Kinghood: Book One of The Fourpointe Chronicles

Chapter 21

"I can dress as a Voiceless, if need be," Symon offered. "It won't be any trouble."

"The Voiceless have as much chance of being assassinated as we do once above," Dawkin insisted. "Being the prince's protector is as dangerous, perhaps more so, than being a prince."

"I can handle myself. Besides, it's for Ely's benefit."

"I'm sitting right here, you idiots!"

Ely sprang from his chair, slamming both his hands on the table as he leaned forward. He looked to Symon, then Dawkin, before glancing at Gerry. The three had been bantering so much concerning his mental state they had overlooked his presence.

"Forgive us, brother," Symon replied half-heartedly.

"We became caught up discussing your safety, is all," Gerry muttered.

"My safety? My safety?!" Ely extended his arms, looking about the Fourpointe Chamber. "Look at us! For our entire lives, we have confined ourselves to this, this cave. This underground hovel. And for what?! So that one at a time we can emerge to play the prince while the other three huddle in our rooms for fear of the unknown. Where has it got us, huh? What good has that done? It left us restricted to a legacy built on cowardice. One that prevented the four of us from being above ground - in the castle where we along - on the day our father was slain."

Ely tipped over his goblet, spilling a deep red wine onto the Fourpointe Table. The liquid spread and flooded the grooves of the map carved on its face, putting a crimson blotch on the continent of Greater Afari.

He turned his back to his brothers as they fell silent. Running his fingers through his hair, he began to pace the length of the chamber.

"If it were up to me, I'd tear down every wall of the underground city and have us rise to claim the throne as four, not one."

"But it's not up to you," Dawkin interjected. "It's up to us."

"I know that, you fool."

"Ely!" Symon yelled. "End this nonsense. You'll go nowhere with your rants and petty insults."

"Is that right, brother? So what will you do? Will you challenge me if I don't stop? Will you fight me? Slay me? Your own flesh and blood."

"Don't tempt me."

"Oh, my!" Ely said mockingly. "Who will save me?"

Symon left his chair to charge toward Ely. Ely raised his hands, preparing for a fight. For his sake, Gerry and Dawkin came between them.

"Ely, apologize!" Dawkin demanded.

"Never! I say we do as I proposed. Ascend. Four brothers. Let us put an end to this charade," Ely insisted.

"It was Father's will we act as one," Symon retorted. He pushed Gerry aside. "You hear me? His will. That we act as one. As Prince Jameson."

"Father is dead! He is dead!" Ely exclaimed.

"He's dead because of us!"

The three stopped. They swung around to find Gerry atop the Fourpointe Table, staring them down. The wine had pooled at his feet to soak into the suede of his finest boots. Yet he did not care. His stare – and the anger that came with it – diverted all his focus, all his energy, towards his brothers.