, apparently.Or maybe—purpose?
Whatever the reason, he was grateful.He returned to his work, not really thinking, lost in the effort until the sun went down and Witless appeared with his supper.
“No ladies, tomorrow,” Witless said as he set down the tray and adjusted the doll.“No ladies come.”
“Did something happen?”
Witless shrugged.
Riven reached for the kavage, then stopped.Had the Queen lost the babe?
His throat went dry, but then he drew in a breath and steadied himself.There’d be grief, had she miscarried.More for the loss of an heir than a babe, true enough, but grief nonetheless.
Riven reached for the kavage again.Whatever the reason, he’d know more in the morning.
Except that he didn’t.
Witless brought his breakfast, and then his nooning, and no one else came.Riven knew better than to make inquiry of the guards; they had been chosen, apparently, for their stone faces and silence.
So he worked the floor, taking care to make it as smooth as he could with the tools at hand.The wood whitened in ever growing circles, as did his trous and tunic where he wiped his hands.Water, stone dust, and wood dust, and he was a right mess by the time the evening rolled around.
The main doors opened, no doubt Witless with the evening meal.Riven sat back on his heels and studied his handiwork.He might have to go back over that one spot—
“Well,” boomed a large, warm, friendly voice.“You seem well set up here.”
Riven sat back on his heels and gaped.
A blond man stood in the doorway, clothed all in black from head to toe, except for the gold circlet on his head.Only one person he could be.
King Xyrath.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In the Palace of Xy
King Xyrath just stood there, smiling, radiating regal power with his hands on his hips, head held high.
Riven blinked and managed a very short but low bow, since he was already on his knees, sandstone in hand.“Your Majesty,” he said.“Forgive me,” he added as he scrambled to his feet.“I was preparing the floor.It needs to be—”
Xyrath held up his hand as he stepped into the room and the guards closed the door behind him.“No details,” he said, smiling that golden smile.“Fine chambers, I see.All to the good.Lots of shelves.”
Riven didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded.
