“We’ve had some shortfall on taxes in the south,” the treasurer Count Julian said, bringing Edgar to attention.
“What?” Edgar looked over, breaking his silence. All of the council seated devoted their full attention to the king. “Shortfalls? What are you talking about?”
Count Julian picked up the reports. “There’ve been a number of refugees flowing in from the southern continent,” he explained. “The local southern nobles have had a mixture of troubles dealing with them. Some have been attempting to feed and shelter those who come, while others have chosen to violently repress them. Some farms have additionally been raided for food and other such valuables.”
Edgar stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That sounds more like excuses than anything else.”
One of the other councilmen spoke up, saying, “I can attest to the refugees. The southern shores are too jagged to maintain any harbors, but these people are crashing their vessels on the rocks just for a chance to make it in. A religiously extreme sect has come into power in the southern continent, and is expelling certain peoples from their land.”
“That hardly matters for us,” Edgar said. “Their problem is their problem, but our taxes are our taxes.”
“If I may, Your Majesty… these people could be valuable to us. Some of them are skilled craftsman, and well-educated. If we can absorb them…”
“No, no,” Edgar said, shaking his head. “Send some of the holy paladins south. If I show flex now, it flavors the rest of my reign. There can’t be any evidence of weakness.”
“The holy paladins, Your Majesty? For taxes?” Julian asked in disbelief.
“No one gets their due better than the church. They’ve been bleeding me dry for years,” Edgar said with a shake of his head. He looked toward Archbishop Pius, who sat in attendance. “Archbishop, there’s something I don’t understand. Why do the gods need all of that money if they’re all-powerful?”
Pius looked over calmly. “The church has to attend to all of the faithful, Your Majesty. Those funds facilitate their needs.”
“Well… perhaps the king should have a hand in some of the tithes you collect,” Edgar suggested. “I am the head of the faith, am I not?”
Pius stared for a few moments before saying, “You are, Your Majesty.”
“Good. I’m glad that you see that. One way or another, the crown needs money. It’ll trickle down. But we can talk about that at a later date.” He looked to his right. “Gaspar, pick some holy paladins out for this task.”
Gaspar stood there, staring into space as he ran his hand along the pommel of his sword.
“Gaspar!” Edgar yelled.
He jumped to attention. “Your Majesty?”
Edgar shook his head in disapproval. “Pick out twenty paladins. Prepare to send them south, alongside a tax collector. Julian—pick the tax collector to accompany them.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Gaspar and Julian both said, their voices almost in sync.
“Alright. Continue,” Edgar said, leaning back.
“There’s also been some trouble with the customs duties,” Julian continued with a low voice. “The capital has been fine—more than fine, even. But other ports…”
Edgar came back to attention. “Why?”
“I inquired,” Julian continued. “Duchess Vess said that her reasoning was well-defined in the letter of complaint sent to you.”
King Edgar grit his teeth, then looked behind to his servant. “Where would that letter be?”
“I believe…” an aged man who’d been standing by stepped forward, head lowered. “I believe you ordered it burnt, Your Majesty, along with all of the rest.”
Some turned their heads with narrowed eyes at the mention that the letters had been burnt. They looked frustrated, annoyed. Perhaps some present had sent letters of complaint.
King Edgar rubbed his fingers against his palms, then looked at his chancellor. “Order Duchess Vess to come to the capital to explain,” he said decisively. “As a matter of fact, Gaspar?”
“I’ll pick out some men for that as well,” Gaspar answered.
Edgar looked back to his council, a smile on his face. “Alright. Are there any other issues that need addressing?”
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No one in the whole council chamber seemed particularly eager to speak. There were several cleared throats, scratched heads, and uncertain shuffling of papers. King Edgar sunk into his chair, knowing well the content of the meeting just by the looks that he was receiving. He called over a servant.
“Bring some wine,” Edgar said. “I’m not doing this sober.”
Gaspar and Pius walked side-by-side after the council meeting.
“He’s using the paladins like common soldiers,” Gaspar said, his voice hard. “Why didn’t you speak up, archbishop?”
Pius stopped and looked at him. “The holy paladins are meant to be the king’s personal defenders,” he said. “They’re meant to keep him safe from all harm, protect him from all threats.”
“Exactly.” Gaspar nodded.
“That’s why you’re going to send your best men,” Pius said.
“What?” Gaspar said in disbelief.
“Make sure that the tasks are done right, and done well,” Pius continued. “Things will continue to escalate because this is a bad decision. But they’ll get the job done, and the king will think that he can rely on us and only us.”
“To what end?” Gaspar asked. “Stretching us thin, earning enemies across the kingdom?”
“The paladins will be dispersed across the kingdom,” Pius said. “And the paladins are meant to keep the king safe.”
Gaspar stood there for a few moments, blinking. “You’re saying…”
“I’m not saying anything,” Pius said. “And I’m not doing anything. But there are a lot of people paying attention to the king right now. If he wants to send away the people that are protecting him?” The archbishop shrugged. “Well.”
Gaspar closed his eyes, giving a curt nod. The two of them began walking again. The archbishop cast a glance.
“I’m glad you’re over your crisis of faith,” Pius said. “There’s no use moping about like you were.”
Gaspar’s eyes narrowed, and he looked at Pius with some measure of dissatisfaction.
“I think one of the princesses has been going out,” Pius continued. “I want you to look into it.”
Gaspar looked over. “Any more information?”
“No, just the word of my son,” Pius said. “He’s shrewd. He’s got my mind for politics, management. Had a lot of success running his mercenary company. I’m thinking he might be mistaken, but…” The archbishop looked over. “Look into it. Could be important. Do it personally, so that word doesn’t get out. I’m not yet ready to let the world know about him, and you’re the only one I can trust.”
“Understood.” Gaspar nodded.
Isabella walked out into the royal gardens, looking around with a faint smile on her lips. She’d received the letter that Arthur had promised would be sent. Upon holding it to a candle’s flame, the person had said that they would meet in the royal gardens about this time. After looking around for a while, she only saw a bunch of older ladies enjoying their tea, not a lone woman.
She wandered about aimlessly for a time, until she realized that all of the older women were staring at her. She thought it might’ve been because they were gossiping, but instinct told her that she should approach. She did, and eventually came to join them.
“Hello, Your Highness,” said a woman with gray hair and green eyes, who wore a rather splendid brown dress supported by fur. “Have a seat, please.”
“I was actually looking for someone,” Isabella said.
“My son spoke of you,” the woman said. “Please. Have a seat.”
Isabella felt a rush of excitement, then looked around. “There aren’t any other chairs,” she said in confusion.
“There are five,” the woman disagreed, then gestured to one closest. “Sit.”
Isabella swallowed in surprise, and grabbed the back of the chair that had someone sitting on it. She pulled, and it was as light as though there was no one on it. The illusion that Arthur’s mother had been manifesting shattered, and all of their figures faded away. Isabella looked around with wonder.
“It really is you,” Isabella said in excitement, then sat down eagerly. “You’re here to help me?”
“I’m here to consider it,” she said firmly. “Generally, I wouldn’t give my time to merely anyone. It’s very rare for my son to personally request anything of me, but he reached out to me. I told him that I would consider his request, but it was up to the ability of the person involved to convince me that my efforts would be warranted.”
Isabella looked at the aged woman. “What is it you’d like from me?”
“You seem to misunderstand,” Arthur’s mother continued. “I’m not speaking of a game of give or take. I’m speaking of talent. I have two sons and four daughters. Among them, I only taught Arthur magic. He was the only one that warranted teaching. The others? They’re barely aware of what magic is.”
Isabella felt a little nervous. “As you might tell, I’m quite old to be learning magic.”
“I intend on bearing that in mind for my assessment,” she promised.
Isabella nodded, trying to gather herself. “May I ask your name?”
“You may call me Igraine,” she said. “I won’t ask you to form a mana lock. My son tells me that you’ve practiced it a great deal, and that only my assistance would be needed. I intend on a different sort of test.”
Isabella steadied her breathing and focused on Igraine with all of her heart. “You have my full attention for two hours, ma’am. After that, I have obligations.”
“I’d intended on giving you a time limit of one day… but two hours?” Igraine smiled. “So be it. You will take my mana into yourself, Isabella, and then do as I instruct. It’s simple… but it’ll be one of the most challenging things that you’ve done. This may seem nonsensical to you at first glance, but I promise you… if you can succeed, it will be of immense help to you.”
Isabella nodded. “I’m ready.”