(eng) Mickey Zucker Reichert - Renshai Chronicles 02 by Prince of Demons (Retail)

Author:Prince of Demons (Retail) [Demons, Prince of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

Lord of Chaos

Law is only the structure.

Chaos is what lives, grows, and evolves.

—Colbey Calistinsson

Darris hunched over his desk in his quarters adjacent to those of Béarn’s king, pressed far past exhaustion yet unable to sleep. Griff had insisted on inviting the entire populace to the celebration, on meeting each of his thousands of citizens and listening raptly to their desires and concerns. Darris had advised against the timeless nightmare, suggesting many alternatives that fell by the wayside. The compromise had landed far into the king’s favor, as it always must. A court ceremony formalized to tedium by the Knights of Erythane resulted in the naming of King Griff’s new ministers, inner guards, and staff. This was followed by an open coronation that stretched Darris’ security to its limit and lasted far into the night.

Darris rose, working kinks from his legs, and walked to the room’s only window. His feet left indentations in the thick, soft rug. The desk, low bureau with mirror and chair, and the bed remained in the locations he had found them. Rearranging them would leave holes and slashes in the plush carpet where their legs had sat since before his mother’s marriage. By convention, the bard lived in these quarters until family needs drove him or her to a cottage on the grounds.

Binding half the curtain aside, Darris leaned against the sill and looked out over Béarn’s courtyard. Moonlight glimmered from a pond three stories beneath him. Statues surrounded it, so lifelike he could almost see them moving and hear the splashes of their play. Stone turtles and frogs perched upon granite lily pads. A family of ducks stood, frozen in time, on the bank. The ever-present bear slashed a carved fish from real water. As Darris stared, the image blurred. At first, only the sharp edges of the masons’ craft eluded him. Gradually, as he passed from misting to frank tears, the whole became a gray smudge lost in night’s darkness. Reuniting with his father, the head pastry chef, had given him a companion to share the depths of grief into which losing his mother had plunged him. Though it still plagued him, time had smoothed the raw edges of his sorrow. Another sadness haunted him now.

With a heavy sigh, Darris left the window. The scene had failed to soothe him, only driving restlessness through him. He paced quietly through the lane between bed and desk, worried about interrupting the king’s sleep. This concern, at least, seemed ludicrous. Griff’s snores shook the wall, fully audible from the next room, and the clink of mail wafted to him at irregular intervals. If the patrolling guards did not awaken the king, it seemed unlikely that Darris’ barefoot ambling could do so. Nevertheless, he kept his step light in contrast to the heavy thoughts that seemed bent on dragging him down.

Béarn’s peasants had spoken their minds on many matters, yet the one theme that recurred was the need for Griff to marry swiftly and create as many heirs as possible.

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