Chương 18: Poised in Providence - Part 7

“Is madness something that can be discounted?” Vincente mused, bringing his finger to his lip and chewing his thumbnail in thought. The question held no real value, as both men knew it was unlikely Prince Heiko was not in his right mind. “King Ingo must have had many friends in his guard.”

“Many veteran warriors.” Cele added. “It could be seen as an act of treason.”

“I wonder why it wasn’t.”

“Would he really exile his brother over his days idling here,” Cele went on. “When he didn’t exile him over the burning of the guard?”

Vincente considered the question.

“Regardless,” He sighed. “Both could be argued as acts of treason, no matter what color your blood. King Ingo’s council will likely push for exile.”

“Considering Prince Heiko seems to have few friends in the Simonese court.” Cele agreed. “How can you wish to gain favor from the outside if you cannot even do so with your own brothers?”

“We cannot assume Alfred dislikes his brother,” the king interposed.

Cele plucked another olive from the pile, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Alfred Achterecht, the second son and general of the Simonese army. Most believed his mettle was cut from the same material as his father’s. Simple, honest, brave. It was said that the Achterecht line was born with modest and plain faces, an extension of their veracity. Plain faces riddled the household. The late king Gotthard, King Ingo, General Alfred, even the current king’s offspring - Prince Gotthard II and Princess Ada. Cele wondered what that said about the prince they now housed, fair as he was.

“Certainly though,” Cele said eventually. “A person of Alfred’s character wouldn’t enjoy the games-”

A hard knock interrupted him. It was not the knock of a servant, who would be trained with soft raps and gentle voices calling from the other side.

Vincente stood, reaching for a paring knife on the table - as if someone would be bold enough to attack the king so tactlessly. But old habits die hard, as they say. For Cele, as well, who was already halfway to the door when Vincente called out calmly.

“Who is it?”

“Open up.”

The princeling’s voice was enough for them to drop their guard, though certainly not due to his irritated tone. The general didn’t wait for the go-ahead before pulling the door open. It was unnecessary, since he knew King Vincente was eager to hear what Heiko had to say about the duke and the situation.

He was dressed in the chiton dyed with magnolias and mustard seed that he had worn earlier in the day, a color chosen deliberately by the queen - a color not meant for nobility. It was obvious she did not take into account his golden mane, a detail, while seemingly small, differentiated him vastly from servants and Ilysians alike. The mane that was now twisted and pinned to his head in a perfunctory fashion. In fact, most of his attire looked perfunctory.

“Prince Heiko,” The king greeted him. “What a surprise.”

“Don’t mock me.” Heiko said sharply. “Bring us to a range. Give us a bow and a quiver of arrows.”

“How do you intend on putting stock in your words without an actual Burkean longbow?” Cele asked. As much as he would’ve loved to critique the prince’s shot, he wasn’t sure if it was wise to willingly give him a weapon.

“How do you intend on putting stock in your wit if you cannot follow simple reasoning?”

His snapping comment, tossed back so effortlessly, seemed to surprise him just as much as the Cele and the king.

“Forgive…” He trailed with a tired sigh. “You are adding unnecessary points of conflict, General. If you give me a sparse moment of time, along with the tools needed to provide you with proof, why would you prolong the process? If I do not provide proof, then you know I am nothing but a conniving snake. If I do provide proof, then you know my brother is. If I decide to fight against all survival instincts that I possess, and turn the weapon on your king, you will have the opportunity to incapacitate me - perhaps even kill me - with little to no repercussions. You have everything to gain and only mere speckles of time to lose.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, awaiting a response, and soon enough, Vincente led them through hallways and down staircases until they made it to a courtyard with archery targets and equipment.

The king was uncharacteristically stiff, only made worse by Cele’s silence.

Baptist looked over to Heiko, who was paying no attention to him, and decided to act on his own, crossing for a bow and picking one – one too large for him. Cele watched curiously as the boy grabbed a quiver from a hook and slung it over his shoulder before returning to the prince’s side. He was silent for a long few moments, until Prince Heiko snapped.

“Speak, Baptist.”

His master’s tone didn’t seem to affect the boy as much as Cele thought it would. If he ever used that tone with Carmen, she would surely cower, but then again, he never did.

“The longbow is large – generally the height of the archer.” Baptist began quietly, looking at the bow in his hand that was a little more than three-fourths of his size. “As my prince has explained, archers are trained young, beginning at the age of eight. This is because they need to build strength to draw back the bowstring.”

He looked up to the king.

“Because of the tension of the wood, and the effort it takes to draw back, the arrow has a straight and powerful release. When done correctly, it can fly around 300 yards. But it is not meant for distance in warfare, as much as it is meant for force. To pierce through armor.”

“This information is nothing your master hasn’t told us.” Vincente said gently to Baptist.

Cele saw Heiko’s lips crease a bit, hard eyes on his slave.

It was not lost to Baptist. He scrunched his lips to the side and stole a glance at Heiko, before it happened. Within seconds, Baptist nocked an arrow, drew back, released, nocked an arrow, drew back, released, nocked an arrow, drew back, released.

Admittedly, Cele focused on the boy’s speed and form, but the three arrows crowded within the bullseye across the room discredited any doubt of his accuracy.

Baptist carefully kept his eyes from his master, whose own cold gaze was on the target.

“I was training before I was taken by the Simonese soldiers.”

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Chương 19: Poised in Providence - Part 8

The words were like shocks of freezing water. He was not always a slave. This boy, too, was training to become a soldier. A soldier like the king, like the general, even like his now-master.

“Training to be an archer.” The king said, musing. Cele knew that he, too, was fully caught off guard. “There is no doubting your skill. There is no doubting that that bow ought to be much too large, much too taut for your strength.”

He exhaled in consideration before turning to the prince and demanding, “Why warn us of this?”

“I’m sure you know by now of my current position.” The prince spoke, and when his gaze turned to Cele’s king, the icy expression had melted, a deceptively warm smile on his lips. “I have no home. I have no king. I have Baptist and I have my mind. And that is all.”

While he said it in a way to display his bareness of options, Cele highly doubted that ‘his mind’ was something to be scoffed at.

“You want revenge.” A suggestion from the king that seemed too easy. “You want to take Simo for your own. And you want to do it with the Ilysian army backing you.”

Heiko’s gaze flicked to the general before he chuckled. “I do not yet know what I want. But I do know this. You want Burkean trade routes, and Simo is the key to that. And I am the key to Simo - at least the only one that would be so gracious to you.”

“You underestimate our diplomacy.” Vincente replied, a smirk set on his lips. “Simo does not rule Burke. Burke is independent. She can take whatever ally she desires. It is not as if we come empty handed.”

“That is no secret,” Prince Heiko agreed. “But wolves do not accept the aid of lions. You do not know the darkness of Simo under the reign of Ingo. The Republic of Burke is not the Kingdom of Burke. The senate is not the king. The once powerful nation of tartan clad barbarians has been reduced to a government corrupted by the money my brother feeds them. They will do what they must to eat from his despicable palm.”

Cele considered that with a sinking feeling. If what Heiko was saying was the truth, then Ilyos would have more issues than just staunched trade with the north.

“You ought to realize, Prince Heiko, that what you’re telling us is that both Simo and Burke are powerful kingdoms and can easily be pitted against us.” Vincente’s words were pointed but not accusatory. “If that is the case, why would we ever turn our noses to a treaty of peace?”

“Because, if you think my brother is against treachery, you are much too naïve for your position.” The words rolled from his tongue with disgusting ease. He had prepared for this fight. “If you think the Burkean nobility were overpowered by the scraggly and paltry forces of the traitorous senate party, you are much too stupid for it. They had help. That help was Simonese.”

Cele would have pressed, if he had not been distracted by the balking boy beside Heiko. He was Burkean, training as a soldier. He would have been…eight, nine, Cele figured, when the Republic of Burke was established. He grew up in the reign of the assassinated king. It was no surprise that such information came as a shock, especially as he was now in service of the Simonese princeling.

On the other hand, King Vincente hid his own alarm beneath a challenging smirk.

“You would have me believe,” He began, slowly, deliberately. “That King Gotthard was responsible for felling house Carmodeigh? A house that was favored by your ancestors for generations?”

The prince didn’t respond and Cele knew it surely wasn’t because he didn’t have one prepared. More likely, he was tired. It was late, the day was long, and as easy as it was to forget in the moment, the prince was just a boy.

“I know my enemies front and back.” Vincente pressed on. “And I know of King Gotthard’s character. I have fought him, seen him on the field of battle. He is honorable.”

“He was.” The prince retorted without a beat. “But my honorable father is dead. Felled by you.”

There was a sharpness in his tone, one that gave his newfound smirk an audacious edge. It didn’t meet his jade eyes. The general doubted much would have the power to break through their bitter, icy walls, and directed at the king, Cele was surprised they hadn’t the power to kill.

“Yes, King Vincente. Forget the words of the son who ought to stab you where you stand. Forget the warning he should have never offered. Agree to the terms of my brother. Submit to the treachery that you will suffer at the hands of Ingo. The treachery that Burke experienced. The treachery-”

His words stopped there, suddenly and uncharacteristically. He took a breath, leveling his gaze not with the Ilysian king, but with Cele himself. “Honorable men are no match for wicked ones. I will offer you no sorrow at your sepulture. Nor the one of your kingdom.”

With that, he turned on his heel and headed for a corridor.

“Baptist,” He snapped and the boy quickly and gently placed the bow on the ground, stepping lively to catch up.

“My prince,” Baptist spoke, for no reason, it seemed, other than to mark his presence.

When they were gone, Cele turned to his king whose attention was elsewhere, beyond this realm.

“Do you believe he speaks the truth?” The general prompted.

“You’re my advisor.” The king’s eyes lingered at the empty threshold of the room. “Advise me.”

Cele frowned.

“I think,” He began, choosing his words carefully. “That last bit was genuine.”

There was a moment that passed between them, a moment that displayed the beauty and warmth of the night, the trees whistling with the wind. A moment that passed swiftly, as there was no time to consider just one moment. The future was their responsibility, and that future was now uncertain.

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