Three Kingsmen in the Royal Court

The King's Man

My name is Taryn Eliade.

I've been called all manner of silly things, but these days, I just go by "The King's Man."

It's strange how it happened. I grew up in the Tower of Drakes treated in every way like a true prince.  And technically I'm several kinds of nobility. With Uncle Themm a Master of the Academy, Mother is the heir apparent to all the Eliade barony. And Father claimed the Tower and old Fort Palmagnes when he was knighted after chasing off the bandit siege with his first dragon.

Wow. There's a lot of background.

Listen, I'm not going to tell you Father's whole story now. Mother has it recorded in half a dozen volumes already, and she's started working on mine. I keep her updated by post, and she sends answers by dragondreams.

But the end of it all was that I made myself hostage of a truly wretched king–a decrepit, self-serving, shortsighted simpleton–and bound myself to live the rest of my days under his watchful eye. In exchange, he graciously allowed my father to go on living, though Father represents an existential threat to his sovereignty. I'm supposed to safeguard the realm, because Father wouldn't dare start a rebellion that would risk my life.

Drama, right? That's some heavy duty politics.

It's also all for show. All for the ugly old king's pride. Father built his legacy saving this kingdom from the threat of destruction. He's not about to start a war. But the king doesn't believe it, so I'm camping out in his guest quarters and letting him pretend he's powerful.

It's tedious. I did a whole adventure already because I was bored of feeling trapped in a splendid cage, and here I am again. I wanted nothing more in life than to do something useful and make my father proud, and then I went and did it before I turned twenty.

I'm not even married yet, and I've already done the thing that will be who I was. My whole life is going to be epilogue. And maybe that wouldn't bother me much if I had to spend ten hours a day working hard soil or hauling heavy loads to find the food to fill my aching belly. Maybe then I wouldn't have all this free time to worry about who I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to do.

Instead, I sit at my writing desk and stare out the window over the City. Past the golden gates, down the great King's Way, and from my upper room in the guest quarters, looking south toward my home, I could almost see the flash of the distant sea.

It was a lovely view that always left me a little homesick. It also let me watch the mouth of the alley where my pretty Jen would appear when she came back from her errands.

It was one day like a lifetime of other days just like that–late summer, but otherwise indistinguishable–when the door of my little office banged open behind me.

I was on my feet in an instant. I didn't just scoot the chair back as I rose. I kicked back and up with my right heel, and the chair sprang toward the doorway like it'd been shot from a catapult. My right foot stomped back down hard and I kicked off with my left to pivot around in a tight turn while snatching up the inkwell as the only available weapon.

I snapped my head around, searching for the intruder, and I was anxious enough that I let the inkwell fly before I'd identified my target. It was my poor valet Toman, one of only three friends in this wretched place. Caleb Drake would've drubbed me for it, regardless of my name. That's how he'd taught me all those other reflexes, after all.

And my aim was true, but my poor valet had trained with Caleb Drake, too. He'd done nothing else for years. And he'd been trained with the express aim of protecting me from my own foolishness.

He was good at it. He caught the wooden chair in flight, sidestepping the stabbing legs and slapping a hand under the seat to catch it like a dancer in a spin. No, like a servant carrying delicate glasses of expensive wine on a platter. He lifted it at an angle, still rolling with the momentum, and caught the inkwell upright flat on its seat.

Finishing the spin, he dropped the chair neatly at his feet with barely a clatter from the inkwell, and then draped my newly pressed trousers over the chair's back. He met me with a perfectly impassive gaze. "The maids brought up your washing, my lord, and there's a card from the Kind Father."

I brightened at that. It wasn't from my father.  "Kind Father" is a friendly honorific for the Beneficent Priests. The Cathedral had them by the hundreds, but the King didn't really like them much, and the priests were smart enough to avoid him.

All but Father Dominin. The crazy old goat didn't care what the king thought, and he didn't much mind my frontier faith. He seemed to find me most amusing. And he gave me my one excuse to leave the palace grounds.

I glanced back out the window. Still no sign of Jen.

I turned back to Toman, but before I could ask the question, he answered it. "Still no sign of Jen."

I bounced on my toes. I was anxious. It was interfering with my thoughts.

It was foolish. Jen was the most dangerous creature on the Isle. I didn't need to worry for her. Yet still I did.

And I missed her.

I looked at Toman. "When she gets back, make her wait for me."

He almost smiled. There was laughter in his voice. "I can't make her do anything. My lord."

"Try?" I asked him. "For me?" I waited until he gave a helpless nod, and then I held out my hand. "The card."

He gave it me.

I'd seen its like three times before but none as welcome as this one. My spirit ached at its captivity and my bones groaned with idleness. Three hours' good conversation in the chapel garden would carry me quite past supper and on to bedtime.

And then it could be tomorrow, and I'd have to start all over again. I sighed.

Toman already knew the cause. "These are still early days, my lord. I'm confident you'll find an occupation."

He's a better valet than comforter, and a better bodyguard than anything else, but I considered him a friend. I clapped his shoulder.

"I'll be well." I preceded him through the door into my sitting room. "I'll be better when I've had the chance to chat with Father Dominin."

As I was crossing to the door, the knob turned and the door swung in and four armed guards rushed through. Toman went still behind me, and it was the kind of sudden stillness that made my shoulders twitch. I forgot to worry about him, though, when the Wizard came through the door.

He had a name, but I would never call him master. He had a face, but it wasn't fit to look upon. He was a real jerk. I hated him.

He didn't much like me, either. He poured into the room like choking black smoke and poked a finger at me like an infantryman repelling a charge with a pointy stick. "Young Eliade," he snarled. "I must speak with you on a matter of great urgency."

"Alas," I said, with all the regret I could feign on short notice, "I've made an appointment at the Cathedral and I'm honorbound to keep it." I flashed the embossed card with the holy seal and tried to breeze by. "Perhaps after breakfast—"

"I am afraid it's a serious matter." He didn't lay a hand on me, but sidestepped so deftly that I had to stop walking or crash into the frail old devil.

I bit back a curse and brandished the invitation again. "I can't imagine how I could help, and as I said, Father Dominin expects me."

"Aha." The Wizard said, suddenly mollified. And then I saw a wicked smile twist his lips. "He is the very matter I've come to discuss."

My heart leaped into my throat. How could the King object to these visits? Would he deprive me of any friendship ever? There was no possible harm in this!

"Why?" I asked, and my voice was sharper than I wanted it to be. "Why can't I see him?"

I sounded petulant, and his nasty grin widened the barest hint. "Because he's gone," the Wizard said. "The King hoped you might assist us in the search."

I didn't understand. "He's gone?"

"He's missing," the Wizard answered. "Vanished from his office without a trace." He stared at me with eyes he wished were weapons. "Exactly like your uncle did."

I swallowed hard. "How? Why? What's happening?"

"That's what the King is asking," the Wizard said. "And now he's asking you. Bring your boy. This won't be ended soon."