Threads of Amarion by Todd Fahnestock

Author:Todd Fahnestock [Fahnestock, Todd]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Parker Hayden Media
Published: 2018-07-16T22:00:00+00:00

19

Mershayn

Mershayn left his guards in the hall and closed his bedroom door. He let out a breath and leaned back against it. His felt the oak, rough beneath his fingers. Solid, real.

His mind wandered away to one year ago. One short year. He, Collus, and their father, Lord Bendeller, had visited Buravar. It was a beautiful city, old and full of history, one of the few cities still around that had stood during the Age of Ascendance. He and Collus had treated it like their own personal playing field. They would steal away to Gretienna’s House, start the night there with a snifter of brandy and a bawdy story or two. What cares did a Teni’sian lord and his bastard half-brother have? The only worry was if they would run out of wine or willing women. The nights seemed to last forever.

And the days were full of diligence, sweat, and hard work. While Collus spent time at court, Mershayn had spent time with local swordmasters expanding his one talent. Mershayn had wanted to ensure that—though he would never have pure blood—he could at least best any pureblood with a blade. He had resented the station of the purebloods because they could achieve what would always be denied him.

And now he was king. He had thought the pleasures would be endless with such a high station, but it wasn’t that way at all. There was no snifter of brandy awaiting him. No careless nights and bawdy stories to set his blood racing. Now his blood raced for unpleasant reasons, like Teni’sia burning by dragon fire.

He leaned his head back against the door and closed his eyes. The events of the past week had split him into two men. One man tried hard to be a king. That man directed nobles to prepare for invasion. That man stood unflinching as a woman turned into a mythical monster.

But the other man wanted to run. He was a selfish rogue. When he saw something dangerous like a dragon, he wanted to get himself out of harm’s way, not put himself there to protect another, let alone an entire kingdom of others.

He glanced at his table where an array of liquors sat side-by-side, and he laughed to himself.

He thought of Bands’s advice: one step at a time.

He thought of Silasa’s advice: a king sleeps.

Perhaps this was a moment to think like the Mershayn of old. He had no companions, but he could still drink. There was no clever minstrel to tell him a bawdy story, but he had his imagination. He crossed to the table and poured himself a brandy. He would sit and think of things that a king should not have time for. Perhaps he would dream a little dream of Mirolah, of what this kingdom would look like if he’d never become king, and she’d arrived in this city alone. A girl from the country, come to sample the excitement of a city.

Mershayn closed his eyes and pictured it. He downed the entire glass of brandy one measured gulp at a time.

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