AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The boy—and he was a boy, no matter his age—dumped the pile of scrolls on a side bench and held out a huge hand to Teigra. “Jaspar Accola, mid envoy to Ardora. And you must be Ms. Cosmin?” Teigra shook the hand, her faced stunned. “Amazing to meet you, Teigra! Can I call you Teigra, and you call me Jaspar? Technically I’ll be your boss, but I don’t go in for that oh hello Mr. Accola stuff. Moving to a new polity is supposed to be fun! Not all rules and regulations!”
Teigra blinked silently as the handshake kept going.
“And I am Aurelius Savair, the Herald of Mestibes,” he said, in an imperious voice, hoping it might deflate the boy’s unbearable happiness. “I know this training is not intended for me, but I simply demand that—”
Jaspar shook his hand vigorously, warm and soft with fur. “No, the more the merrier! You’re coming to Ardora just the same as us. It wouldn’t do to have you going in blind!”
“Well, yes,” he said, rubbing feeling back into his fingers. “And a departure which is taking place tomorrow morning. The archon is certainly keen to send her new herald away.”
It was a petulant complaint, and he knew it. The archon had originally wanted to arrange a steed for him, so he could go up to Ardora on his own terms, just like Urosina used to trot around on. Mother had even promised to procure a pegasus. But buggered if he was going to pick up that skill now, thank you very much. Nasty creatures. As liable to kick you in the balls as follow your commands.
“Alas, yes, Your Excellency,” said Jaspar, with an apologetic pout. “Although I fear that might be more our doing than Her Majesty’s. Ms. Securia was keen to have the low envoy position filled a month ago. Plus, tomorrow is the bronze moon, and the last day of high spring. Auspicious omens to begin a new journey, don’t you think?”
Your Excellency...
Aurelius leaned back. The boy was the first to use his new title in casual conversation since he’d been proclaimed. He liked the sound of it, and he certainly didn’t mind it coming from his lips.
He couldn’t recall meeting him before, although that was unsurprising. House Accola famously had more of its brood posted abroad than they had lurking around Mestibes. They were probably the only patrician family for whom an appointment to senator, and being stuck in the city, would be considered a disappointment.
This particular Accola seemed just like the rest of them—perky and personable. Underneath the hyperactive energy, he was rather handsome, in a still-a-puppy-at-thirty sort of way. In all his conquests, Aurelius had never had the good fortune of bedding a minotaur. But their reputations for virility preceded them. And a quick look at this one’s bulge, even nestled beneath the thick fabric of this toga, revealed a very promising—
“Ms. Securia?” said Teigra. “She’s the high envoy, isn’t sh—”
Aurelius sighed an interruption. “High Envoy Ramuna Securia. Third and youngest child of Tian and Tonia Securia. Sister of Senators Paula and Cornel Securia. Appointed low envoy to Ardora at nineteen, mid envoy at twenty-six, and rising to high envoy at just thirty.”
He grinned at Jaspar, but the chipper expression didn’t budge. The gold-braided ring in his nose twitched in interest. “Thirty? Wow! I knew she was young when she got the gig, but I didn’t know it was that young!”
Jaspar passed each of them a wax tablet and a stylus, the dandelion-colored surface already tacky in the windowless room. “So, Ardora! The most important thing to know is that it is completely different from here. Throw away all your ideas about what ‘normal’ means. Mestibes is all about restraint and logic. But up there, the driving force is passion. In Ardora, a great poem wouldn’t be judged on its perfect structure and its immaculate references, but on the power of its delivery. Take their famous Brotherhoods and Sisterhoods. They don’t fight through careful formations or modern technologies, but as berserkers and outriders and little troops taking on whole hordes without any fear! Now, let’s start with trade, probably our most important job down there—well, at least Teigra and mine’s, Your Excellency! As you know Ardora is our main source of vegetables and wine, but did you know—”
And once the lesson started, it never seemed to fucking finish. The morning grew into the afternoon, which faded into pre-evening, until the intentional disobedience of his presence dimmed from delightful to hideously dull. Tiggy was no fun either, dutifully asking questions on trade and diplomatic protocol, jotting things down in progressively smaller letters, until her tablet was more lines than not.
Even he mouthed a thankful prayer when the tutorial finally ended. Teigra left with an armful of scrolls and spent the entire walk to his apartment vibrating with nervous energy, yammering on about the day’s leanings.
Usually, he would have said a few words to calm her. But his mind was elsewhere—wondering the same question that had gnawed at him for days. A question that had only strengthened in the long hours of hearing about how important the relationship with Ardora was to the proper functioning of the city.
For food. For wine. For steeds. For wood.
For everything!
Why in Dimethan has she chosen me for this job? It can’t just be a power move. It just can’t!
He had expected to receive some kind of instruction from the archon after his confirmation. Some discreet little meeting that might shed light on why she had chosen him. But thus far, there had been nothing. No training. No secret briefing. No commands for his journey beyond, “Improve relations with the Ardoran nobility,” and, “Make the meetings that Securia can’t.”
Nothing!
At least, nothing until that moment.
He arrived home to find a curious package on his gold-woven bedspread—wrapped in light-colored leather and yellow twine. Teigra didn’t seem to notice, dumping her mound of scrolls by the pillows, still rattling off facts and nervous laughs.
A piece of parchment was tucked into the twine.
May you meet her standard.
- S
Well, about bloody time!
He tore the twine apart. The wrapping folded away to reveal a sheath of parchment papers, held together by tied leather strips in the corner and wrapped with a beautiful dark-leather folio that bore the same symbol as his new ring—the holy shield of Mesti, crest of the archons. The pile smelled of age and occupancy, a lived-in sort of smell.
