Page 79 of The Concubine King
The king killed the high priest.It wasn’t stated outright, but the knowledge of it thrummed in every corner of the palace.
It was easy to locate where the guards had vanished to.Half of them were at the front doors, holding back a crowd of people trying to push through.Ethyr could pinpoint nobles and commoners alike, and surely government officials among them.They shouted over each other, the cacophony of voices at once furious, terrified, curious, or anguished.Upon spotting him coming down the stairs, their fervor pitched to a higher degree and several guards brandished swords to threaten them back down.
“Your Divinity.”The voice was gentle but he jumped anyway, lurching away from it.Gionan straightened from his bow, no hint of his usual annoying pleasantness to be found.Ethyr couldn’t determine whether it was grief or resentment that kept him dour.“It is best you remain in your room.”
“Where’s Poyut?”
“She’s busy.”
“Busy?”Ethyr repeated.“With what?”
“We’re all busy,” Gionan said wearily.“She is trying to coordinate the guards and help Klara with funeral preparations, and I need to keep on top of the staff and official inquiries.So will you please return to your room?”
“Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”
“No.”It wasn’t just a firm statement, it was cold admonishment.Ethyr knew his presence would never be helpful, it could only be an obstacle, but he’d spent enough days locked up in his room.
“I don’t care,” he told Gionan.“Take me to Poyut.”
“Your Divinity—”
“That was an order from your king,” he interrupted sharply.Gionan stared at him, then turned with tired resignation and started down the corridor.
Poyut was in the study.Ethyr’s eyes went immediately, instinctively, to where Yorith had lain, but he was gone.The blood had been cleaned so that not even a drop was left to acknowledge what had happened there.It didn’t change how clearly Ethyr could see it in his mind.
Klara was seated at the priest’s desk, frantically scratching out words onto paper.Her pen wasn’t covered in blood despite Ethyr briefly, absurdly, expecting it to be.
“Ethyr?”
Poyut’s voice widened the black tunnel that had become his vision.She stood beside Klara, leaning her palms on the desk.Two guards stood in front of it, waiting patiently for orders.Their disrespect and hostility toward the peasant-king’s guard had vanished—easily, it seemed, so eager they were for someone to take charge.
“He asked to see you,” Gionan told her flatly, and excused himself with a dip of his head.
She straightened and spoke steadily to the waiting guards.“When Head Priest Klara is finished, take it to Justice Malvia.”She hurried over to Ethyr, pulling him into the hall.“What are you doing here?”
“What happened to Lyrian?”
Her expression darkened.“Given that he seemingly committed no crime, we sent him home.”
“Will he come back?”
“Without a doubt,” she muttered.“But none of that matters right now.You’re better off staying in your room until this has settled down.”
He frowned.“What’s going to happen now?”
“He was the king’s advisor for almost fifty years,” she said quietly.He lowered his gaze.“And the High Priest for even longer.There’ll be city-wide commemoration and mourning.Klara suggested we give everyone at least a week.Then there’ll be a council meeting to determine the new order of things.Technically the king chooses a new High Priest, but traditionally it is the Head Priest who is chosen anyway, so that’s not something you need to worry about.Klara is ready and willing to take the role.”
Ethyr sighed.“So Klara will be my new puppet master?”
“Not… necessarily,” Poyut admitted reluctantly.“The council votes on who becomes the new advisor.”
“So it doesn’t have to be the High Priest?”
“No.”
“Lyrian made it sound like Yorith manipulated his way into the position.”
Poyut closed her eyes and pinched her nose.“You shouldn’t pay attention to anything he says.”
