Chapter Nineteen
Why couldn't Coran have just let her die? Anything had to be better than what she knew was coming…
It had taken some time before Coran was willing to return to Rin, having wanted to make sure that the Hylan refugees were at least in some form of reasonable order, but acknowledged that before he could really assist them in settling, he needed to go through the necessary coronation that would allow him to succeed his father… which meant he needed to have his identity confirmed by the Lord's Conclave.
Of course, that seemed to Devona like it would be a painless affair. Both Lord Darrin and Duke Barradin, two of the most prominent nobles of the kingdom, had needed little convincing as to the truth that Coran was precisely who he claimed to be. Thus, Devona couldn't imagine any more than a few questions from the nobles newer to their posts in order to assuage their concerns that the prince before them wasn't merely some imposter.
So, it was clear that the Lord's Conclave wanted to sort out other business while they were all assembled, and the new King would be present. She knew this because she was also invited to attend the meeting… and she knew exactly why.
"Are you ready?" Coran asked as he joined her at the door that opened into the temporary Hall for the Conclave, located within the manor of what once belonged to the Duke of South Rin, a vacant line due to the Searing, and thus seized for use by the Lords.
"You already know my feelings on the matter." Devona grumped, picking distastefully at the pale blue silk dress she was wearing then stabbing in annoyance at the bun her hair had been tied up in. First opportunity she had, it was getting cut again, that way there wouldn't be enough hair for some attendant to maul.
"Yes, I do… which is why it confounds me that you keep saying things to the contrary." Coran remarked.
"Why won't you just take my words for face value?"
His fingers brushed across the joint between her neck and right shoulder, exposed from the relatively low cut collar of her dress. His near tickling touch caused her to shudder reflexively, and involuntarily release a throaty, alluring gasp. She blushed furiously; damn him for remembering that…
"That's why." The prince remarked triumphantly. "Now, I suggest you control yourself before the Lords wonder what we were doing out here."
"I hate you." Devona scowled as she fought back the deep red flush painfully visible along her neck and cheeks. "No, I hate myself. Actually, I hate both of us."
"Now that's the Devona I know." Coran laughed, pushing open the door, and motioning in a very gentlemanly manner for her to enter first. Reluctantly, she took several nervous steps forward, partially because she really didn't want to go in, and partially because her pointed high-heeled shoes were a pain in her rear to walk in.
The great hall of the manor was eerily dark… not surprising considering that it was nearing sunset, and there weren't many torch brackets available for illumination. It made Devona feel even more certain she was walking into an already certain ambush.
She felt Coran's hand on her hip, gently escorting her to the vacant seat to the left of the head of the table. She could feel the eyes of the Conclave on her, most likely with disdain.
"Now this simply won't do." Coran said cheerily, "If this is going to be my royal residence, I must have better lighting. Devona, dear, remind me to have some wiring run through this manor when I have the chance."
"Wiring?" Barradin asked, eyes blinking in confusion, "What manner of… thing… is that?"
"Something that we have little time to get into, I'm afraid." The prince answered, "We have much business to discuss, and likely your fellows have concerns to allay before we can attend to them."
"I see no need for it." Barradin said with a grunt. "The years have been kind to you, your highness. Anyone who had met you before could easily confirm your identity."
"Well, the memory can dull in time, and the eyes can fade." A firm, nasally voice from the rear of the rectangular table cut in. "It never hurts to be certain when confirming the identity of a man who had not been before common sight for over five years."
"I do apologize, but it appears that more than the Conclave's memory needs jostling." Coran said. "You are…?"
"Lord Evan, formerly of Ashford." The nasally tone said, "To start us off, why don't you tell us about your childhood in Drascir?"
A trick question, Devona noted, and the prince's scoff didn't disappoint. "I was only five years old when the royal family abandoned the old capitol. I'm afraid I have little memory of the place."
"Then may I query, your highness?" Another questioner, this time a graveled, gruff voice asked, this time from midway down the right side of the table.
"Certainly…"
"Lord Nassus of Kree." The gravelly voice replied. "Maybe you could tell us about your family… like your mother, perhaps?"
Another trick question, as she also noticed Coran's hand ball into a fist. Time had apparently not dulled that wound.
"Even an imposter would know that my mother died moments after my birth." Coran growled. "But what such a fraud might not be able to tell you was how my father, to the day we parted company, blamed himself for insisting she travel to Rin so close to my impending arrival, and the inconsolable guilt he carried for years thinking that the journey had somehow made her incapable of delivering me properly."
He slowly stood, his eyes narrow despite the low light of the hall, his fists violently propping himself as he leaned over the table, boring angrily at the Lord who had dared invoke his mother's memory. "An imposter probably wouldn't be able to tell you the fury my older brother held, and how, in his childish refusal to accept loss, held me responsible for the queen's death. How he would lock me in the cellar when I was four, saying there were Shadows of the dead that would eat me if I cried or called for help. Or that it took him until my thirteenth birthday before he finally stopped holding me in open contempt."
He whipped his head away, towards the slightly red stained glass windows of the west wall. "Nor could such a person tell you how agonizing it was to see the flat portrait of a woman I have no memory of, staring so hard at every painting of her for years, trying to fall in love with an image made of canvas and oil, a woman who, if the stories are to be believed, never even got the chance to hold me before she passed away."
Finally, he slumped back down into his chair, momentarily looking like the lost little boy of his childhood. Devona gently rubbed his arm, and for a moment, was almost willing to recant… so close to accepting all the burdens and fears if it would just put a smile on the man's face next to her.
But the urge faded as Coran's composure asserted itself, and she found the return of the surprisingly intimidating man of the present. "Any more inane questions then; or can we get to the business that is supposedly so important?"
There was silence for a minute that felt more like an hour before another voice, mellow, soft, and unimposing was able to slip in as if he shouted. "Well, I suppose we can start by assembling your court, your highness."
"I see." Coran noted, "I also see that you have succeeded your father as well, Maran. I trust Khylo is in good hands."
Duke Maran smiled with a twinkle in his eye. "That is my hope. Considering all the effort that has gone into preserving it during the Guild Wars and beyond, failure wouldn't be much of an option."
Devona knew that all to well. It was in Kyhlo that her father had fallen, and perhaps that would explain her immediate dislike for the man who was now its duke.
"At any rate… back to the issues of your court…" Lord Darrin interjected, "I would like to address the issue of your 'hands'… most notably the left. I gathered that your betrothed has wanted to break the bond between you." He turned a keen eye towards Devona, who really wanted nothing more than to disappear into her chair.
"In a moment of self-sacrificing stupidity, she may have said something to that effect." Coran said dismissively. "The issue is momentarily tabled."
"Well, there is a problem… Ascalon needs a queen. The left hand hasn't been empty since the time of King Doric, and with the perilous state of the current kingdom, every contingency needs to be covered." Darrin continued, as if annoyed by Coran's passive answer. "My first grand-daughter, Karin, has come of age. I ask that you at least consider…"
Duke Maran twiddled his thumbs nervously. "Lord Darrin, I do believe that I…"
Barradin laughed, "Darrin, have you truly become so old that you've forgotten your own arrangements?"
"Nothing had been finalized between Maran and myself." Darrin replied crossly.
The table then erupted into bickering, which escalated into shouting and screaming. Coran looked over at Devona, and gestured to the arguing nobles. "See… this was what I was trying to avoid." Coran said with a bemused grin, before slamming his fists repeatedly on the table to get the Conclave's attention.
"During your… discussion… I have come to a bit of a realization." The angered Coran returned, his ability to shift moods startling Devona. "Last I checked, I believe the decision as to who shall be my 'hands' was mine. When I feel the need for your assistance in this task, I will be sure to let you all know. Are we clear on this?"
The nobles murmured apologies and agreement before taking their seats much like chastised children. Devona found herself quite impressed by Coran's ability to command the table… and had been worried his more passive nature would allow him to be bullied. She should have known better… even if he didn't often show it, he was King Adelbern's son.
"Now that this nonsense of my 'left hand' is out of the way, I will acknowledge that I need to make a decision as to my 'right' quickly. Duke Barradin, you served as my father's 'right hand' honorably and dutifully for many years. I hope you are not insulted if I've deemed that you need not be burdened by that responsibility again."
"It put me in an unwelcome situation sometimes. While your father refused to buckle under Royalist dogma, my position at times created more rumor and conspiracy than the kingdom probably needed." Barradin answered candidly.
"My father ruled through his strength of arms. That's fine, I suppose, but more than a good sword arm will be needed in order to restore Ascalon as close to its former glory as we can as quickly as we can." Coran began, and then his next move surprised even Devona. "Darrin, your revival and maintenance of King's Watch County did not go unnoticed by my father. That ingenuity and sound thinking are what is going to be needed if my plans are to reach fruition. Would you do me the honor of taking place as my 'right hand'?"
Darrin looked like had been handed an expensive, unexpected gift. Of course, he was able to regain his composure more than quickly enough to say, "I would be one that's honored, your highness. I myself have ideas as to revive this battered land, but I am infinitely curious as to any ideas you have…"
Coran's knowing swiftly became infectious. It appeared that Adelbern had passed on a little bit of his inexplicable charisma to his son as well. "The plans I have could never be addressed in one sitting… but allow me to at least scratch the surface…"