Dream of a City of Ruin: Dreams of QaiMaj Book II

Chapter 8: Treason: Medoc

Medoc

For the millionth time since becoming King, Medoc wondered why the seat of the most powerful man in Chraun had been designed to be so utterly uncomfortable. The arms were too high, the back hard and uneven, made of raw basalt; the seat seemed harder than ordinary limestone. Medoc would have pitied the lowliest prisoner forced to sit this chair.

Self-pity did not sit well with Medoc, and so he was in a foul mood after waiting all morning on his self-imposed torture device. His Honor Guard surrounded the base of the Throne, keeping a ring of protection between himself and the crowd of gaudy Nobles gathered between Medoc and the door. He wished he could order everyone away and suffer in silence, or better yet, return to the solitude of his quarters and enjoy a quiet glass of blissi, but the events of this day were too important not to make a show of them.

A hollow pounding of the tanka drum at the entrance announced the arrival of important guests, and Medoc straightened, relieved when a question from Lord Barrett about taxes was cut short. Finally, Medoc thought.

Bolv entered the room, accompanied by several Lords of important Noble houses, all of which had generously donated Semija, sons and resources to building the reservoirs. The Lords wore the platinum scale faux-armor that was popular in Chraun now, but Bolv was dressed surprisingly conservative in a floor-length dress of thin hippole, painted in red swirls that matched her lava pattern. Her stomach made a little bump under the waist of the dress, and Medoc wondered again why she was allowing herself to gain weight.

Bolv knelt briefly before Medoc, then rose and announced in a resonating voice, "The final seal is placed, Majesty. The last reservoir is finished, and Chraun is finally safe from poison from above, forever."

Medoc congratulated her on a job well done, under the cheers of the Nobles. Blissi was poured, and Semija circulated with platters of delicacies. Medoc succumbed to making small talk with the little group of people around his throne, watching Bolv circulate among the guests. He barely heard his own words, though. He was already thinking about how to broach the subject with her.

The celebration lasted long past Medoc's patience, and by the time the last Noble bowed his way out of the Throne room, Medoc could no longer feel sensations in his left buttock. When Bolv approached the throne and bowed to leave, Medoc said, "Stay a moment, Kinyara. I must have words with you."

He sent the Semija out and all the guards, even his Honor Guard. When they were alone, he stood and paced, working out the sensation of pinpricks as circulation returned to his legs.

"A lot of the Nobles are confused by your continued position as Kinyara, Bolv."

"Are they?" Bolv watched him for a moment, then slipped past him and stood directly below the throne, still watching him pace in front of her.

"I hear many whispers. The Kinyara should have died with the old King, they say. Not even his cousin, others say. It is—a very unusual situation. I am sure you have noticed that some people treat you like a ghost. I am—concerned for your safety, Kinyara."

"Is that so, Majesty? Do you intend to increase my guard?" She was smiling in a way that made him nervous.

"No—I mean, we could. But I thought perhaps—perhaps the people would be more accepting if you took a different position. I could offer you a high rank in the military, or a position in bureaucracy. You could run Semija Affairs, for instance. You would be—not so public, and therefor more safe."

Her smile was unmistakable now—a slink bearing down on prey. "Safe for whom, Medoc? What is it, precisely, that you fear?"

Medoc stopped and stood in front of her, suddenly very aware that she stood a head taller than him at the base of his Throne, towering over him from a position of power. "I admire you, Bolv. I don't want your talents to go to waste. But I think your position creates instability, and what Chraun needs right now is stability. I want what is best for Chraun."

For a long moment, Bolv said nothing. Then she closed her eyes, placed her hands on the arms of his Throne, and eased herself into the seat. Her eyes were still closed and her mouth was partly open. Medoc felt as if he were spying on her in an intimate moment. Her arrogance angered him and he reached forward and slapped her, hard, across the face.

"Get out of my chair," he hissed, feeling like a child but unable to stop the boiling anger. To his fury, she smiled again, even though his fingers had left a purple-colored impression on her cheek.

"So, the cold General has some passion after all. Are you going to take me right here, on the Throne? Dynat would have. Just as Dynat would have taken the army to Iskalon and destroyed them for once and for all, instead of hiding down here like a frightened rooting-shrew."

Medoc drew T'Jas from the immense heat in the room, but only held it. "I would rather take a hippole than you, stupid hag. You saw how well that worked out for Dynat, didn't you? He almost destroyed Chraun in his mission to destroy Iskalon. You would have me do the same?"

"I would have you be a man!"

Medoc formed a firewhip and was ready to use it, but Bolv stood and stepped down from the Throne. Medoc expected another verbal assault, but instead she stalked past him and out of the room.

Medoc stood where he was for several long moments, holding the firewhip still, gasping for air. He was getting too old for this. At last he sat, not on the throne, but at its foot, leaning against the base, taking deep breaths.

He was calm by the time he reached his quarters. Selimne basked in the parlor near the Lava River. She handed him a plate with a seal he had never seen, an open-mouthed howler. Larc's seal, he realized.

"How was Iskalon?"

"Boooring," Selimne groaned. "You're not really going to make me go back there, are you? It's soooooo cold."

"Unfortunately, yes," Medoc said. "Were they respectful?" He would not send her again if he thought she would be endangered or disrespected.

"I guess. They tried to feed me. And they let me have a little fire."

Selimne had been smart not to eat or drink anything, but the allowance of a fire was a surprise. After talking to her a bit more, mostly about which young Chraunian Lords she had her eye on, Medoc moved to his study and opened Larc's plate at his desk.

Medoc,

Firstly, you might check your own den for snakes. My Emissary is a highly trusted compatriot.

Secondly, accusing me of rousing Chraun's ire is a bit like accusing a victim of assault of inviting trouble. I have enclosed the last plate I received from Chraun, so that you know exactly what your snake is up to. I ask you, what do you suppose you would do if you had received this message, in light of our Treaty?

Thirdly, you have no need to flaunt the might of Chraun at us. We are well aware of our position and the possibility that you could rise to crush us again at any time. I invite you to prove that you are a better people than I think you capable of being.

Larc

He flipped over the enclosed plate and read:

Regent of Ice Fairies,

You have never suffered enough. Very well. We have your precious Queen. She is quite busy sporting in the Semija pits. For now. You are right that it is time to look to the future of our relations, beginning with reparations . . .

It went on like that. Medoc sat at his desk for a long time, considering both plates. At last, he pulled out a fresh plate and penned his own response. Selimne was only slightly less annoyed than he expected she would be at having to return to the frozen caverns so soon.

As soon as she had donned her cloak and left, Medoc sent for Tejusi, with orders for the Luten to arrest the Kinyara under suspicion of treason.