Page 116 of The Concubine King
“Former King Verusias has invited you to his estate.”He held out a scroll.Ethyr took it slowly and pulled it open, neck pricking.It was much shorter than Lyrian’s.
To the Divine King,
It would be my honor to host Your Divinity at my residence.Please come at your leisure, as I am quite at mine.
I heard Klara is the new High Priest, do give her my congratulations.If she’s noticed the absence of the book Come Hither, All Things—you can tell her yes, I took it when I left.If you visit, I shall give it to you to return.You can assure her it is in the exact same condition.
I look forward to meeting Your Divinity and hearing about palace events that I’ve missed out on.
Awaiting your arrival,
Divine Verusias
Eighteenth.Thirteen in the First Year of the Ethyrian Age
Verusias’s handwriting was the same elegant, looping script of all the priests and it took a while for Ethyr to decipher it.When he did, he looked up at Lyrian, who raised his eyebrows.
“Why is he inviting me…?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”Lyrian asked.“Naturally he’d want to meet his successor.”
“I guess,” Ethyr mumbled, looking the scroll over again.Why now?Based on the last sentence, perhaps he’d heard of all the gossip and wanted a first-hand account.
“Do you think you will go?”When Ethyr didn’t reply, Lyrian continued cavalierly.“Verusias was king for nearly two decades.Perhaps you could learn some valuable tips from him.”
Ethyr glanced up again.It was so hard to read Lyrian, he didn’t know why he tried.And, per usual, the man was right.The previous kings were the only other people who knew the gods with the same intimacy.Perhaps Ethyr could learn more about them, as they certainly gave little enough information about themselves.And having been king for so long, Verusias may have had a better understanding of the politics and responsibilities which Ethyr was sorely lacking.In fact, it was hard to think of a reason not to go.He was more of a hindrance than a help in the palace and in Malor’s plans.
“Yes,” he said.“I think I will go.”
Verusias lived south of Mahyria, in the Walklands.In the north, swamps took up most of the terrain, and croplands were scattered in patches around them.Where there weren’t marshes or crops, there were clusters of trees and fields of tall, wild grasses.
The Walklands, perhaps predictably, were significantly more cultivated and walkable than the north.Huge swaths of land were filled with methodically plotted crops, planted in precise squares and leaving clean, flat paths between them.Any ground absent of crops were either brown patches of cropland lying fallow, or grassy surface that was flat and solid enough for the entire carriage to roll over without a hint of trouble.
That was rarely needed, however, because the roads, while not paved like in the cities, were meticulously kept.In fact, they passed a crew of workers taking up the road to fill in holes and pat down the dirt—hence why the carriage ventured onto the grass in the first place.
Ethyr stared out the window for most of the day-long trip.He had heard about the Walklands from the few travelers who made it as far north as his commune, but seeing it was a completely different matter.It was as foreign as it had always sounded.
They did not pass a commune market for the entire day; Ethyr couldn’t determine if there were communes at all.Unlike the villages of mismatched stone huts Ethyr was familiar with, the buildings here were well spaced out and constructed with beautiful, uniform stones or even occasionally—to his shock—wood.Which meant they were either very, very old, or belonged to someone very, very rich, because forests had been missing from the south lands for centuries.Even up north, wood was used sparingly, reserved mostly for fuel.
All of this Ethyr sorely wished he could talk to Poyut about and ask questions, but she rode outside on her horse.Even if the seat opposite him wasn’t taken up by a small chest of his clothing, she refused to ride in the carriage with him, something about security risk and optimal efficiency.He didn’t know, he just missed her company.
They left in the morning, and Ethyr managed to stay up past nightfall, sightseeing by the light of a fat moon.Eventually he passed out from exhaustion and the lull of smooth travel over well-groomed roads.
He woke to a rap on the door and shot upright, disoriented for a few seconds as he looked around the tiny sun-filled compartment and recalled where he was.
“Your Divinity,” Poyut said, as strong as always, but Ethyr could tell she was holding back fatigue.Unlike his privileged situation, she’d had to ride a horse all night.“We have arrived.”
He rubbed sleep from his eyes and unlocked the carriage door, letting it swing open, and Poyut stepped aside with an offer of her hand.
Ethyr hadn’t known what to expect of a past king’s estate, or any estate.He had thought it would look like a mini version of the palace, the same way Malor’s house had.It was nowhere close.
The main house, made of the same manicured stone as many southern homes, appeared to only have one floor, but that floor spread out across an area nearly the same width of the palace.This in itself was impressive, but there were other buildings scattered across the grounds as well—none quite so large, but all together certainly adding up to an even larger surface area than the palace.
Gorgeous gardens framed the front of the estate with vibrant greenery and colorful flowers, and behind the main building Ethyr caught glimpses of what Poyut had once described as a wine vineyard on one side, and an orchard of fruit trees on the other.
Attendants who had spotted their arrival—not difficult, as the land was so flat they could be seen coming long before they reached the entrance—were standing outside the door waiting.Their uniform was different from the palace attendants, but Ethyr could recognize them immediately from their stiff stances and overly polite gestures.
As soon as his feet were on the ground, the four of them gave deep bows.One woman rose first and stepped forward.
