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.