Theobroma: Child of Fire and Blood

THREE

As tall as the king’s arm and half as wide, the polished oval moonstone was mounted on its wall in the palace’s master suite less than a month after the royal wedding. Enchanted specifically for the royal couple, the shimmering blue-gray gem was capable of showing them the images they most wished to see. There were times, though, surrounding certain subjects, when it did not.

No matter how many times King Tural looked into the moonstone and no matter how fiercely he focused on the desire of his heart, the images remained the same. Over and over, stone’s magic showed a lean figure, cloaked in flowing black over a light armor. The snow-haired man crouched beside a trio of trembling children, wan from malnutrition. Conversely, the man was all but radiant with compassion and nobility as he tenderly touched the face of each child. Then, as they all smiled at each other, he directed his men to give the hungry peasants rations of food. Sending the children on their way, the slender man stood and the widening image showed more rations being distributed to grateful masses before fading into a luminous haze.

The monarch growled and lunged at the huge moonstone.

“Beloved, please,” Queen Kalaa entreated her liege, “do spare the gem your rage. It was a gift from my family, remember.”

“It refuses to show me what I wish to see,” Tural argued.

“You want to see what our son is doing,” the queen said. “It is showing you.”

“No, he has done something,” Tural insisted. “I want to see what he is doing because, now that he has returned after years at sea, he delays meeting with us. This is part of his evasion, the stone showing only what he wants seen, over and over. I am sure of it. These are the same sort of images he sent from overseas.”

“These have snow, beloved,” Kalaa said from across the receiving room. “Those are our people.”

“Yes, obviously,” the king agreed, “but he continues to use the same style of images now that he has influenced his way back into Alban. They are the same people each time, though. He has powerful magics in his employ, ensuring that the gem is blocked from anything current and shows only what he would have seen.”

“Magic would indeed be required to do as you say, my king,” she said. “That is, however, one thing for which he never showed ability.”

“I know,” King Tural told her. “That is what troubles me. He dabbles in it to gain control over others, but magic will control him far more readily than he will ever control it. People may respond to him the way he wishes, but you have seen as well as I how severely he has aged. Every feeling within me carries but one warning.”

“You believe he has the sword,” she said.

“To achieve all he has, I do,” he said softly, the color draining from his aged face. “Somehow, he was able to liberate it from its hidden vault.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, his face tensing as he focused his gaze once more on the moonstone. Silent for several seconds, he turned his back on the gem and began pacing about the receiving room.

“How long? How long? How long?” King Tural fretted as he paced. “How long has it had to influence him? What will this mean for the Crimson Throne?”

“Tural, please,” Queen Kalaa implored her agitated husband once more as he stormed about their elegant suite. “You must calm your mind. You’ll be no good to anyone by obsessing in this manner. Alban needs its king, now more than ever before. Remember your warrior’s mind.”

She followed him with her eyes and subtle shifts of her head, struggling to be both rigid and relaxed as a trio of dressers worked to fit their queen’s opulent new gown. Having served the royal family since childhood, the skillful women were sworn to both silence and secrecy. They also knew that even a minor violation of trust, spreading some rumor overheard behind palace doors, would result in no less than half their guild being rendered deaf and the other half being banished to the deadly embrace of Alban’s near-perpetual snowstorms. In three generations, there had never been a breach of their vows.