Kingdom's Vice Series: Journey to Alleria ( #1 2014) #Wattys2015

Chapter Three

King Xertormei hasn’t shown himself yet, not in the guest hall, where Alec and I dine most mornings and nights. From all the Allerians we’ve met so far, none of them seem to acknowledge the month, day, or time of the year. I assume it’s because the concept of time is meaningless to them, since time poses no threat. It would be merry, I gather, to live without a troublesome thought, because eternity awaited you.

I want to speak with the King, but not in shallow conversation about the beauty of the land (though I probably can’t form the words to describe it’s beauty), but I want to speak with him about the allegiance of old and what he thinks of Bardhelm’s vice. Alec discourages me from saying anything at all, claiming that to speak to a King in common tongue would be offensive. I don’t doubt that Olak, Immortal beings, have their own speech, but the King himself spoke the Tongue of Meyn, so wouldn’t it be offensive to speak to him in his native language?

I wonder about the hall for a while, when Alec retires to bed early, and I find myself practicing the few phrases I had picked up from the native Allerians during the day.

‘Elogerth,’ I say out loud, warming up to the sound of my voice echoing all around me in an all-encompassing entanglement of strange whispers. ‘Good morning,’ I translate, feeling silly. If I’m going to bother learning the language, I should know what it means in the speech of Meyn too, right? In Bardhelm and Kennah, the Tongue of Meyn is the only language spoken, but in Alleria it seems they have the luxury of both Tongues of Meyn and Olak.

Before I even have time to utter another foreign word, I sense his presence beside me in the cold hallway. I stammer for my words, struggle for a formal greeting, one worthy for a King.

‘Elogerth, Malatyr.’ I say in a frail voice. Malatyr is the correct title of King, so one Allerian told me earlier.

He nods in approval. ‘Your Allerian is progressing rather fast for an Ivorian. It is not so common for your folk to adapt to the Olak Tongue.’ He remarks almost proudly.

There’s something in his voice that implies a sinister undertone, or a suspicious thought.

‘Is that bad?’ I ask him with a frown, feeling beads of sweat sprout on my forehead. The breeze rolls through the hall, wafting the beads into fading.

He smiles, ‘That of course, depends on you and whether or not you desire to learn the Tongue of Immortal folk. It is not a crime here; in your kingdom however, I suspect it is.’

I agree instantly. The fact that I left and stole from Kennah is enough to have my head on a pike in front of the entire kingdom. Thinking of that, sadness washes over me. I cannot go back, but I don’t feel I can stay either. I am an expatriate.

‘I cannot go back,’ I tell him in a quieter voice, as if I don’t want him to hear it. But he does.

He circles me, the train of his robe dragging behind him. ‘I’m aware, but you are more than welcome to stay here under my protection. The laws of Meyn do not apply, nor can they persecute you, for you linger in my hall.’ He assures me. ‘Kingdoms like Bardhelm would do anything to avoid interaction with Alleria, I know that for certain.’

‘Do you not loathe them for speaking ill-tales of you and your kingdom?’ I ask finally, feeling a layer of guilt settle over my heart.                                                                                                             For years I had adored the great King Xertormei, though from what I had been taught as a child, I also came to fear him, for he was known for a ruthless temper. The books painted him as a bloodthirsty killer, a ruthless King who would sacrifice his kin for the chance to remain sole ruler. Now I know they were lies. The King I see before me is not only a King, but a man with the ability to show concern and compassion, even toward those who have wronged him—past or present...or future.

He shakes his head. ‘It is useless to hold onto bitterness and ill-will, Lady Dunedine. It devours the soul and leaves the heart empty, incapable of love. What kind of life would it be if we could not love?’

I stop. The King is speaking of love, the King Xertormei, feared by Bardhelm for his merciless nature, is speaking of love! How twisted the tales have been—manipulated by those who wrote them. The accounts could not be further from the truth. As I feel my blood boil inside me and course through my veins, I dawns on me that he knew the name Dunedine.

‘How do you know that name?’

He stops circling me and extends his arm to me. ‘Come, there is much I want to show you. I know more than the Dunedine name, I assure you.’

Now I’m scared. How could he possibly know?

I loop my arm around his, not even thinking twice about it. I look over my shoulder and see Alec standing in the hallway, the light wind swaying blue strands of his hair. His eyes narrow on Xertormei’s head. He sighs and does not move, nor say a word.

~.~.~.~

Vanity may not be in Alleria’s nature, but they surely don’t go sparingly on the decorations of their halls or their chambers. I let my arm slip out of his as he stops down the hall. He looks to me as I stand there silently squirming.

‘You have nothing to fear,’ he says gently, gesturing towards an open door. He leads me through it and summons a light. I see leather, old brittle pages. It’s a library.

‘What is this place?’ I breathe in awe of the sight.

He says nothing for a moment, as he conquers the staircase to reach the lower floor. ‘The Tale Room, create by and for my kin.’

Kin. No, I’m just reading into things.

‘Your kin? You have family here?’

He nods, flicking through an old book, appearing bored with it. ‘A daughter,’ he says plainly, ‘Though she remains hidden from the kingdom until she is ready.’

‘Ready for what?’

He sighs and closes the book. ‘My kin have been known for their gifts and talents—divine or supernatural—my daughter is a Seer, or she shall be soon.’

I raise my eyebrows. Wow.

‘As for the rest of my kin,’ he continues, picking up another book, inspecting it closely, ‘I know not of their fate, accept for one.’

I sit on the stool beside him and wait. Who is he talking about? His wife perhaps?

‘I shall tell you the tale,’ he says, ‘If you wish to hear it.’

I smile. ‘I wish for nothing else.’

And so, he picked up another dust-covered book and opened to the first page. He wet his lips with a sigh and began to read.