The morning after Liv had left Whitehill, Keri found that he was not entirely certain what to do with himself. Olavi came to the rooms he’d been given - the same set of guest chambers the Summersets had provided him with when he’d first visited with Liv. His armor had been set in one corner of the bed room, opposite the bed itself, on an armor stand. Someone had taken the time to scrub it clean of blood and grime after the battle at the pass, and to oil the enchanted steel. Next to it, leaning against the corner with a leather sheath over the blade, was his Næv’bel. Normally, that would have been comforting, to have his weapon close to hand. At Mountain Home, he would have gone down into the courtyard to practice cuts and footwork, before easing his muscles in the hot springs. Keri didn’t know when he might use the enchanted spear again - or even if he would. The sight of it taunted him, a visible reminder of everything that he could not do for himself. Never before had he been envious of the wands that Liv and Arjun carried: an enchanted weapon was more suited to those who fought on the front lines, like he and Rose, Ghveris and Wren. Now, it occurred to him that he could have carried a wand in his lap, to aid in his casting. Perhaps he should make one. Still, even that thought felt like an admission of defeat. If he had a wand made, he would be giving up, it seemed to him, on the idea that he would wield the spear again, one day. One day. It was humiliating enough that Olavi had to dress him, and then help Keri into the wheeled chair. Help. That was a jest. The other warrior lifted Keri up and deposited him into the chair. More humiliating yet was that he couldn’t even handle his business in the garderobe by himself. Finally, Olavi wheeled him out into the hall, where Linnea waited for them. Keri supposed that he should be thankful, at least, that they’d not sent her to help him. Perhaps it was foolish - Linnea was a soldier, just like Olavi was, and they’d fought beside each other in battle after battle. But there would have been something different about being so exposed in front of her, something that would have stabbed his pride more sharply. Liv had cared for him, he knew. She’d been the one to bring him up to the ring of the gods, far overhead, and lay him on the enchanted table. Even before that, when he’d suffered under a fever after the fighting at Al’Fenthia, Keri had been told afterwards that she had sat up with him all through the night, using her word of power to cool his body. He would have preferred that, in all honesty, though he knew that he had no right to her care. The morning meal was already served by the time that Keri made it down to the great hall, and every seat at the high table was filled, save one. It might have taken longer, if the Summersets had not long since made adaptations to Castle Whitehill. He supposed that twenty years of Baron Henry having used these wheeled chairs had necessitated it, and the masons had done good work on a concealed ramp, tucked away from the public sections of the keep, which allowed easier passage between the first and second floors. Keri doubted there was any such way to get up to the observatory tower. Olavi wheeled Keri into the empty space at the middle of the table, in between Guild Mistress Every and Vivek Sharma. Keri found that interesting: he would have thought that Sidonie or Kazimir Grenfell, being closer to Liv for longer, would have received pride of place. But the foundations of this new world that his friend was building were still being laid, and he supposed that many of the stones had yet to entirely settle into place. “Good morning, Lord Inkeris,” Mistress Trafford, the castle chirurgeon, greeted him. She had to lean forward from three seats down the table to see him. “I thought that after you’ve eaten we might begin your exercises - to help rebuild your strength.” One of the servants leaned over Keri’s shoulder to place a trencher of food in front of him. “All made with mana-rich ingredients, m’lord,” the man murmured. “Some from the local rift, others sent from Al’Fenthia. Our cooks are likely now the most familiar with an Elden diet out of any in Lucania. Or, what was Lucania.” The man stammered over his words at the mistake. Keri waved his right hand. “I understand. There have been a lot of changes, in very little time. Thank you.” He lifted a goblet of watered wine in the same hand, and very carefully brought it to his lips, so as not to spill a drop and look like a fool. Like a fool, or like an invalid. How maddening that something which had once been so casual, such an everyday motion that he’d never even thought about it, now occupied his entire attention and effort. “I will be happy to work with you, Mistress Trafford,” he said. “But let us see about making a list. Sidonie, what matters need to be seen to?” He hadn’t spent quite as much time with the bespectacled young woman as he had with those who’d travelled from rift to rift with Liv, but he had enough of a sense of her to know that she was the one he wanted to organize a schedule of priorities. And indeed, Sidonie produced a notebook from somewhere, laid it out on the table after pushing aside her own half-finished meal, and flipped immediately to the page she wanted. “There’s sowing the crop, of course. Liv was thinking the soldiers might help with that. We’ll need to inspect the granaries, as well, before using them. Of course, once the crop comes in, that means we’re going to need to collect taxes, and before that happens, we need to decide whether to adjust the rates, now that the duchy won’t be paying up to the crown of Lucania -” “That’s simple enough,” Keri said. “The duchy pays the same rate as before, to the new queen.” Sidonie scribbled a note. “That certainly sounds reasonable, but traditionally setting tax rates is done by a great council in Lucania.” “Which we don’t have, as of yet,” Keri realized. “To say nothing of the fact that, apparently, at least two Elden Houses will be joining with Whitehill, and no one has the slightest idea how that will need to work.” He grimaced. Liv had, it appeared, left him to manage all of her headaches while she ran off to fight on the front lines. He would have preferred to be with her. “Consider this a preliminary ruling, then, by her appointed regent,” Keri declared. “Until such time as tax policy may be examined in more detail, rates will remain unchanged, save that any portion which once would have been paid to the crown of Lucania will now be paid to the crown of Whitehill.” Which would cause a problem, he could already tell, as the Eld had never paid any taxes to Lucania. Until some sort of formal decision could be made, that meant that only humans would be paying taxes. That was not the sort of division he wanted to last very long. “Furthermore, let any soldier who volunteers to aid in planting duty be paid a bonus, equal to half again their wages for that day, from the coffers of the crown,” Keri continued. He hoped that he hadn’t just beggared Liv, but he doubted it. Anyway, there would be taxes coming in to offset the cost. “All available fields are to be planted, even those belonging to those killed during the Lucanian assault, or in the raiding. If no heirs can be found for those fields, ownership will revert to the crown, to dispose of in due time.” Keri had barely touched his food, so he made an effort to pause, take a bit of venison steak drenched in the peculiar sauce everyone in Whitehill seemed to adore, and wash it down with another mouthful of wine before he continued. One decision at a time, in order of expediency. It was not so different from managing his soldiers, during all those years of hunting the cult of Ractia across the north. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. “Assembling a small council of advisors is the first order of business,” Keri decided. “No one can do everything which needs to be done by themselves, and Liv won’t thank us for dumping a pile of work at her feet when she returns. Guildmistress Every, I understand that you teach law and history?” “I do, when I have the time,” the older woman remarked. She’d been watching and listening, swirling the remains of her wine around in her cup. “We’re going to need to adjust the guild charter, if she truly wants both Eld and humans in the mage guild.” “Yes, but that isn’t an emergency,” Keri said. “The sooner we have councilors, ministers, whatever you want to call them, the sooner we will be able to address more than one matter at the same time.” This he understood: a commander could not do everything. Subordinate officers were needed. “I think that you should also prepare yourself to receive an ambassador or two, and perhaps to send more,” Vivek Sharma suggested, from Keri’s other side. “To Lendh ka Dakruim, at the very least, and I think I can be confident it would be well received there; but also, and most importantly, to Lucania.” Keri drummed the fingers of his good hand against the top of the table. It might be possible to have Ambassador Sakari serve such a function, for a short time, but he doubted that was truly the best decision. Sakari was in Freeport to represent the Eld, and that was not - at least not yet - entirely the same thing as representing Liv. “Baron Crosbie has several sons, does he not?” Keri asked Sidonie, after thinking for a moment. There were only three human noble families in the nascent kingdom, and neither the Grenfells nor the Summersets were in any position to be sending people away at the moment. “Seven,” Sidonie answered. “Bliant, who will inherit Valegard. Baudwin, the second son, who Julianne raised to a new barony. There’s also Bardolph, who should have gone to Coral Bay last year, only his parents kept him home because of the tensions with Benedict. Blaise -” “Blood and shadows, did they name every one of their children with a ‘b?” Keri exclaimed. Master Grenfell and Mistress Trafford both laughed. “You’ve never met Lady Triss’ mother, I see,” Grenfell said. “Give me the name of one who’s a man grown, trustworthy, and has something between his ears,” Keri said. “No, forget that. Don’t give me the name. Send a message to Valegard inviting the two you think are best, Sidonie, and I’ll speak to them.” And so it went. By the time he’d actually managed to finish his meal, Keri had made decisions on a dozen or more matters. Sometimes, what to do was obvious to him. Other times, he listened to Sidonie, Every, or one of the others. When he was in doubt, he tried to imagine what Liv would do. When he finally gave in and allowed Amelia Trafford to hustle him off, it was nearly a relief. Alone, save for Linnea and Olavi, in the chirurgeon’s chambers, he was put through a torturous series of physical tests. Trafford manipulated his left arm and leg, stretching the muscles, forcing him to push and pull against her until he was utterly exhausted. He hadn’t felt so helpless since he was a young boy. Half the time, he couldn’t make his limbs move the way that he wanted to. Motions which had once been automatic, like squeezing a fist around a child’s ball, now had him gritting his teeth in effort. When he could manage to move, all of the fluid grace he’d spent decades training in hundreds of sparring matches was gone, vanished as if it had never existed at all. Instead, his movements were jerky, wild, as if he was trying to make a puppet dance on stage with strings. After a full bell of agony, he was sent down to the hot spring beneath the castle. Not to soak and relax his muscles - no, that would have been too much to ask for. Instead, he was supposed to move around, making circles around the edge of the pool while Olavi and Linnea waited to haul him out in the event that Keri fell and began to drown. “You don’t have to stay, you know,” Keri grunted, after the third time he’d fallen and only half caught himself, clutching at the wet stone with his right hand so that he could catch his breath. The water supported most of his weight, which was the only thing that allowed him to move at all - but even with that assistance, his left leg couldn’t be counted on. It was a traitor; unreliable. Linnea snorted. “I’m not going to be the one to tell your father you drowned yourself while I was putting my feet up in front of the fire,” she told him. “Anyway, I miss the springs at Mountain Home. If you slip and go down, that’s my excuse to jump right in and enjoy the water.” “I mean that you don’t have to stay here in Whitehill with me,” Keri said, getting his good leg beneath him and beginning again. “I’d want to be in Varuna, in your place. I don’t want to be the reason you can’t be there when we finally drag Ractia out of her mountains.” “You think we’d rather be digging sand out of our eyes, trudging across the desert?” Olvi asked. “Not me. I’m coming right back to this room once we stuff you off to bed. Ease my bones.” “You’re soldiers,” Keri reminded them. “Not nurses. I won’t blame you, I won’t be angry, if you chose to leave. I wouldn’t want to deal with me right now.” “You really think we’re going to run off just when you need us most?” Linnea asked him. “You think that little of us?” Keri shook his head. “No. I don’t think little of you at all. I just -” “You remember when we took the bridge in Varuna?” Olavi asked. Keri nodded. Get full chapters from 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩~𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢~𝔫𝔢𝔱 “When that jungle cat landed on my back, I thought I was done for,” the other man admitted. “Grown big and fat on mana. I’m lucky it didn’t break my back with that pounce. You scorched it right off me, and then half-dragged me along. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you, Keri. You saved my life. I’m not going to abandon you now.” Keri looked away. Their loyalty seemed more kindness than he deserved, but he didn’t know how to refuse. Keri was in the courtyard, looking over a map of the valley with Sidonie, when the carriage arrived from Bald Peak. He could have gone back to the great hall, and laid the map out across the high table, but he preferred to be out in the afternoon sun and the clean spring air. Notes in delicate handwriting had been scrawled over half a dozen farmsteads. “We don’t have the resources to run those farms directly,” Sidonie said. “One or two, maybe. We could hire hands and an overseer to manage things. But six is only going to be a distraction.” “There’s no chance an heir to one of these properties recovers from their wounds, or wanders in from the pass?” Keri asked. “We won the battle,” Sidonie pointed out. “And the healers from Lendh ka Dakruim have been very thorough.” Keri sighed. “I want recommendations from commanders, then,” he said. “I want a list of men and women who proved themselves in battle, who went above and beyond what would be expected of them. People that we can reward.” Sidonie’s quill was just beginning to scratch away in her notebook when the guards atop the gate began calling out. Keri leaned forward in his chair to see what the commotion was, and saw a carriage in the human style, though drawn by shaggy northern horses. He tried to roll the map up, realized that he couldn’t do that with one hand, and then passed it off to Linnea, who was waiting just behind his chair. Once the carriage had rolled to a halt on the stones of the courtyard, the driver - an Elden man, with the coloring of House Keria - leaped down from the seat and opened the door. Before Keri had a chance to prepare himself, a blonde headed boy came barrelling across the yard, and threw himself up into Keri’s lap. “Daddy!” Rei cried out, speaking Vakansa. Keri hadn’t realized just how used to Lucanian he’d gotten until that moment. He wrapped his good arm around his son, and clutched the boy to his chest. He buried his face in Rei’s hair, still soft as silk, curls tossed by the spring breeze, and sucked in a deep breath. The feeling, the scent, brought back memories of cradling an infant in one arm, his son asleep and dreaming. “Your father told me that it would be good for you to see him,” Rika called. Keri lifted his head, and watched the woman he’d once loved emerge from the carriage. She must have picked it up in Al’Fenthia; Mountain Home only kept sleighs, and a few wagons. Rika was dressed in a long, gray dress of embroidered fabric, lined with white fur at the collar and the sleeves. Whitehill wasn’t really so far south, but she clearly hadn’t dressed for how warm the day would be in the valley. Rika crossed the courtyard, pausing perhaps ten feet from Keri’s chair. He felt her eyes on his left arm, which had not embraced their son; on the left side of his face, which he knew did not move right. “What are you doing here?” Keri snapped, surprised at his own anger - and his own shame.