OoOoO

It wasn't a long walk through the city to his destination, but Hithon's nerves jangled unpleasantly the whole way. Never before had he ever made such a trek alone, without so much as a single Knight of Amenthis by his side, much less an official chaperone. His errand was one of absolute secrecy though; not even Mahir knew what Goran's crown prince had been up to of late. Most especially Mahir, as a matter of fact.

Slipping across the main street leading in from Amenthere's easternmost gate – affectionately named 'The Thoroughfare' – Hithon pulled his wide brimmed hat further down, letting the decorative feather spray flop forward over his face. Although his recent, Roran-induced growth spurt had rendered him handily unrecognizable to most of the Amenthere's common citizens, there were many amongst the nobility who might still be able to pick him out in a crowd. Thankfully The Thoroughfare was quiet at this time of day. With the harvest sun still below the horizon, most business owners weren't even in their shops yet. The only people already at their work were the bakers, the farmers, scythes swishing in their fields beyond the city walls, and Hithon.

An archway of polished travertine stone marked the entrance to one of the capital's most prestigious districts; Volkain Cross. The area was named for the Volkain family, and it was toward their estate that Hithon set his furtive route.

Founded by First King Amenthis's most trusted companion and warrior, the Volkain lineage was second only to the blood of Amenthis across all of Goran. The late Queen Elowen – Mahir's mother and Hithon's grandmother – had herself been born a Volkain. Their heraldry often flew directly to the right of the royal insignia at any major public event, and after the heirs of Amenthis it was the Volkains who commanded the most sway over public opinion and obedience.

This did not mean they were the most popular of all Amenthere's premier families, however. After the untimely death of their previous family head, the leadership of the household had passed to Lord Revan Volkain. It was well known as far as Syrion and even Vaelona that Revan was a brash personality at the best of times...an obnoxious brute at the worst. His passion for pursuits deemed 'unseemly' by the Gorian nobility such as wrestling, tavern-hopping, and quarterstaff sparring certainly set Revan apart from his peers amongst the older, more poised family heads of Amenthere. Not content to limit his chaos to the arenas of recreation and society, Revan was also known for being openly contrarian when it came to business both political and financial. Essentially, the leader of the Volkains was a thorough wildcard in all matters, which made him exactly what Hithon needed right now.

He was not expected, and thus Hithon was not surprised to find the gates of the Volkain estate locked. The yawning night watchman immediately snapped to attention as soon as he recognized Hithon though.

"Your Highness, we had no word of your coming! If you will please follow me, the house servants will announce you to Lord and Lady Volkain at once."

"Thank you," said Hithon absently as he trailed after the watchman. Half a dozen Red Setters – Revan's favourite hunting dog – lay sprawled lazily across the lawn. They watched Hithon's passage with casual interest, their fringy tails flicking against the grass as if to say 'Where's the hunt?'. A handful started to lean forward, noses twitching animatedly, and Hithon sped up along the long, graveled drive to the front door.

Just as before, the reaction to Hithon's presence was more or less instantaneous. One servant was quick to trade his cloak and hat for a cup of steaming lemon water, while another went speeding off to alert the Volkains of their unexpected royal visitor. All told, Hithon spent less than three minutes waiting in the front parlour before being ushered further into the house.

The Lord and Lady of the household were only just awakened and sitting down to eat in the solar when Hithon was shown in, if their still-clean plates and dressing gowns were any indication. Revan was quick to jump up and greet Hithon, greeting the much younger lord with an arm-clasp hearty enough to rattle teeth.

"Good morning, Prince Hithon! Although we hadn't expected you, you're welcome to join us for breakfast. Here...let's have another seat, quick now!"

A servant scurried to obey as Revan led Hithon to the table. Revan's wife – a famed beauty even amongst her Vaelonese kin – made to rise, but Revan quickly waved her back down.

"No Hadriel, stay there. What have I told you about unnecessarily taxing yourself in your condition? Be warned, Your Highness, when the day comes that you yourself eventually wed, you'll find the business of cossetting a wife to be a never-ending task!"

Although Hadriel smiled, her smoke-grey eyes narrowed into a rather flinty expression. She did, however, return to her seat, tucking the folds of her dressing gown back into place. The dawn sunlight filtering through the window briefly turned the shimmering fabric of Hadriel's gown translucent, allowing Hithon to catch the briefest of glimpse of the form beneath. Sure enough, Lady Volkain's otherwise slender torso curved in the early but unmistakable shape of pregnancy. Considering that there had been no formal announcement yet, Hithon chose the politest course of action and pretended he had not noticed.

"Standing up to greet Goran's crown prince is hardly overtaxing myself." Genuine warmth returned to Hadriel's face when she addressed Hithon. "Good morning, Prince. What brings you to our household at such an hour?"

"Does an heir of Amenthis need an excuse to pay a visit to our family's – thank you - oldest and most noble allies?" Hithon slid into the chair presented by a servant. Almost in the same instant, place-setting were whisked onto the table before him, complete with a third steaming cup of grey tea.

Revan laughed aloud. To a stranger unaware, the genteel setting and currently pleasant mood might have painted Revan in a rather positive light. Hithon had spent enough time in the Gorian royal court throughout his life though to know that the grin beneath Revan's strawberry-blonde beard could turn into a snarl in the blink of an eye.

"Ordinarily I'd agree, and be glad to accept this as just an unusually early social call," said Revan. "I note that you arrived alone though, without an entourage of any sort. A bit unusual, considering the state of the times, hm?"

"Is all well with your father, my lord?" Hadriel asked cautiously.

"Oh yes, my father is well, if a bit preoccupied these days."

"And small wonder, given the way half the nation seems to have lost their minds!" Revan exclaimed.

This was likely as good a segue as Hithon was to find. Already though he was beginning to wonder if he had been wise in coming here. Keeping his expression as neutral as a royal upbringing could possibly furnish, Hithon took a sip from his tea and swallowed.

"Mass madness is hardly a common phenomenon, Lord Revan. Perhaps there is more to the rebels and their actions?"

Ever one to seize on a contentious issue, Revan was only too happy to open the discussion. "Certainly! Boredom and entitlement, for starters! How anyone can enjoy a life of such peace and prosperity as the kingdom of Goran affords, and still indulge in war-mongering is beyond me."

"Not all are as fortunate as we are, Revan," Hadriel pointed out. "It may be that-"

Revan flicked a hand disinterestedly. "Yes, yes! Not everyone has the good fortune to be born into the nobility. As much as I admire your tender heart and charitable spirit, my lovely, even you cannot deny that those southern rabbles owe the cities within which they now barricade themselves to the heirs of Amenthis. Someone ought to sit that lunatic BlackPearl down and teach her some of her own history."

"Is it that you disagree with the entire premise of the rebellion, or simply their choice of methods?" asked Hithon, probing for any chinks in the well-known Volkain loyalism.

"Both! Even if they did have any legitimate grievances against the crown, this whole mess has gone on entirely longer than it should have. If I were your father, Your Highness, I would marshal the entirety of Goran's army and send it straight down south to set up an occupation. Clearly the southerners are drunk on this notion of independence. Until they sober up, they need a royal military presence to keep them from doing any further harm. And not just to the rest of Goran, but to themselves!"

While Revan delivered his rant, Hadriel sat in silence, elbows propped on the arms of her chair and shoulders rounded. It was probably the first time Hithon had ever seen the elegant noblewoman slouch. The subtle workings of Hadriel's narrow jaw also hinted that she was probably chewing the inside of her cheek. Although Hithon's natural instinct was to direct the conversation in such a way as to include every person present, something Revan had said provided too valuable an opportunity to pass over.

"That's the entire hope, isn't it, Lord Revan? To prevent further harm?"

"Well of course! There's been far too much bloodshed over this nonsense already if you ask me."

Setting down his teacup, Hithon struck. "That, unfortunately, is why I have come to call this morning. You see, it is not my father's intention to avoid further bloodshed. If anything, it appears that he is moving to escalate the conflict between the capital and the border regions of Goran."

Hithon's revelation brought sudden movement from Hadriel. She leaned forward, nails digging into the whicker armrests, heedless of trying to conceal her swollen belly.

"Escalate? How can it be possible to escalate this awful conflict further than it already has gone? Reports of the jungle fire reached the upper circles of Amenthere this week. Surely what is need-"

"What does your father intend, Prince Hithon?" interrupted Revan. "Does he suspect further treachery from the south even now?"

Hadriel's usually melodic voice chimed like shards of broken glass, retaking the conversation even over anything Hithon might have been about to say.

"Surely what is needed now in the south is aid, not further aggression. If, as you just said, husband, the hope is to prevent any more ruin to the nation, then now is the time to extend a hand of truce. Elsewise, the breach between the throne and the south may grow too severe to reconcile, to the detriment of all."

"Hadriel..." Reaching over, Revan pried one of Hadriel's hands off the chair and raised her fingers to his lips for a kiss. "I fear this is too weighty a subject at the best of times, and it is common knowledge that mothers-to-be often find their hearts softened, beyond justice and even reason. Why don't you stretch out across a couch on the terrace and enjoy the morning air?"

If Hadriel's eyebrows went any higher, they would have been in danger of disappearing into her hairline. Then she smiled, lip curling in a leopard-like manner, before settling back into her seat.

"Oh, I don't know about that...the terrace is an awfully long way, and I think I may have felt a cramp just now. Perhaps it is best I remain sitting down for the moment. The first few months always carry the greatest risk to a growing babe, after all."

Before Revan could insist, Hithon cleared his throat. "You were asking about my father's intentions, Lord Revan?"

The reminder of just who their guest was seemed to do the trick; Hithon once again had Revan's full attention. "Yes, I most certainly was. Is the plan still to recall the Second and Fifth Companies to Amenthere?"

"It is. There have also been nearly enough recruits drafted from the countryside to reconstitute the fallen Third Company." Here Hithon hesitated. The knowledge of his aunt's betrayal was a closely guarded secret this side of The Teeth, one which Hithon himself had only discovered because he had eavesdropped on his father's fireside conversation with the High Obad. What information he did chose to share was ultimately no less sensitive though. "My father intends to attack The Weeping Keep in Derbesh."

"What!?"

Even Revan seemed at least briefly taken aback. Hadriel looked downright horrified. Her lovely face turned even paler white when Hithon elaborated.

"He has heard rumors of rising Factionist sentiments amongst the clansfolk. My father justifies this plan as a preemptive strike. I am here, Lord and Lady Volkain, because I believe than only disaster can come from such an act."

"The seven clans have done nothing to provoke attack," said Hadriel. "And thousands make their home within the walls of The Weeping Keep, regardless of which clan is the current occupant...Princess Ellorae now being one of them!"

The blue-eyed intensity of Revan's frown was often enough to quail younger men of lower station. Hithon, however, was secure enough in his rank not to take it as a threat. That did not mean, however, that his pulse did not quicken by a beat.

"It is not that I doubt your word, Your Highness. What I want to know is what you're hoping to accomplish here by telling me this?"

Trying very hard to look and sound older than his thirteen years, Hithon matched Revan's scrutiny. He had rehearsed this speech a hundred times, whispering it to himself alone in front of a mirror by candlelight. Saying the words aloud to the head of the Volkain family – the line of Amenthere's oldest allies – was an entirely different experience. It took all of Hithon's resolve to keep his voice from wavering.

"My father is a valiant man, but he aspires toward an archetype which has no place in our modern civilization. First King Amenthis was a warrior out of necessity, not pride. The moment the land was won from the beasts of old, he hung up his sword and turned his mind toward higher pursuits. If Amenthis had continued to prize the blade over the builder's hammer, we wouldn't have any of our greatest cities and landmarks...the State Hall of Moaan formerly among them. The razing of the southern jungles went beyond quelling a rebellion; it fractured the very foundations on which our nation was built. And now my father seeks to take his war east, against people who have yet to so much as raise a hand against the throne.

This cannot be, not in the name of Gorian unity, and certainly not in the name of peace. I am here, Lord Revan, because I want to know if you would speak against this civil war...and against those who seek to inflame it?"

Would you speak out against your king?

For a moment, Lord Revan's silence almost gave Hithon an inkling of hope. When he stood from the table though, the ramrod-straight set of his spine was pure umbrage.

"Prince Hithon, were you any other person in the entirety of Goran, I would strike you where you sit for the words you have just said. Treason does not become a son of the bloodline of Amenthis."

Hadriel sat nearly as frozen as Hithon, not even the morning breeze so much as stirring a single one of her golden hairs. Technically, Hithon had the power as heir to the throne to make a great deal of trouble for the Volkain family. One did not usually threaten to strike the crown prince without reaping immediate and severe consequences. Next to the royal family though, Revan Volkain was the most powerful person in Amenthere. If there were anyone outside of Castle Armathain who held the necessary power and status to accuse Hithon of treason, it would be Revan. Hithon chose his next words with extreme care.

"I did not ask you to oppose my father. I merely asked if you would. There is a difference...just as there is a difference between an Amentherian prince and a Volkain nobleman."

Revan grimaced, his temple visibly throbbing. Hithon hadn't wanted to threaten the man with rank, but his father was growing increasingly unpredictable these days. The terrible thought occurred to Hithon that he wasn't actually certain he would be able to simply shrug off an accusation of treason. If Mahir was willing to attack an entire castle because of his sister's defection, what was to say he would be any more tolerant of a perceived betrayal from his own son?

Teeth grinding, knuckles white as he gripped the back of his chair, Revan reminded Hithon uncomfortably of Mahir. Eventually though, he relented.

"Then in that case, to answer your 'hypothetical' question...no, Your Highness. I am loyal to my country, and to my king. If King Mahir calls for war, then the Volkains will answer."

Hithon risked one last gambit, even though it pained him to say as much. "No man is immortal, Revan, not even a king. One day – perhaps tomorrow, perhaps fifty years from now – the crown will sit upon another head. Whose reign is it that your own child will live under, I wonder? Will their lifetime be an era of peace and plenty...or an endless struggle to rebuild from the ashes of war?"

Revan's eyes flickered briefly to Hadriel. Whatever look may have passed between them, some measure of heat seemed to leave Revan. In a much calmer (if stony) tone, he replied.

"Someday you will be as much my liege and lord as your father is now, Prince. Bearing that in mind, I will consider this entire conversation to have been a purely academic debate of personal politics. Now, if you will please excuse me, I have promised to meet Lord Greslor outside the city for a midday hunt."

"When will you be back?" asked Hadriel.

"Sundown." Revan paused in the doorway, then flashed what could have passed for a teasing smile back at Hadriel. "Only a truly trusting husband leaves his wife alone with someone to whom she was once nearly engaged. I trust you'll manage not to cause any scandals in my absence?"

Hithon nearly choked on his own saliva. Perhaps Revan might have found such a parting-shot funny, but he could barely bring himself to look Hadriel in the eye once they were alone. Thankfully, she was far less easy to rattle.

"You're welcome to stay and finish breakfast with me, if you would like, Your Highness. Despite what my husband says, I highly doubt the local gossips will be peeking through our hedges at this hour."

Even though the spread of fresh fruits and pastries would have been more than enough to entice Hithon at any other time, the whole failed exchange with Revan had thoroughly ruined his appetite.

"Thank you, Lady Hadriel, but I had probably best be returning to Castle Armathain before my absence is noted."

"I'll walk you down to the door then," said Hadriel. Without so much as a hitch, she slid back her chair and rose smoothly to her feet. Carrying though she may have been, the lady of the Volkain household still moved with a dancer's grace.

Still pink about the ears, Hithon followed Hadriel back down through the house to the front door. The sun was rising outside, casting little prisms of coloured light onto the marble tiles of the foyer. They reminded Hithon of something he'd once seen when visiting Vaelona with his mother, many years ago.

"Do you ever wish there were a Rainbow Garden here in Amenthere?" he asked. It felt good to speak of simple, beautiful things, especially after the past quarter-hour.

Hadriel looked surprised. There was an edge of wistfulness to her smile. "There could only ever be one Rainbow Garden, I'm afraid, and that is because there can only ever be one Vaelona. Amenthere is very grand, but sometimes I admit to finding it lacking in artistry."

Involuntarily, Hithon's eyes fell to the curve of Hadriel's stomach. The whole time while watching Revan and Hadriel's interactions together, a grim thought had been weighing on his mind. He didn't want to pry, but Hadriel must have read as much on his face. She had the kind of clear, endless grey eyes which seemed to be able to read anyone...like Hithon's mother.

"Revan has many faults, but he is not a monster." She laid a hand atop her stomach. "In this regard, at least, we were of a similar mind. Despite how troubled the world has grown as of late, I am looking forward to meeting my child."

"I...I'm glad, Lady Hadriel."

Reaching out, Hadriel lightly ghosted her fingertips across Hithon's cheek. "Don't worry for me, my lord. There are far too many others out there right now who carry far worse burdens than mine. Still, Revan is right in one regard."

"What is that?" asked Hithon.

"It's a pity that our differing ages should have prevented a formal betrothal between the two of us. Elsewise, I would have hoped for your hand in marriage over Revan's without reservation."

Ears burning, Hithon cast about for a change in subject. Belatedly, it occurred to him that, while he had clearly heard Revan's opinion on the rising conflict, he was only assuming that he knew where Hadriel stood.

"Would you do it?" he blurted.

Hadriel cocked her head, confused. "Do what, Your Highness?"

Rushing to clarify, Hithon shook himself. "Would you speak out against the war? Against my father? If the casualties continue to rise with no end in sight?"

"I am not the head of the Volkain family, and so my words and actions have no true sway in this household. At least, not over Revan and his mulishness, and we already know his opinions on the matter." Hithon was just about to sigh in defeat when Hadriel continued. "However, I am still a daughter of the Shakian family of Vaelona, and I still have my father's ear. Even if he favours your father, I know for fact that both he and my mother share my disdain for the growing cost in bloodshed. That is to say nothing of the destruction of the communities and livelihoods of the south...and now the east. It is only a matter of time before such outward aggression returns to reap itself upon Amenthere's doorstep."

"Then you will help!? You'll talk to your family about openly opposing the war?"

"Yes...yes I will. I am only sorry that I cannot do more here in the capital. Still, if a call for peace begins amongst the noble families of Vaelona, perhaps it may spread. King Mahir cannot maintain a campaign against the whole of Goran, especially if he loses the unwavering support of the nobility."

Hithon was so relieved to have finally found a sympathetic audience, he could have cried. Trembling, he reached out to grab one of Hadriel's hands and kiss it.

"Thank you, Lady Hadriel! I promise, if you should find yourself in need of support, I will do whatever I can to ensure you have it."

"Actually, there is one thing that you can do for me, my lord," said Hadriel.

"Name it!"

"I've heard tell of everyday families who are struggling to support themselves, now that the draft has become mandatory for all men-of-age. Would it be possible to arrange for some manner of support for these families? Perhaps payments made directly from the royal treasury? Or a reduction in taxes, with collection season so soon upcoming? I know all soldiers receive some money for their service, but coins in hand are of little immediate help to their families when they take weeks to send home."

"I cannot promise anything for sure," answered Hithon. "But I suspect that this at least is a subject which I might be able to negotiate with my father on. Surely the royal treasury is wealthy enough to spare a little of the money which it's currently spending wholesale on the army."

Hadriel smiled, and this time there was real warmth in her eyes. It was almost enough to make Hithon wish that he were, indeed, ten years older. Revan Volkain really was an idiot.

OoOoO

Later that afternoon, standing beside Mahir down at the docks along Heart Lake, the secret of his visit to the Volkain estate both burned and buoyed Hithon's spirit. He wasn't the only one ill at ease; the Magicol had also come to witness the departure of the five ships bound for Derbesh. They had also come to see off two of them own.

"You have your orders, Red Obad Frandel...Grey Obad Davenir," Mahir was saying to the pair of sorcerers. "If you succeed in this task, we may just be able to prevent the seven clans from rising in rebellion altogether."

"We understand, Your Highness." Frandel bowed deeply. A fine stubble of dark-red hair was just beginning to emerge atop his previously bald head.

"Circumstances permitting, you should not even have to leave the ship until the city is secure," said Arzai. Hithon got the distinct impression that the High Obad was attempting to subtly comfort Davenir, who looked utterly miserable. "Perhaps it would even be wise to have one of you return directly to Amenthere, to deliver your report in person."

"Tssch!" Rolling his scarlet eyes, Frandel threw an arm across Davenir's shoulders, making the Grey Obad flinch. "Stop fussing, Master Arzai. Davenir and I are more than capable of leading this little expedition. Who knows, Dav...you might even have yourself a little bit of fun! Once Derbesh is within our power, I think I'll take you to find some local food. Perhaps the clansfolk can put some meat on those scrawny bones!"

Feeling eyes upon him, Hithon looked back to find Roran standing to one side along the dock. The Green Ovate shook his head slightly, and tapped one wrist. Immediately understanding Roran's meaning, Hithon pulled his glove firmly back up, concealing the raised, leaf-like textures on his exposed skin. He wondered if he would ever be able to leave his rooms without a full face of paint and cream again. The risk of Mahir's wrath should he find out about Roran's misfired spell was too great though. At least being able to look the older boy directly in the eye had yet to lose its pleasant novelty.

Taking their leave of the royal family and Magicol, Frandel and Davenir ascended the gangplank to board the lead ship. That left only Arzai, Roran, and Brand remaining. Where once there had stood six full Obads and three Ovates, now there remained only a third of the Magicol's former numbers. Hithon also keenly felt the absence of Princess Ellorae. Although his aunt had never been overtly playful or affectionate, the thought of the five warships floating before them attacking The Weeping Keep made Hithon's stomach clench.

'Has it really come to this, Father?' he lamented in the privacy of his mind.

Whatever feelings Mahir might have had about sending a small fleet to essentially assassinate his own sister, they remained locked up tightly within. He stood cool and collected beneath the hazy orange sky – smoke was still drifting up from the south – the rubies of Goran's crown gleaming over his brow. Hithon was seized by the sudden desire to snatch that crown and fling it into the lake.

As the ships pulled away from anchor, Davenir and Frandel rapidly shrank from view, until they were little more than two narrow silhouettes above the rail. Brand raised a hand to wave goodbye, but only Frandel waved back. A sudden wind sent shivers across the water's surface though, and a little grey pigeon came flying from around the ship to perch on Brand's shoulder.

Once the five ships were out of sight, having rounded a far bend to pass down the river to the coast, the little group on the dock turned away to begin the long walk back to Amenthere's western gate. Although Hithon walked alongside his father, he knew the two of them were now irreparably out-of-step.

OoOoO