Tamas fell to one knee. “Your majesty.”
There was no answer. With his own eyes fixed to the floor, Tamas couldn’t tell if the Iron King was even looking at him. He stayed that way for at least a minute before clearing his throat. “Your majesty,” he said again.
“I heard you the first time,” the king responded. If his body belonged to a younger man, his voice certainly did not. It was guttural from years of pipe smoking and carried the weariness of time, along with the tone of inconvenienced peevishness that only old men could master.
Tamas swallowed hard, daring not to look up.
“You can stand,” the king said, sighing.
Tamas got to his feet and stood at attention. The Iron King, he could now see, was reading a book tucked into the furs on his lap. He flipped a page slowly, tilting his knee up slightly so as to see the page better.
“You summoned me, your majesty?” Tamas ventured.
“Very astute. Certainly earned the rank of captain there, didn’t you?” The king continued to read.
“I like to think so, your majesty.”
The silence stretched on for several minutes. Tamas kept his face forward but examined the king in the light of the flames. Was there something wrong with him? Was the monarch’s mind slipping in his old age?
“Your grace,” Tamas finally said, “May I ask why you’ve summoned me?”
The king turned another page, staring intently down the end of his nose. “Don’t get your belt in a knot, Captain. You’re only here because I need you to be present for a short time.”
“May I ask why, your majesty?”
The king finally looked up, drumming his fingers on his book. He peered at Tamas as if examining him for the first time. “So you’re the one who led the charge at Herone, eh?”
“I am, my lord.”
“You scaled a wall and slaughtered a gun crew on your own after every one of your unit had been killed. And they made you a second lieutenant for it.”
“Your majesty gave me the promotion yourself.”
The king sighed again, as if this were a great inconvenience. His eyes took on a faraway look. “That’s right. I remember now. Pit, I pin so many medals on young fools, they ought to give me a medal. You’re also a powder mage.”
It wasn’t a question, and Tamas did not answer it.
The king lifted a pocket watch from the table beside him. “You may stay here for another ten minutes and then leave. Nothing further is required of you.”
“Your majesty?”
“As I said, nothing further.” The tone brooked no argument.
Tamas stood and waited, counting in his head while the Iron King read. When he reached six hundred, he coughed politely into his hand.
“That’s right,” the king said without looking up. “You may go.”
“Your majesty?”
The king glanced up. His eyes narrowed at Tamas. “What is it?”
“If I may be so bold,” Tamas said, trying to speak quickly while maintaining a measured tone. “My lord, I’ve been falsely accused of cheating in a duel. It will prevent me from going on the next Gurlish campaign. If you could speak to the generals or to the magistrate on my behalf, I would be forever in your debt.”
The king harrumphed. “Yes. Yes you would. You think a king would speak on behalf of a commoner? I’ll give you credit for ambition, young man.”
“Your majesty?” Tamas’s heart fell.
“No, of course not. Get out.”
Tamas hurried from the king’s chambers, unwilling to push his luck any further, his heart hammering in his chest. Had he really been so rash as to ask the king of Adro for a favor? Outside, the servant waited to lead him back to the main foyer.
Tamas turned his mind from his faux pas and to the reason for his summons. The king had said nothing of import, barely even speaking to him. He had brought Tamas all the way up from Budwiel for what? Some kind of a whim? To see him stand and sweat?
Tamas had just buckled his sword back on in the foyer when he heard footsteps hurrying toward him across the marble floors. He turned, wondering if perhaps he’d been summoned back for the real reason of his visit.
The man that halted a dozen paces from Tamas was vaguely familiar. He had a barrel chest, wide shoulders, and a white mane of hair that flowed freely about the collar of his shirt. He could not have been less than fifty, and he stood with one hand planted threateningly on the hilt of his sword.
“Captain Tamas,” the man boomed.
“I am he.” Tamas responded warily. Everything about the man spoke of imminent violence. He glanced toward the royal guard stationed in the foyer, but they ignored him.
“Then you are a bloody fool,” the man said.
“I don’t know who you are, sir, but I would suggest you watch your damned mouth.” Tamas didn’t care that he was in the palace. He would not be insulted by a stranger.
The man drew himself up. “I am the Duke of Linz.”
Tamas reined in his budding anger. Captain Linz’s father. Of course he looked familiar. “I know your son.”
“You know him?” Duke Linz said, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth. “Who the bloody pit do you think you are? I’ll not have some common upstart insult my son. You challenge him, and then you shoot his ear, as if you’re showing off!”
“If it were within my station, I would challenge you right now,” Tamas said quietly. His fingers inched toward his sword, wondering if anyone would defend him in a court of law if he was forced to defend himself here, now. Not that he’d win anyway. Duke Linz was well known to be a fine swordsman.
“It’s not within your station, nor was challenging my son.”
“He insulted me. We are both captains.”
“And you,” Duke Linz said, swaying forward angrily, “have no right to be an officer in his majesty’s army.”
“I earned it with blood!”
“And you’ll lose it with blood!” Duke Linz’s knuckles turned white on the hilt of his sword, and Tamas could sense him moments from drawing steel.
Tamas fingered his own hilt, wishing that he had powder at his disposal. The duke seemed ready to surge forward when a soft voice suddenly interjected itself.
“My good Duke of Linz.”
The duke went white. Tamas turned to find a Privileged standing nearby, hands tucked into the sleeves of her long dress with just a hint of white to show that she was wearing her gloves. It was the woman from the House of Nobles, the one who smelled of jasmine, and he even now got a whiff of her perfume.
“Privileged Dienne,” the duke said, ducking his head and taking a step back.
“Excuse us please, Duke Linz.”
“Of course, Privileged.” The duke gave another bow and hurried off.
Tamas eyed the woman suspiciously. He had seen Privileged out on campaign. He knew that they could speak on an equal footing to most noblemen, but he’d never seen one dismiss a duke!
Dienne turned her gaze toward Tamas. He felt his palms begin to sweat. “Privileged Dienne,” he said, giving her a bow somewhat lower than the one she’d received from Duke Linz. He tried to remember how one was supposed to address a Privileged. With a noble it was easy — a lot of bowing and scraping and “my lord this, my lord that.” But a noble could only have you flayed, while a Privileged could flay you themselves. That meant a world of difference in Tamas’s mind.
“Captain Tamas,” Dienne said. Her voice was soft like satin. “I understand that you have just been to see the king.”
“I have.”
Privileged Dienne glanced at the nearest member of the royal guard and then walked a little further away. Tamas had no choice but to follow.
“Please, Captain. Tell me what the king wanted of you.”
Tamas tried to hide his confusion. He opened his mouth to ask her what she could possibly mean, when everything snapped into place.
If his suspicions were correct, the Privileged were already watching Tamas and may have even encouraged his suspension. They didn’t like a man — a powder mage — who could kill from such a distance climbing the ranks of the army. The king, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Summoning Tamas to his personal chamber, even to just stand there for fifteen minutes, would cause a mighty stir inside the cabal.