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This demon is also young, but alas, the king’s court has been positively dull as of late. He, too, is a trolvor native, his extra spider-like arms swaying like dead tree limbs at his side. I pinch his skin with my sharp nails, and his eight eyes spring to life.
“Wake up,” I hiss.
The boy blinks as if waking from a nap and seeing his scolding mother standing before him. He clears his throat and straightens.
“What can I do for you, boss?”
The word gives me some pride, yet it feels hollow still.
“I have business to attend to. Keep an eye on things … actually, keep all eyes on them. Alert me if anything uproarious happens.”
The boy tries to contain a snicker and then suppresses a yawn. I feel the urge to reprimand him, but I know precisely how he feels.
I follow the messenger out of the king’s court, and we proceed to the counseling room, sometimes referred to as the throne room. It is not a place I have been accustomed to visiting. However, I have been fortunate enough to peer inside as I secure the area during meetings between realms.
All I can recall of it is the shine of gold, the accent of the tapestries, and the positioning of the king on his throne riddled with the skulls of his enemies.
My heart rattles behind my ribs as the guards in the king’s throne room open the doors. What is revealed makes my throat dry, and my knees weaken with anticipation.
It looks just as I have glimpsed, with gold-laden tables and ancient artifacts encrusted with symbols and imagery of yore. The king himself is standing, his extra arms splayed out in a gesture of goodwill.
“Ah,” the king muses, though I can see nothing under his dark hood as usual. “Please, come in.”
The door behind me closes gently, yet it makes me jump. The entire room glimmers to the point of a faint hum, taking over my ears and accentuating my anticipation.
“My King,” I say, voice trembling, then go to one knee with a customary bow.
The king chuckles and his tone is casual and playful … unnatural.
“Rise, rise, trolvor,” he says. “You have served your king well. No need for such formalities. Come.”
I rise to my feet, attempting to conceal their shaking. Initially, I feared I was going to be on the chopping block for some slight I couldn’t recall, but now, I feel like there is something far more interesting coming my way.
Perhaps, a reward?
I move to the king as he holds out all four of his hands. I shake two of them awkwardly, then take a seat next to him at a giant reflective table. My wariness fades when he sits, leaning his elbows upon the surface without poise.
“Now, I have come to you with a specific mission in mind. I hope you don’t mind, but I prefer to get straight to the point.”
I nod as servants walk into the room. Most are zonaks, little things born to serve, pouring wine into our goblets and serving small delicacies.
“Wonderful,” the king exclaims. “I am sure by now that you are aware of Aloysius's death, leaving an empty position within our realm and the thousand-year search for his successor?”
“I am, My King.”
He nods, not correcting my wording but still satisfied. He picks up a tiny dessert treat in one hand while another picks up the goblet. He holds both in the air as he goes on with great pageantry.
“Well, I am delighted to inform you that after all of these years, we have finally found the successor to his mighty holdings.”
I try to look casual and crawl a hand toward my own goblet. But my heart is battering in my chest, jostling my thoughts around like a whirlwind. Is the king going to make me Aloysius Maelstrom’s successor?
I hold my tongue, trying to maintain a look of focused curiosity.
The king pops the pastry under his hood and begins to cackle. It is then that my hopes of rising in status are instantly dashed.
“The successor we have found is on the surface of Protheka and possesses the Aloysius Maelstrom medallion. It was recently summoned, and we have narrowed down a location. I want you to retrieve this successor.”
Whatever remains of my heart shrivels inside me, and I lift the goblet to sip at the royal wine, which is fruity and devious, yet tastes foreign and rusty on my inexperience palate. I don’t want to leave the king waiting, so I smile, albeit forced, at his request.
