* * *
Iko was reviewing the latest candidates for the guard when news reached her via her own paid palace informants of some sort of incident involving the young king. Bowing out quickly, she set off across the sprawling grounds for the Kan family residences; the location surprised her, though she had noticed that lately the Kan family had been working to increase their influence, considerable though it already was.
As she hurried, she could not help but reflect upon the disappointing quality of this year’s crop of candidates. Years ago none would have even been considered. Was this a sign of their society’s falling dedication to tradition and plain hard work? Or was it a sign that she was now officially one of the veterans, despite her tender years? Yes, tender, she reaffirmed to herself, dammit!
The Kan family guards and retainers at the compound doors hesitated as she approached, but seeing her determined not to slow her pace one whit, they reluctantly opened the doors at the last moment. Within, a long, richly decorated hall led to an equally gilded main reception chamber and here she found the young king before the seat of the honorary head of the extended Kan noble family, the ancient dowager, Lady Serenna.
Between two Kan guards stood one of the king’s tutors, the youngest of them, a brilliant scholar of history, logic and calligraphy, Bahn Throol. The fellow was pale and sweaty, obviously ill at ease.
Iko pushed through to the fore of the gathered crowd of functionaries, petty bureaucrats and Kan family hangers-on. Catching sight of her, Lady Serenna glowered her distaste, then glanced away, dismissing her. She returned her attention to the scholar. ‘Touching the king’s person without his permission is a serious charge,’ she announced, her voice high and thin. She addressed the young King Chulalorn the Fourth. ‘You said he did so, yes?’
From the youth’s flushed face and hunched shoulders Iko could tell he was fairly withering in embarrassment. He nodded his lowered head.
Lady Serenna rapped her camphorwood fan against the armrest of her chair. ‘Speak up! Remember, you are the king!’
The child raised his chin, said hoarsely, ‘Yes.’
‘I was merely adjusting the grip of his stylus—’ the scholar Throol began, only to be cut off by another rap of the dowager’s fan.
‘Quiet! You will speak only when invited to do so!’
Scholar Throol wisely ducked his head.
‘And you struck him for his impudence?’
The young king nodded.
Shocked, Iko pushed aside the last functionary blocking her way and strode forward. ‘You struck one of your tutors?’ she demanded.
The youth spun, his face brightening. ‘Shimmer!’
Lady Serenna repeatedly rapped her fan against her armrest. ‘Quiet – remember your place, Chulalorn!’ She turned a slit gaze upon Iko. ‘This does not involve you, Sword-Dancer. This is a family matter only.’
Since Iko did not owe any allegiance or debt of patronage to the Kan family, she ignored the dowager and instead addressed Chulalorn the Fourth. ‘You must never strike an unarmed man or woman, yes, my king?’
The lad nodded morosely. ‘Yes, Shimmer.’
‘And you must respect those with wisdom and learning – yes, my king?’
‘Yes, Shimmer. I’m sorry.’
‘Do not apologize to me, my king. Apologize to Scholar Throol.’
A choked breath from Lady Serenna brought the lad’s attention to the dowager. ‘A king,’ the old woman fairly snarled, ‘does not apologize.’
Iko crossed her arms, eyed the ancient; she offered a nod of agreement. ‘Perhaps not. However, an honourable man does,’ and she turned her gaze to Chulalorn, waiting.
The lad glanced between her and the dowager, swallowed, and lowered his head. He turned to the scholar, murmured, ‘My apologies, Scholar Throol.’
The tutor paled even further, a hand at his throat. ‘Really – there is no need – my king is most gracious …’
‘Leave us!’ Lady Serenna hissed. She waved the fan to encompass the entire chamber. ‘Leave us! You will now leave us! All of you!’
In a rather undignified scramble the chamber cleared until only the Kan guards, Lady Serenna, Iko and the young king remained. Scholar Throol had been marched out by two of the guards.
The Dowager Lady Serenna sat glowering down at Iko. Finally, she turned her dark gaze upon Chulalorn. ‘Does a king command?’ she demanded.
The lad nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Is he commanded by his underlings?’
Chulalorn blinked, uncertain, shot a sidelong glance to Iko, but nodded once more. ‘No.’
Lady Serenna appeared to relax; she turned her disapproving gaze upon Iko. ‘Sword-Dancer,’ she announced, ‘you failed in your duty to protect my nephew, King Chulalorn the Third. Such incompetence has long troubled me greatly, and makes me doubt your ability to fulfil your duties.’
Iko let her arms fall, suddenly shaken. ‘You have no authority—’
‘This is true,’ Lady Serenna agreed. ‘However,’ and she pointed the fan to Chulalorn, ‘the king does.’
The boy stared, obviously confused.
‘Chulalorn,’ Lady Serenna explained, ‘your personal guards serve at your pleasure. You may choose to dismiss them at will.’
Her ward glanced between them, frowning, until understanding came and his mouth fell open. ‘But …’
‘Be a king,’ Lady Serenna demanded.
Tears welled from the young lad’s eyes and he twisted his fingers together. His pleading gaze begged Iko for guidance, any sort of help, and seeing him tortured like this broke her heart.
She quickly knelt to one knee, saying, ‘I beg permission to withdraw my service, my lord.’
He nodded, quite beyond words. His voice was barely audible as he whispered a cracked ‘Accepted’.
Rising, Iko bowed to the lad one last time then turned on her heel without a single glance to the dowager. She would not give the old lizard the satisfaction.
The doors to the Kan compound closed behind her and she looked up at the sky, blinking back her tears. Stupidly done, Iko, she told herself. So stupidly done.
Dismissed, she no longer had any claim to quarters in the palace, and so she packed what few personal belongings she owned. Her fine mail suit and the whipsword she had to leave behind, as they were possessions of the crown.
Packing, she turned and saw the regent, Mosolan, watching, arms crossed. She offered him a nod that he answered with a long slow regretful shake of his head.
‘I could hire you into the palace guard,’ he suggested.
‘No. I couldn’t bear to stand there …’ She shook her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But they’ve long been jealous of your relationship with the king. I should’ve warned you, I suppose, but,’ and he shrugged, ‘it never seemed the right time.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘They couldn’t allow an outsider that much influence … they just couldn’t.’
She noted that he was merciful enough not to add: And you walked right into it.
‘What will you do?’
She shrugged, closed up her single bag. ‘I don’t know. Join the army, maybe.’
‘You? In the regulars? I don’t think so.’
‘Whatever. I don’t know.’
He pushed away from the jamb, appearing troubled. ‘Listen. Stay in touch. I could use someone on the outside – you never know.’
She knew he was trying to be helpful, but she was just angry. Angry at damned palace politics, at the pathetic dance of influence and favour that she thought she’d been above all this time. But mostly she was just damned furious at herself.
She dipped her head in acceptance. ‘Yes, thank you. It’s just … I’m not sure. We’ll see.’
He extended his arm and they clasped wrists, as veterans, and she headed out across the gardens towards the main front doors to the palace grounds. Along the way she glimpsed a few Sword-Dancers, those off duty, watching from a distance. But none approached, and she knew why.