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“You really don’t need to leave me here.” A note of something urgent entered Doctor Nudd’s voice. “You should stay for a while.” The note turned to pleading.
Doctor Nudd must really like Siobhan. Liliana wondered if they were lovers. It was forbidden, of course, for two Fae from opposing courts to have a relationship that close, but it still happened sometimes.
Siobhan left with a mischievous grin and a blown kiss. “Best of luck to you, Doc.” To Liliana she gave a cheery wave. “Slán go fóill, spider girl.”
“Goodbye,” Liliana said as social rules required.
The tall, gangly goblin closed the door behind the flower sprite slowly and made his way back to his armchair.
They sat in silence while Liliana sipped her tea.
The goblin tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair.
He crossed his legs.
He uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way.
His foot tapped in the air.
“So was there something else you wanted to tell me?” Doctor Nudd asked when her tea was gone and she set the cup down.
Liliana considered the question. In addition to sharing one’s home space and sharing food or drink, friendship building usually involved some sort of sharing of personal information. She could find out pretty much anything she wanted to know about the goblin simply by opening her eyes and looking, but he knew almost nothing about her.
“My father was lion-kin,” she said. “He told me about fighting as a gladiator in Rome many centuries ago. But he was an animal tamer in the circus when I was little.”
“Oh?” the goblin said, perking up a bit. “Rome’s heyday was before my time, actually. I’ve never heard of a beast-kin living that long.”
“They don’t, normally. But my father did.”
The clock ticked pleasantly. Liliana enjoyed looking into the flickering light of the fire. She wished her little house had a fireplace.
Doctor Nudd tapped his fingers on his armchair again. “So you’re a pride-child then, one of Andrew’s subjects.”
She nodded. “I swore fealty to Andrew Periclum when he became king after his father died.” Andrew Periclum’s father and his father’s father had been pride-kings in North Carolina. It was expected that the only son would take his father’s place. “It was a surprise to everyone when the old king died. Andrew Periclum was barely twenty, very young for a pride-king.”
Doctor Nudd grunted agreement. “Not many people die in car wrecks anymore.”
Liliana remembered her brother Jason telling her that no one would challenge Andrew Periclum when they had arrived in the broad glade outside of Fayetteville where the succession was to be held. A tree stump had been carved generations ago into the shape of a throne that looked like it simply grew there.
Back then, she had looked at the skinny twenty-year-old who was to be the new King of Lions. “That’s good,” Liliana told her elderly brother. “Because he does not look very formidable.”
Petros chuckled beside her. “Neither do you.”
Challenging the new king was generally only done when the old king had no sons, so combat was necessary to determine who would succeed the dead king. The only other reason for a challenge was if the eldest son, the obvious heir, was considered unfit to rule for some reason.
One sturdy, determined-looking lion-kin in work boots and a plaid shirt had called challenge, much to the surprise of all the other lion-kin, hyena-kin, and other pride related people who had come to witness the succession. The man shifted to demi-lion form and roared, “I am the King of Lions and my word is law!”
A few members of the pride backed the challenger by transforming and roaring agreement that he was the king, not Andrew Periclum.
Since there were now two claimants to the throne with pride members backing both, this meant that the ritual combat had to be fought to determine the new ruler.
There was a whoop of excitement from the crowd, who had come to witness the succession. Several pickups and one large moving van all carried sturdy steel triangles of various sizes and power tools. Liliana had wondered why until that moment. Many hands lifted the triangles out and brought them to the center of the glade.
A muscular giant of a man with night dark skin directed the many volunteers with a booming voice and an air of respected authority. She heard those building the traditional arena call him Mr. Magoro.
Andrew Periclum simply stood by the carved throne, waiting as if bored by it all.
Liliana wondered why Mr. Magoro wasn’t going to be the new king, as he seemed far more suited to leading, but he hadn’t challenged Andrew Periclum.
