Trapped, page 11
part #3 of Treason and Truth Series
He made his way to his father’s chambers, half wishing the summons hadn’t appeared. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his father, it was that he found it increasingly difficult to hide his exhaustion from him. His work would still be there when he returned to his office, and he’d wanted to finish it for the day. He barely acknowledged Hillbeck and Coppard’s salutes as he passed. The guards in the Audience Chamber he didn’t even glance at. Stopping and resting for a couple of moments was tempting, but that would start rumours, and he could hear someone else walking along the King’s Corridor. Entering the Outer Office, he raked up a smile as his father’s administrator pushed himself to his feet.
“Any idea why I’m needed, Richardson?”
“Suspicions only, Your Highness. I’m sure His Majesty will explain.”
Arkyn gave a slight nod. Whatever it was, Richardson wasn’t going to divulge details. It could be because that he didn’t want the secretaries to hear, or he genuinely didn’t know.
He nodded his thanks to Richardson as the administrator announced him, bowed to his father and felt his gaze sweep over him.
“Are you feeling better today?”
“A bit, sir, but it’s odd; I feel fine one day and look atrocious, and the following day I feel drained and look fine.”
“Then you’d better sit down. Would you like a drink so we can remove ourselves from this formal arrangement?”
Arkyn wondered what that said about the mid-morning summons. “I thought I was here for a formal reason, sir.”
“That is not the point; however, if you’re comfortable with it, whom am I to argue?”
Arkyn’s lips twitched. “My father and King, Sire,” he teased.
“Try to remove Percival’s sense of humour from your repertoire… Now, how did you find the Petitionals? Did you end up with many petitions?”
So, that was the reason for the summons. It made sense when he considered it. He couldn’t say that he’d found them exhausting, boring and frustrating. That wouldn’t change anything. He couldn’t say his altercation with his uncle had been the only enlivening thing during them. He settled for, “Interesting but also, I don’t know, odd? They might take some getting used to. I’ve not counted exactly, but I think there were around ninety, including those handed to the clerks without the petitioners entering the hall. Maybe a few more. I’m numbering them as I go.”
“That sounds about right. There are some that I’ve got to hand to Lord Scanlon as well, leaving me with a nice pile. I’ve been thinking about the ones you’re dealing with; I know they all involve the militia at one level or another, some involve military law—”
“Most do, sir.” Well, that at least was true. The trend had become apparent early in his perusal.
“Could you see if there’s any pattern in them? Commanding officers or location, for example – any connections between the petitioners, that sort of thing; Wynfeld should be able to help.”
“Gladly, sir. You’re wondering if uncle is manipulating the army, aren’t you? Or, at least, feeling against them,” observed Arkyn.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m wondering. I’m also not sure that sending you to Tera was a good thing – you’ve become too shrewd.”
“I could become blind to motive instead?” commented Arkyn dryly.
“There’s no future in that approach. Would you mind if I asked Advisor Rayburn to work with you on the military petitions?”
“Why should I, Sire?” Help wouldn’t go amiss, that was for sure, but was it help offered or someone to check his work? He wished he could remove the paranoia when dealing with something new and unknown, but his uncle would seize any opportunity to discredit him, and his father had to be watchful of that as much as he did.
“Because after Tera I have been reliably informed, by people whose judgement I trust, that you don’t need any advisors.”
“Then they’re all delusional, Sire.” Arkyn swallowed. Who had been talking like that? Wynfeld? Percival? Even Daia Sansky? He half wished they wouldn’t. There could only be mistakes around the corner if he and others believed him infallible. No-one was that. His father had rung for Richardson, asking him to send in Advisor Rayburn. That must have been who had been following him into the chambers. His father was saying,
“After we’ve spoken to him, can you give us an hour without interruption?”
The administrator’s eyes twinkled. “I can do better than that, Sire – unless His Highness has to be anywhere else,” replied the administrator.
Arkyn shrugged. “Nowhere other than Court; so, feel free to save me from it.” He didn’t want to admit that the pile of petitions would take up all his afternoon. If his father got wind of that, he’d never get them finished for days.
“Why the smile, Richardson?” enquired Adeone.
“It’s fortunate that I’ve cleared the rest of your day and had Edward do the same for His Highness, Sire,” replied the administrator.
Adeone growled, “Thank you. Tell Rayburn to join us and stop predicting my actions so well, it can get very… very…”
“Amusing?” asked Arkyn.
“Annoying?” enquired Richardson.
“Tiring, Sire?” suggested Rayburn, entering.
“Irksome!” finished Adeone, glaring at them all.
“An often underused word, Your Majesty,” commented Richardson, adding, “Advisor Rayburn, Sire.”
“Yes, I know that,” muttered Adeone. “He just announced his arrival with ‘Tiring’.”
“Annoying was already taken, sir,” observed the advisor innocently.
“That’s a word that lends itself to many situations. Thank you, Richardson, that’s all for now. Carry on predicting my requests.”
As the door closed on the Outer Office, they were all smiling and Arkyn felt some of the weight lift as he pushed himself to his feet to greet the advisor. He’d spend a couple of hours with his father and then excuse himself. He’d still be able to get something done, but his father could think he’d be resting. If Edward wasn’t hovering, he might get through even more. After the petitions were summarised, he could take time for himself with a clear conscience.
As the door closed on Richardson, Adeone said, “Prince Arkyn, I believe you know Advisor Rayburn.”
“I do, Sire, but more by reputation than acquaintance.”
Rayburn bowed to him. A confident bow, not at all self-conscious or hurried. Arkyn weighed up what he knew of the man. Rayburn had been on his father’s staff since his grandfather’s day. He had become the King’s Military Advisor with his father’s accession, which spoke of a level of trust and long-proved competency. He had a vague recollection that his nearfather thought highly of Rayburn, and Wynfeld had spoken well of him.
“Sir. Reputation is often a different way of saying rumour, so I’m, naturally, concerned about what you’ve heard, but Your Highness’ reputation is now far more than rumour.”
Adeone’s eyes twinkled. “Rayburn, have a seat and be careful; that was almost a compliment and outside of Court. Prince Arkyn, I think you’ll find Rayburn is slightly unconventional…”
Arkyn reseated himself. “Then I hope the advisor and I find we can work well together, Sire.”
The advisor also sat. “Your Highness, I shall be working for you.”
“Your point being that we shall therefore be unable to work together?” suggested Arkyn. If the advisor was that way inclined, there might be more problems. Sycophancy wasn’t a harmony to success, quite the opposite.
“Not exactly, Your Highness, but you are my Prince and the relationship is, therefore, unequal. ‘Together’ implies equality. I hope rather that Your Highness finds no fault with my work or manner.”
“Would you say, therefore, that we’ve got off to a good start?” Arkyn enquired wryly. The advisor was still relaxed, not at all perplexed by the situation, and Arkyn found a spark of genuine liking.
“I would hope that we’ve started with honesty, sir,” replied Rayburn, undeterred.
“Yes, I think we’ve started with that, but please, Rayburn, try to tone down the pedantry when it is a common pleasantry; I tend to tear apart my speech without help.” Was this why his father and nearfather rated the advisor? This complete acceptance of roles without any undertone of discontent. The straight talking without rudeness.
“As you wish, Your Highness. My apologies.”
“Now that you’ve sorted out that small issue…” began Adeone, as they both started guiltily. “…No, no, I found it illuminating; however, Rayburn, you’re aware that His Highness is investigating petitions that relate to the militia. Do you have any immediate advice?”
“Getting rid of the army would solve all the problems, Sire.”
“Unfortunately, that isn’t a viable option,” responded Adeone with a smile.
“It’s a good point though,” stated Arkyn. The advisor was used to the King’s ways and sense of humour. That could be good but, if Rayburn was to work for him, he couldn’t allow him too much leeway so early on. If he did, his uncle would no doubt twist it, reporting that his staff were impertinent and disrespectful. “I take it, Rayburn, that what you actually meant was a simple ‘no’?”
“Correct, Your Highness,” agreed Rayburn. “I might suggest we’ll need a summary document.”
Relief washed over Arkyn. Maybe he could delegate the rest of his reading for a time. He could then read through everything more leisurely as opportunity presented itself. “You’d better ask Edward to do you a copy of the one I was writing yesterday. It’s currently on my desk. Maybe you could finish it. I’ve been numbering the petitions and trying to find common themes to help with ordering them.”
Adeone chortled at Rayburn’s expression. “What’s the matter, Advisor?”
“Erm, I was expecting to have to write one from scratch, Sire. It’s rather disorientating to find that I don’t need to.”
The King nodded. “I can appreciate that. You’d better report to the Prince’s Administrator, Rayburn.”
* * *
After Rayburn left, Arkyn sat opposite his father by the unlit fire, talking quietly. Their enforced formality with others present fell away. The months in Terasia had forged within their relationship something deeper than father and son or King and Prince. The common aim bred understanding where before there might have been frustration. So, when Adeone suggested Arkyn’s new staff should include twelve advisors, his son was comfortable saying no, where before Terasia he might have felt obliged to agree. The traditions surrounding them dictated Arkyn couldn’t rely on one man, as he was wont to do, but should appoint a broad staff. At Adeone’s suggestion, they decided to appoint six advisors, to placate expectations: three would be juniors answering to seniors who would answer to Arkyn. That way, he could continue to deal with fewer men. Glad for the compromise, Arkyn raised no further objection. As talk turned to memories of Terasia, Adeone revealed he wanted Arkyn to have a coach so that, if he was travelling in bad weather again, he was less likely to fall ill.
Arkyn moved to sit by his father. “Thank you.”
Adeone ruffled his hair. “It’s what I’m here for. Tell me if there’s anything you can’t face.”
“I will, or at least, I think I will.”
“As decisive as ever about personal decisions, I notice.”
“I follow your fine example, father.”
“You’re not too old to be tickled,” pointed out Adeone. “Or I could make you have twelve advisors to deal with.”
“It might make my reports longer.”
“Hmm. I suppose that’s stalemate. I’d like your opinion on something else as you’re here. Judge Tancred has suggested I get an advisor as a co-tutor for Tain – one who can be at Ceardlann. I wondered what you thought about Spellen. He taught you well, or seemed to.”
Arkyn smiled. “I should think Advisor Spellen will face the challenge with competence, sir, and Ewall does deserve a retirement and pension. Spellen should have had enough warning about Tain’s humour.”
Adeone smiled at his elder son. “Is that ever possible?”
Chuckling, Arkyn got up and retrieved the jug of water from the sideboard. He topped up his and his father’s glasses before sitting down opposite the King and asking what Rayburn was like to work with.
* * *
Arkyn left an hour later and Adeone returned to his desk, feeling easier in himself. There was something reassuring in his son’s calm, practical manner when facing difficulties and new challenges. It reminded him that not all of life had to be a fight. Compromise could win the day. His work wouldn’t wait for another day, much as he appreciated Richardson’s earlier gesture. He picked up the first report from the pile Richardson had left that morning. He read the majority before asking his administrator to summon the Steward. By the time the man arrived, Adeone had read the remainder with his blood boiling. His son’s example would wait for another day.
He tossed the report over the desk at the Steward. “What makes you think interfering in His Highness’ household is permissible, Steward?”
“Your Majesty, I meant to do no such thing, but, now His Highness is home, does his household require four footmen?”
“Maybe you’d care to decimate mine whilst you’re at it? No? You surprise me. His Highness will be travelling to Paras later this year and his household will need to be substantial enough to enhance his position and cope with his progress through the empire. Are you secure enough to manage to find men of their calibre again?” (The Steward tried to interrupt.) “I don’t want to hear excuses or apologies. His Highness’ household does not come under your eye. It is his concern; if there are substantiated doubts about it, then it becomes mine.”
“Who informs Your Majesty of the doubts, Sire?”
“I’m rather surprised you need to ask. That’s all for now.” He didn’t miss the dark glint in the Steward’s eyes, but he didn’t care. The unwarranted interference had destroyed his day.
Chapter 17
PRINCES’ GUARD
Septadai, Week 1 – 7th Cearal, 7th Cearcis 1212
Prince Arkyn’s Chambers
ARKYN AWOKE ON SEPTADAI wishing he was at Ceardlann but that would have to wait. He’d invited Julius to breakfast with him. Too late, he realised he should have invited his other nearcousins as well, but he’d wanted to see how Julius was coping with the Advisors’ School.
His nearcousin entered with a florid bow. “What have I done this time, Your Highness?”
Arkyn shrugged. “You think I’m told? His Majesty would be informed first. How are you finding your rooms?”
“Very comfortable, thank you, sir. You won’t get rid of us at this rate.”
Arkyn waved him to the table, thinking, in some ways, it would be nice if it were true. There were days he felt too alone, especially when he didn’t have the energy to stand at Court. “How’s the Advisors’ School?”
Julius pulled a face. “Different.” He toyed with the fork in his hand. “How do you do it, Arkyn? How do you sit through hours of drivel?”
Arkyn chuckled. “That good. Well, it starts with a decent breakfast.” He glanced at his manservant. “Thank you, Kadeem. That’s all for now.” When he’d gone, Arkyn said, “Drivel?”
Julius sighed. “Dank and depressing drivel. Honestly. It’s like I’m Lucius’ age. You wouldn’t believe it.”
“How is Irvin coping?”
“Much more diplomatically. Seven years to go.”
Arkyn chuckled. “It could be they are covering fundamentals for a short time. Don’t forget, not everyone has the King’s Chief Advisor as their father, and the King as their nearfather.”
“True. I’m just hoping this isn’t a case of starting the year as it means to go on. How has yours been?”
Arkyn considered how to answer. “Busy. Father wants to set up a more permanent staff for me and has asked Advisor Rayburn to advise me on the petitions.”
“You’re getting more to do then?”
Arkyn pulled a face but didn’t reply and wasn’t upset when Julius changed the subject to Court gossip. None of which was particularly taxing. An hour later, he left and Arkyn breathed a sigh of relief. He enjoyed Julius’ company, but he’d been less awake than expected. He poured himself another glass of water before ringing for Kadeem to clear. Making his way to his office, he found Edward and Rayburn waiting.
He nodded them both inside and sat down. “Edward?”
“The only thing in your diary today, sir, is the meeting about the new Princes’ Guard with His Majesty. It’s due to start in an hour. I’m reliably informed Lord Landis, is currently doing a spot check on all guards in the Palace. Much to Captain Pixney’s chagrin as he doesn’t know why.”
Arkyn’s lips twitched. “He doesn’t have long to wait. Rayburn?”
The advisor smiled. “I’ve finished the summary document, sir, and wondered if you wanted any advice about Lord Landis’ suggestions for your new guard.”
Arkyn caught Edward’s discreetly raised eyebrow. The advisor was taking his new role to heart.
“I’ll ring if I require anything, Edward. Have a seat, Rayburn.” He waited until the door closed before asking, “How do you know what Lord Landis has suggested?”
“I am the King’s Military Advisor, Your Highness. On occasion, His Lordship does talk matters over with me.”
Arkyn accepted that. Even his nearfather must need others’ insight occasionally, and Rayburn appeared to be shrewd. Arkyn glanced at the report by his hand. His nearfather had been thorough. The plan outlined for the Princes’ Guard was, to his own eye, more than acceptable and workable. Maybe it was a good test.
“Do you have any concerns about the suggestions, Advisor?”
Rayburn considered. “No, sir.”
Arkyn’s eyes narrowed. That wasn’t at all sycophantic or verbose. It gave him scant facts to base a judgement on. The suggestions were relatively simple, it was true: one captain, three sergeants and fifteen guards. They’d answer to him on a daily basis, but ultimately to the King. They would be independent of the other official guards and militia. Along with his nearfather’s proposal was a note in his father’s hand saying he was thinking of Sergeant Marsh as captain, and transferring Smithers, promoting him to sergeant to watch over Tain.
