Excerpt: Drums of War

Silence ensued… it started out as a brief lull, then grew into an uncomfortable stretch of throat clearing, silverware rearranging and an intense study of the table cloth and the floral-and-glass centerpiece. All the while, Arvin sat in his dark colors, like an abnormal shadow in full sunlight, hands laced in front of him on the table, untouched food forgotten.

When finally Guerrin spoke again, his voice was so quiet, Arvin could scare hear his words. He tilted his head to the side to catch his brother’s confession as it was practically whispered to him across the table. “It’s better for you that she’s gone.”

More silence. Their eyes met. Arvin’s clasped hands clenched, fingers dimpling knuckles. The younger brother did not notice. “Is it? Like when she left before?”

Guerrin paled. “That was different, of course—”

“How daft do you think I am, brother? Could you not trust that I had my reasons for allowing this…”

“I don’t think ‘reason’ has much to do with it anymore—” he cut himself off as the duke’s fist slammed down upon the table, rattling the plates and silverware.

Guerrin sat back against the cushioned chair, one hand working at his napkin, the only action belying his nervous agitation. When the duke spoke, it was in a low even voice bitten between clenched teeth. “I will not have my reasoning called into question. You are not aware of the entirety of my work—”

“And she is needed for that—how?”

Arvin looked away for a few moments, took in a deep breath, collected himself. “Let us just say that for the nonce she is—useful.”

A snort of surprise from the other side of the table. “I’m… quite too astonished to comment on that claim. But I’m sure, as always, you have your reasons. You do nothing without a reason.”

“Quite. And you know the reason, then, why you are here today.” Guerrin’s eyes fluttered several times in irritation and he looked away.

The elder brother shook his head in mock amazement… “Really, Guerrin, I don’t have the time to be touched by your brotherly concern for my welfare—”

“At least have the decency to disguise the sarcasm in your voice,” he murmured.

Arvin reached down and produced a leather folio, pushing it across the eyelet lace tablecloth towards his brother. Guerrin threw his brother a speculative glance before reaching to open it. There was one paper inside of it—edged with scarlet trim. Guerrin recognized it immediately—an Imperial death warrant. The Duke-Regent scanned the particulars, spending only a few seconds on the name imprinted there before offering his observation.

“Unsigned. Unsealed.”

“But ready for the necessary validation whenever it is needed.”

Guerrin’s mouth straightened to a grim line. A long silence broken only by the hiss of fountains and gardeners low voices as they carried out their work in the inner garden of the palace.

Finally, Arvin’s eyes narrowed… “Did you do it to protect me or to protect her?”