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After I cry myself out, James and Mother’s low, rhythmic breaths take over. It’s useless to wonder how long I’ve been crying for. Now is my chance to leave, and I take it.
James sleeps on the floor next to Mother. I place his note on his bed before stooping down to kiss his forehead. I lean over to kiss Mother’s head and tuck her letter under her sheets on her lap.
Her eyes flutter open. “Don’t go.”
“I must.”
Her blue eyes roll, and she falls back to sleep.
I grab my patchwork cloak, made from twenty different scraps, and walk out into the night.
2
CARMICHAEL
“-don’t you agree, Your Grace?”
I let out a soft grunt, as the heavy boot of the dark elf sat next to me comes down on my foot. It isn't enough force to cause any pain, it simply comes as a surprise and pulls me from my counting. There are seventy-eight stars in the painting behind the noble staring at me expectantly.
I don’t remember his name, I am sure it was given when we entered the Eris House and sat at the long table. That was hours ago, or perhaps mere minutes.
Time has stopped. It has to be, there is no other explanation for why we are all still gathered in this cramped room. I saw on my way in that there is only one door and no windows. Which is no less than what I expected in a back room of the Eris House.
Why this place of carnal desires was chosen for the discussion on what to do about the rumors of workers revolting at the nephtherium mines, I don’t know. I would wager my entire fortune on it being the idea of the Duke sat across from me. Julius Rosenfire.
No doubt his plan is to work and then play. Much like the other elves seated around this table. All of us ignore the large marble statue of two dark elves in the throws of passion, against the back wall, situated in our peripheral vision as a constant reminder of where we are.
I wonder how many times the others have been inside these walls. Orthani’s most famous, wealthy, and eligible bachelors. While my own disinterest is hopefully being seen as boredom towards the rambling of a nervous noble, and not at the services provided by the Eris House. I can admit only to myself that this is the first time I have been inside the establishment.
I do appreciate the craftsmanship of the building itself. The interlacing wood working along the ceiling, the rich colors of the paintings that gleam in the light of the sconces, and the privacy. The walls themselves are reinforced so well that even my enhanced hearing cannot detect the loudest of noises in the rooms around us.
This is even without the ruckus coming from the nobles, bickering among themselves. Collect more workers, pay a higher wage. I stopped listening almost as soon as they started talking.
“Perhaps,” Finlander Yggdrasil, another Duke I consider a peer and an important elf to be in good grace with as I carve my path to lay claim to the throne, says, “Duke Carmichael would be more comfortable taking a convoy to the mines himself. Rather than wait for a messenger to make the trip both ways.”
He is not wrong. I may be a High Duke, but I am also a warrior. My interest in politics comes solely from my goal to be crowned the next King. It is not an unattainable goal, and though I am a distant cousin of our current King, the relation is there and acknowledged.
As a warrior, being at the front is where my true comforts lie. Maybe I will go to the mines myself. It would, if nothing else, be a change of scenery and a chance to further prove that I am the right choice for the throne, should I be able to resolve the tensions at the mines on Tlouz.
I fold my arms over my chest and look over the group. The lesser nobles are waiting for my answer, I know full well it will dictate whatever they decide to say next. The other four Dukes and higher ranked nobles are also looking at me with varying degrees of expectancy.
The Dukes already know my answer with me having to say it. Josen Night, the one of the four who could prove to be my biggest asset or downfall, expects nothing less of me. He is well known for taking care of business himself. They all are. It is how we all came to be the richest and most powerful in Orthani. Below the King, of course.
“I would like to go with you.” The final Duke, Siderus Slayer, said. He may not always agree with Finlander’s opinions, rarely in fact, but his family has more empathy for the zagfer than any of the rest of us. You wouldn’t guess his penchant for compassion, looking despite his buff physique, larger than even my own. Which is no mean feat, I take great pride in the firmness of my muscles and the way the fabric of my tunic stretches to capacity around my shoulders.
The other Dukes are not small elves either. All of us stand just above average height, and though Josen is the leaner of us five it is only befitting to his need for stealth as a master assassin. Even the bookish, magic master, Finlander has mass worthy of a warrior.
“If you go, the zagfer will suddenly all be nobles overnight.” Julius taunts. His passion, for all things, burns just as hotly and dangerously as the fire magic he wields and his temper.
Unfolding my arms, I place a hand on the table. It silences the retort that Siderus was about to unleash, a sharp and witty barb no doubt that would have brought the whole room to fists. I take a deep breath, releasing it as I watch the magical ink of my tattoo coil and spiral around my wrist. The ivy continues the whole length of my arm, a visible reminder of the ties that bind me to my duties.
“I will go.” I tell them, locking eyes with Finlander’s green and gold stare, before turning to meet Siderus’s violet one. “I will not stop you, if you want to join me. But know it is not a requirement.” In fact, I’m certain that the more of us that went to the mines the longer it would take to resolve the issue. However, I would prefer to have either Siderus or Josen join me. Neither one of them feels the need to fill silence with the sound of their own voices.
The sound of a chair scraping against the stone floor filled the room, as one of the lesser nobles stood. His robes were too big for his small frame, the sleeves hanging over his fingertips as he rolled them to his elbows. He has a look on his face, one I do not inherently trust. I do not like surprises.
Every pair of eyes in the room are on him. He steps towards the door with purpose, poking his head out of the door and calling for the manager to bring The Gifts.
“For the Dukes.” He says, as the door opens wide.
