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I gesture toward a nearby chair. “Let’s talk, Tarron.”
“‘Course.” He takes a seat, moving gracefully in spite of his bulk.
He waits for me to speak. Tarron’s smart. He knows when to keep quiet.
I stare at him intently, trying to read him. On the outside, he gives away nothing, but his heart is beating a little faster than it should.
I make him uneasy.
“What are you going to do, Tarron, when the old man dies?”
Tarron lets out a deep sigh. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’ll be straight with you, Your Highness. We can’t serve your brother. He isn’t his own man. I fear he’s been corrupted by the Dark Arts. If he’s going to succeed your father, we’ll all relinquish our positions and go look for private mercenary work. The young prince would probably have us gone, anyway. He’s surrounded himself with people from House Talavarra.” He gives me a wry look. “I hear there’s a certain young lord in the north who hires mercenaries from time to time, if they’re good enough.”
“And if this young lord had need of you for more than a season or two, would you consider permanent employment?”
Tarron shrugs. “Might consider it. If the pay and conditions were right.”
“I think the young lord might be highly suggestible when it came to pay and conditions. There might even be the opportunity to remain in Lukiria.”
“We’ll only follow someone that’s stronger than us. I think the young lord might fit that criteria.”
“Absolute loyalty. No questions. No objections.”
“Once we swear an oath, that’s a given.”
Have we just negotiated the terms of the Elite Guard’s new contract?
I lean forward. “Tarron, he’s dead.”
For a moment, the Commander of the Imperial Elite Guard says nothing. He just looks at me, his brow furrowing in concern. He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised.
“My condolences, Your Highness,” he says at last. If he’s aware of the rift between father and I, he doesn’t show it.
“Under no circumstances should news of his death reach the outside—not yet, anyway. There are a few things I need to sort out before the rest of the empire finds out that father’s gone. Can you accept this?”
“I can understand the reasoning behind it. There’ll be vultures swooping in from every angle.”
“Exactly. I’ll ask again, Tarron. Can you and the rest of the Elite Guard abide by my orders and make sure not a single hint of father’s death leaks to the outside world?”
Tarron frowns. “I’m sure it’s possible. And we… would be willing.”
“Ikillrats, Commander. And I’m sure you can understand that there’s nothing that would stop me from doing so.”
Tarron appraises me warily. “Not a single one of us would be so stupid. Once we’re sworn, there’s nothing that would compromise our loyalty.”
“The loyalty you’ve shown to my father is to be commended. Even when there might have been good cause to question his orders, you’ve served him unfailingly.” I give Tarron a pointed look, for my statement is more of a question. As my father’s personal bodyguards, the Elite Guard have witnessed the empire’s innermost workings. They would know that father, for all his strength, was also imperfect.
And yet they’ve never betrayed him.
“I believe in Rahava,” Tarron says quietly. “Before your grandfather and your father came along, we were all just a bunch of warring tribes. Your grandfather united this empire, and your father kept it together. Stability. That’s what we want.”
I bite my tongue. Father incited more than a few senseless wars in his lifetime, but now isn’t the time to be arguing the point. “And if I swear to you, Tarron, that I’ll do everything in my power to keep the empire stable; to ensure the people of Rahava knowpeace, will you look beyond what I’ve become?”
The big warrior chuckles softly. “You don’t have to question such things, Your Highness. We’ve already seen how you go about things; what your intentions are. The Duchy of Tyron is proof enough of that. You’ve transformed that place from a shithole into a powerhouse. One of my cousins on my da’s side lives there. He’s one of your boys; fought in the Northern War. He writes me from time to time. He’s married a Tyronese woman. They’ve got a baby on the way. Says life’s good in the north. He used to be a doubter, but now he wouldn’t live anywhere else. And he won’t tolerate a single bad word against you. That man would die for you, Your Highness.”
“What’s his name, Tarron?”
“Erdion Brancun. You probably wouldn’t remember him, but—”
