Summer Storm

Chapter 9

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“We should have been at the ceremony half a bell ago! Your father will be furious!” said Lidda, as she stood over Falen, hands on hips. When she got no response, she snatched a brush from the dresser.

“At least let me sort your hair. You can’t go to the ceremony with it all tangled.”

“In a minute.” Falen leaned her elbows on the table, peering at a piece of paper. On it was a brief outline of the stormglass improvements she and Nashir had devised. Most of the modifications seemed feasible.

Lidda peered over Falen’s shoulder. “You’re going to build that are you?”

“Maybe.”

“I see. And will anyone be helping you?”

Sighing, Falen turned to look at Lidda. “By ‘someone’ I take it you mean Nashir? I don’t know. He’s just been helping me with some ideas, that’s all.”

Lidda shook her head, gray braids swinging. “I don’t like it. You know nothing about this man and he’s already currying favor with you. And that spectacle with the king this morning? What did he think he was doing?”

“He just wanted to give father a blessing. It’s nothing you need worry about.”

“How do you know? You don’t know why he’s here or where he came from. He might be dangerous.”

Falen snorted. “Lidda, he’s an old man. What harm could he do?”

“All sorts of things,” Lidda said, folding her arms. “I don’t like it.”

“Lidda, I—”

There was a rap on the door. Lidda frowned and went to answer it. To Falen’s surprise, Lord Baylan Sigard entered the room. He wore his ceremonial uniform with his great sword strapped across his back.

Hastily gathering up the stormglass plans, Falen stood and went to meet him.

“My lord?”

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness,” Lord Baylan said, bowing low and showing off his bald patch. “I’ve been awaiting your father at the knighting ceremony for over half a bell. I’m told by his staff that nobody can find him. Tell me, am I supposed to conduct the ceremony myself?”

Lord Baylan’s words were clipped, annoyance seething underneath them.

Falen put on her most princess-like voice. “My father sends his apologies, my lord. He has been unavoidably delayed. If you return to the knighting chamber, my father and I will join you shortly.”

Lord Baylan frowned and Falen thought he might refuse, but then he bowed stiffly, turned on his heel and strode from the chamber.

It was most unlike her father to insult his guests. For a moment Falen indulged herself in imagining lecturing her father, finger wagging as she listed his responsibilities.

“Where could he have gone?” she asked Lidda.

Lidda crossed her arms. “I suggest you talk to that monk of yours. I’ll bet he’s got something to do with this.”

“Nashir?” Falen laughed but then sobered abruptly as she remembered the moment when the monk had grasped her father’s wrist. Nashir’s eyes had been filled with a strange light. And something … something had passed between them.

“Wait here,” she instructed Lidda as she ran out the door.

The old woman’s voice followed her out. “But I haven’t brushed your hair! And you’re still wearing your work clothes!”

Falen pelted down the corridor and raced down the steps two at a time. She approached the infirmary door, thinking how ridiculous this was, when she was halted by a sound coming from within.

Was that—? Yes! Laughter! She’d recognize her father’s baritone guffaw anywhere.

She rapped her knuckles on the door and then pushed her way inside.

“Princess!” cried Nashir as she entered. “Welcome! Come in, please.”

Nashir and her father were seated in comfy chairs by Nashir’s bed. Her father sat with his legs stretched out, holding a cup of tea. He looked around as Falen entered.

“Good afternoon, daughter,” he said, smiling.  “I’ve been getting to know your friend here. A most learned man. I’m almost glad you went riding against my permission!”

“You hear that, Princess?” Nashir said. “Almost a compliment! I think I’m blushing! Your father and I have been discussing the finer points of the works of the Chellin poet, Rallivere.”

“Rallivere? Wasn’t he the one that got banished because his work was a satire on the Chellin priesthood?”

“The very same. And widely regarded as a genius of literature. Would you like some tea, Princess?” Nashir picked up a pot and offered it to Falen.

“No, thank you.” She turned to her father. “Lord Malwyn’s ceremony should have started half a bell ago, father. What are you doing here?”

The king frowned. “Curse it all! I completely forgot. No doubt Lord Baylan is grumbling already?”

“You could say that.”

You forgot, father? Falen thought. You forgot your closest ally?

“My humblest apologies, Your Majesty,” said Nashir. “I had no idea I was keeping you from royal affairs.”

The king waved away Nashir’s apology. He set his tea cup down and climbed to his feet. “We will carry on this conversation at another time, Nashir. I look forward to hearing your opinions on Rallivere’s later works, after he was forced to flee to the Isle of Ashon.”

“A most interesting subject, Your Majesty. Some say his works in exile showed a much darker aspect of the man. Well, until next time.”

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