“And your integrity?” Namel asked.
“I serve the people, and they serve Lior. If the Master serves neither...”
Namel nodded and dismissed his student for the evening before turning to his bed for the night. Both cups of tea remained untouched by the dying fire.
Later that week, Namel stood before the King. “I don't know how he's doing it,” Kirlas spoke with a control that did nothing to hide his anger, “but your Master is undermining my authority, and this business with the Lady is not helping.”
“He could have no conceivable methods through which to control the time of the First Frost, m'Lord,” Namel began gently.
“Of course not,” Kirlas brushed off the reassurance. “I did not call you hear to have my fears dismissed. I speak to you as the only honest man in robes to be found in this city. I have seen your face as your Master speaks, and I have heard tales of your current reputation within the House. If you are willing to question your Master to his face, do not support him before the son of your god.”
“You do not believe that you are deity or the son of deity any more than I,” Namel charged quietly.
“And that is why I seek your council,” Kirlas said earnestly. “Since I was a boy, you taught me the responsibilities of my birth, the responsibilities that come with the faith of my people, and I find myself more and more impotent to exercise those responsibilities in any way.” His anger was rising.
Namel turned away from his king to look out upon the city through the high window. They were standing in the only room in which they were certain of privacy. It was a tower room with one door and no room for hidden entrances. With one trustworthy guard on the stairs, they were free from the fear of being heard.
As he looked out upon the city, he remembered the youth of his king.
“I serve the people, and they serve Lior. If the Master serves neither...”
Namel nodded and dismissed his student for the evening before turning to his bed for the night. Both cups of tea remained untouched by the dying fire.
Later that week, Namel stood before the King. “I don't know how he's doing it,” Kirlas spoke with a control that did nothing to hide his anger, “but your Master is undermining my authority, and this business with the Lady is not helping.”
“He could have no conceivable methods through which to control the time of the First Frost, m'Lord,” Namel began gently.
“Of course not,” Kirlas brushed off the reassurance. “I did not call you hear to have my fears dismissed. I speak to you as the only honest man in robes to be found in this city. I have seen your face as your Master speaks, and I have heard tales of your current reputation within the House. If you are willing to question your Master to his face, do not support him before the son of your god.”
“You do not believe that you are deity or the son of deity any more than I,” Namel charged quietly.
“And that is why I seek your council,” Kirlas said earnestly. “Since I was a boy, you taught me the responsibilities of my birth, the responsibilities that come with the faith of my people, and I find myself more and more impotent to exercise those responsibilities in any way.” His anger was rising.
Namel turned away from his king to look out upon the city through the high window. They were standing in the only room in which they were certain of privacy. It was a tower room with one door and no room for hidden entrances. With one trustworthy guard on the stairs, they were free from the fear of being heard.
As he looked out upon the city, he remembered the youth of his king.
