Nightfall: Book Two of the Chronicles of Arden Read online

  People like Diedrick Lyle and Anders Malin-Rai don’t care if they’re sending children into war, and as long as there are bodies to throw at the enemy, they’ll never stop pushing for the law to be reversed. Gib stole a glance at his younger brother and was immediately reminded why it was such an important fight to win. Daya, send me to war, but keep Cal and Tay safe.

  Marc cleared his throat. “All right, Calisto. Your classes are set. Now I just need to find you a roommate. Actually—” The dean leafed through a heap of paperwork stacked haphazardly near the edge of his desk. “Gib, aren’t you good friends with Kezra Malin-Rai?”

  “Yes. She’s on active sentinel duty in the city now, but we stay in touch.” Gib smiled, thinking of Kezra. She’d been the only woman trainee he’d known his first year and had always been the fiercest soldier he knew.

  “Perfect,” Marc replied. “Her younger brother is in the same year as Calisto. I’m going to go ahead and room them together.”

  After Calisto’s paperwork was finalized and Gib checked to be sure his own academic schedule was set, the two students bid farewell to the dean and headed out the door. Gib’s head pounded as he tried to get his thoughts to form coherently. Show Cal the dining hall. Scarf down midday meal. Go to the council meeting. In that order. Quickly.

  He set a hand on Cal’s back. “Okay, I’m going to show you where the dining hall is. We can take our meal there before I have to leave.”

  Marc waved from the doorway as the two boys departed. “Don’t be late for the meeting, Nemesio!”

  Gib’s stomach had begun to rumble by the time they reached the dining hall. Scores of students, ranging from first years to those in their final semester, poured into the chamber, eager smiles on their faces and voices boisterous as they prepared to eat their midday meals. Many of the long wooden benches were already occupied as Gib directed his brother into the room.

  The aroma of hearty soup and freshly baked rolls invaded Gib’s nostrils. “Come on, Cal. Let’s find a seat.”

  Cal hesitated in the arched doorway. “What if people don’t like me?”

  Gib went back to his younger brother and placed a firm hand on his back. “Why wouldn’t people like you?”

  “Cause I’m poor. What if I don’t fit in? They’ll all think I’m a waif.” Cal wrung his hands together, a nervous habit shared by all the Nemesio siblings.

  Gib snorted. “I was poor and still made friends. Hell, I showed up to Academy in rags. Look at you! You have a nice, clean outfit. Isn’t that one of the tunics Tay made for you?” He motioned toward his brother’s outfit—a simple but well-crafted linen tunic embroidered with green lace. “No one will think you’re a waif in that, Cal.” Gib squeezed the younger boy’s shoulder. I need to remember to thank Tayver for Cal’s new clothing when I see him next. I would have given Cal my old trainee uniforms, but they’re starting to tatter. Thank The Two for Tay.

  At Lady Mrifa’s recommendation, Tayver had landed a job as Joran Nireefa’s apprentice in Silver City’s finest tailoring guild. Tayver’s natural ability to design and construct clothing had come as a surprise to everyone, and after only two years of shadowing, Tayver was turning an eye-opening profit for the guild. Every highborn in Silver knew of Master Joran’s star protégé and the fantastical masterpieces he created.

  Gib smiled wistfully. Tayver was meant for city life. I’ve never seen him happier. Now if I can manage to get Cal and myself through Academy, I’d say I’ve done pretty well for us. Ma and Pa would be proud.

  A sigh escaped Gib’s lips as he scanned the dining hall. “Come on. Let’s get our meal. It’ll be a long time until dinner.”

  The youngster nodded eagerly, and the two of them fell in line. Though not as new to the city as Gib had been on his first day, Calisto took his time to ogle over the wide assortment of foods. He chose many different things, even taking a moment to gush over the potatoes and gravy.

  Gib set a hand on the back of his brother’s neck. “Let’s find a seat.”

  As Calisto gazed at all the tables before them, his smile slipped away. “Where are you gonna sit? Where should I sit?”

  “I’m going to sit with Tarquin. Over there.” Gib pointed toward his regular seat, a table near the farthest corner of the dining hall which Gib and his friends had long since claimed as their own. “You can come with me, but the conversation is going to be boring and I won’t be staying long. I have to report to the council room soon.”

  Cal nodded as his dark eyes scanned a different table, where students closer to his own age were eating and chatting amongst themselves. “What if I sit with them? Do you think they’ll like me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “I don’t know any of them.”

  “Not yet, but look—” Gib pointed to a boy and girl, both with onyx hair, fair features, and dark eyes. “Those two there are Inez and Inan Adelwijn. They’re Joel’s cousins. I’ve met them before, and they’ve always been friendly.” Giving Cal’s shoulder another gentle squeeze, Gib continued. “And the boy next to them, he must be your roommate, Scipio Malin-Rai.”

  Cal still didn’t offer to move. “He’s Kezra’s brother? How do you know?”

  “The bindi gives it away.”

  “Bind–bindi?”

  “The red diamond painted above his brow. All the children in the Malin-Rai family have one. So does their mother. She came from Shantar, and the bindi is one of the traditions of her native land.”

  Calisto shuffled one foot across the marble floor. “Can I sit with you if none of them like me?”

  “Yes, of course.” Gib laughed.

  Calisto needed no more encouragement. His walk was a bit stiff as he approached the other children and spoke shyly to them. Gib couldn’t make out the words, but he watched as the young students greeted his brother. The smiles on each of their faces suggested Cal would be welcome at their bench, and sure enough, a moment later they scooted down to make room for him. Gib breathed a sigh of relief. Is this what it feels like to be a worried parent? He shook his head and turned to join his own friend.

  At the table where Gib and his friends had sat on their very first day, Tarquin Aldino looked up with a grin. His white blond hair and unnaturally ashen skin still stood out in the crowd. The wide brim of his hat served to cover his odd-colored eyes, but he was forced to squint when he looked into the light. “Gibben Nemesio! Where have you been? You’re never this late to a meal.”

  Dropping his tray to the table, Gib sat down and chuckled. “I’d have to agree there. Today is different. I had to take my little brother to meet Dean Marc and get signed up for classes.”

  Tarquin nodded. “That’s right. I forgot Cal was old enough for Academy this year.”

  Tipping up his cup, Gib took a drink and began to scarf down his meal. He wasn’t trying to be rude but knew his time had to be growing short. At this rate, he would have to run all the way to the palace if he wanted any chance of being on time.

  “Don’t choke.” Tarquin snorted a laugh as he eyed Gib’s deplorable behavior. “I’m not going to save you if you do.”

  “Sorry,” Gib apologized between mouthfuls of potatoes. “I’m late for the council meeting—”

  “Oh, right. I guess I’d forgotten that, too. I suppose this means a friendly sparring match later is out of the question, eh?”

  Gib nodded solemnly and let out a defeated sigh. “Koal warned that the meeting might go on all afternoon.”

  “Nothing bad I hope. My father didn’t seem worried when I saw him earlier today.” Tarquin drummed his fingers on the table. “Though he tends not to worry about much of anything of substance.”

  “The usual, I’m sure,” Gib replied, stabbing his fork into a slice of meat. “Privileged, old men attempting to make decisions for those who are allowed no opinion or voice on the matters most concerning to them.”

  Tarquin barked a laugh. “You sound just like the seneschal.”

  Gib couldn’t help but smile, forced as it m
ay be. “I know. I guess that’s what happens when I’ve spent an entire year shadowing him.” He took a gluttonous bite, sure that he must look like some kind of starving animal. “All right. I really have to go. Pick up my tray for me?”

  Tarquin waved Gib away. “Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome. Have fun at the meeting. Try not to get yourself into trouble, okay?”

  “Thanks, Quin. I’ll do my best.”

  As he crossed the dining hall once more, Gib risked a glance toward Cal. His younger brother was engaging the other students, and judging by the boisterous laughter rising from the table, it seemed they were getting along. Gib made the decision not to disturb them and left the room without drawing any attention to himself. He hoped the councilors would be in as high of spirits as the children but knew that was likely wishful thinking.

  Gib ushered himself silently to his seat. Most of the other understudies were present already, but Gib was relieved to see he wasn’t the last to arrive. Nevertheless, Hasain Radek, eldest son and understudy of the King, turned to give Gib a wry smile. His dark eyes danced as he stuck his nose in the air. “Oh, there you are. We were beginning to think you’d lost yourself somewhere.”

  “We?” Gib grunted as he sat down, making sure he could see out over the rail of the balcony. “Who’s we? Did you manage to make a friend?”

  “No. Hasain is terrible at making friends. Being family, I have no choice but to endure his company.”

  Gib leaned so far from his seat he nearly tumbled, but it was worth it to see another familiar face. “Diddy! What are you doing here?”

  Prince Didier Adelwijn, who sat on the far side of Hasain, broke into a gushing smile. “Father has finally convinced Mother that I’m old enough to sit in on the meetings.” He stiffened in his seat and lowered his already hushed voice. “It was high time. Being sixteen and having never attended a council meeting was simply embarrassing.”

  Gib chuckled. It was true. He and Diddy were the same age. As a prince, Diddy should have had many more responsibilities than he’d been afforded thus far. His mother, Queen Dahlia Adelwijn, hesitated due to the scare two years ago when an assassin had attempted to kill King Rishi. Diddy had been whisked out of his classes and away from public events along with his younger siblings. While it was understandable for a mother to want to protect her children, it had become somewhat of a running joke through the palace halls that the next generation of Radek rulers was going to be coddled forever.

  Hasain gave them each a pointed look. “Lower your voices. The councilors keep looking up here.”

  Gib rolled his eyes. He’d noticed but was disinclined to give the men below the satisfaction of cowering in his seat. Just a few short years ago, he’d have recoiled and begged pardon, but those days were long gone. Gib wasn’t as fresh as he’d been when he’d arrived in Silver and, with his better understanding of who some of these men were, he found he cared very little what they thought of him.

  It was always the same councilors who gave them dirty looks—the ones in favor of promoting intolerance and stamping their feet each time King Rishi tried to pass any law not directly benefiting the highborns. Their approval would never befall misfits such as bastard children—royal or not—or commoners like Gib.

  They were the ones who dug their heels in and made progress so difficult. They would keep women, lowborns, and other undesirables in the depths of Arden’s underbelly. If these men were allowed to make the laws, no one would ever be able to better themselves despite how hard they might work. A heavy feeling settled in the pit of Gib’s stomach when he thought about how different his life would have been if not for the good men on the council.

  As if to accentuate his thoughts and lift the weight in his gut, sunlight flooded the room below. On the ground floor, two men were working tirelessly to spread the light—throwing back curtains and opening windows. The sun was strong that day and cast off even the shadows which tended to linger in the balcony where Gib and the other understudies sat.

  King Rishi Radek and Seneschal Koal Adelwijn worked from opposite sides of the curtain, never sharing a word as they toiled. Their efforts were met with mixed reviews—as was typical of the council—as some men balked and others reveled in the sudden illumination.

  “Of course they’re opening the curtains today.”

  The sour hiss made Gib’s hair stand on end. He didn’t have to turn to know who was complaining. Liro Adelwijn, Joel’s brother and Seneschal Koal’s eldest son, was also an understudy and always at the top of his game—making everyone around him miserable.

  “It’s as if they know I already have a headache.”

  Gib shook his head and noticed Hasain doing the same. Liro would make a fine politician one day. He already had his complaining down to an art. A secret and wry smile curled Gib’s mouth as he indulged in the thought of Liro becoming lost and never finding his way back to Silver. Arden needed no more politicians like him.

  Below, the councilors shuffled and grumbled as they found their places around the great table. Gib had begun to worry about one of the empty chairs but, to his relief, Dean Marc burst through the doors not a moment later and claimed his place.

  King Rishi stormed to his seat and sprawled while he waited for the meeting to proceed. A moment later, the seat to the King’s immediate right was taken by Seneschal Koal, who cleared his throat pointedly. The other councilors turned expectant looks upon their king and seneschal.

  Neetra Adelwijn, High Councilor of Arden and younger brother of Koal, stood briefly to call them all to order. His shrill voice rose over them and caused Gib to grit his teeth. Neetra called the names of all the councilors, and in turn, each responded to confirm their presence. From one corner, the sound of a quill scratching parchment carried despite the distance. Diedrick Lyle, the former Instructions Master, took notes of everything said. The man looked just as glowering and miserable as he had the first time Gib had met him.

  As soon as attendance was confirmed, the King waved a dismissive hand and raised his voice before Neetra could even sit down. “Tell me again why we were all called here so hastily?”

  The High Councilor stiffened. “Your Highness is well aware of the threat of war from our borders—”

  King Rishi nodded and rolled his hand as if to hurry the explanation but didn’t wait for Neetra to finish. “Everyone here is well aware, as is the entire country. It would seem you’ve done an excellent job of keeping the peace and not spreading any unnecessary fear, High Councilor.”

  The clip in the King’s voice made Gib wince, and even from the distance he could see Neetra’s face go red.

  “The people of Arden have the right to know when they are in danger!”

  King Rishi skewered the High Councilor with a withering glare. “I would agree, were they actually in danger.”

  A cry from several men at once made Gib jump, but Koal was already on his feet, hands waving. The seneschal’s voice carried the heavy resignation of one who’d dealt with too many of these petty arguments. “All right, calm down, all of you. Councilors, my King—” Koal shot an intimidating look of his own at King Rishi, who may have smirked in response. “I suggest we proceed without throwing accusations. For the sake of the country—and our own sanity—let’s all pretend to be adults here.” He sat down heavily and silence followed. When it became apparent no one intended to speak up after that, Koal groaned. “First order of business?”

  Neetra’s shoulders were drawn tight as he pushed a piece of parchment toward his superiors. “Our numbers for the draft. I would have you both review them. Perhaps you’ll have words of comfort despite the sharp decline in our recruit numbers.”

  Koal extended a hand, but King Rishi leaned forward and swiped the note for himself. Holding it at arm’s length, he squinted and took a moment to study it. After a long, pregnant pause, a wolfish smile tore over his face, and he tossed the parchment to Koal. The King reclined once more. “Yes, High Councilor, I see a dramatic drop in the number of children being for
ced into our military.”

  A caustic pause filled the room. Neetra glared at King Rishi but motioned toward a man sitting across the table. “Perhaps Arden’s General would like to discuss the matter further.”

  The man Neetra had indicated, General Morathi Adeben, lifted a cold gaze. From Gib’s seat, he couldn’t see the general’s face but had met him enough times to remember the severe expression permanently frozen onto the hard features.

  “Highness.” Morathi spoke clearly and without hesitation. “High Councilor Neetra means to question the lack of fresh recruits. Where and how are we going to make up these numbers to ensure Arden’s safety?”

  The King tilted his head to one side but took his time responding, and when he did, he spoke directly to Neetra. “Why are you forcing the general to speak on your behalf, High Councilor? I have listened to your whining long enough to know that surely you have a mind of your own. What was your concern?”

  Neetra leapt from his seat so fast Gib worried the man might try to rush the ruler. It would have been an utterly ridiculous move, but Neetra wasn’t above being unreasonable.

  The High Councilor pointed at the King with savage intent and hissed shrilly, “Have you no care for the size of your army?”

  King Rishi flashed a smug smile. “I’ve never preoccupied myself with size as you seem to.”

  Gib winced.

  “I do, however, pay mind to important issues, such as the quality of our troops.”

  Neetra was so red he looked like he might burst. The High Councilor sputtered as he responded. “Surely Your Highness must see the benefit of a formidable army in times of war! Beyond tactics and training, battle is a numbers game. We need to have the greater number.”

  “Again, I say your worries for compensation are ill founded. And what, exactly, are you trying to compensate for? What are these times of war you speak of? Despite all of your worry and dread, we’ve yet to see any real threat from either border.”

  Councilor Anders Malin-Rai, a known sympathizer of Neetra, slammed his fist on the table. “There have been multiple skirmishes along the Shiraz border! And every day, more troops from Nales come to man the wall above Port Ostlea to the north!”