Chapter 8

Counselors Approve

With his problems, Darian came to someone he had never expected to ask for advice: Lokir.

As he entered the man’s cabinet, the overpowering smell of garlic and socks hit him like a wall. Despite the low ceiling, the room felt cluttered with various scrolls and books scattered haphazardly across the table, the floor, and even under the table. It gave an accurate impression of what kind of man Lokir was: disorganized, but incredibly knowledgeable.

Without a king he and Narim had a lot of stuff to do so Darian didn’t want to bother counselor for too long. But as he was about to speak, a small balding man in black stepped out of the room, barely bowing to Darian.

“How may I help?” Lokir appeared from behind a towering stack of books, picking up some scrolls from the floor.

“I have a serious topic to discuss”

I’m all ears,” Lokir said, throwing up his hands. Something in his voice cracked with mockery. “You may have a seat, if you wish.”

Darian sat down on the uncomfortable little chair, trying to ignore the scattered papers that Lokir had carelessly thrown around them...

“Hard to believe this very man wrote a book about us and our kingdom,” Darian thought bitterly, feeling a wave of frustration wash over him.

Silence hang up in the air, only the crackling sounds of woods in the hearth intermittently breaking it.

Darian spoke, his voice heavy with determination. “I intent to follow my king’s last will and continue the Serpent-Slayer line...”

As he started to speak, Lokir’s eyes barely registered his presence. The counselor seemed more interested in organizing his papers and books than in listening to Darian’s concerns.

“With the queen,” Darian ended.

Lokir paused and with a swing threw pillars of sheets and books over his table, causing the wine glass to flip over. Suddenly, he was interested.

“So with the queen. Hm,” Lokir repeated emotionlessly, surprising Darian. For the first time, Lokir’s thoughts were completely unreadable.

“Yes, and I need your help with that,” said Darian.

Lokir sat down, picking up his glass from where it had fallen, and began digging the meat out of his teeth with a fish bone. “Interesting,” he said cryptically.

“Interesting?” asked Darian, confused about Lokir’s reaction.

“It’s interesting because it’s not the first time I’ve been asked for something like this, my prince,” Lokir replied.

Darian raised an eyebrow.

“Actually, if you had read my book about your history, you would know that the Serpent-Slayers have a lot of experience in this regard,” Lokir said.

“King Angus,” interrupted Darian, impatiently.

“So you read it. I’m impressed, my prince,” Lokir smiled and leaned back in his chair, continuing to use the fish bone.

“And what about the ‘untrue rumors’?” continued Darian.

Lokir took the bone out of his mouth and smiled like he’d never smiled before. That was enough of an answer.

“Honestly speaking, many years ago, King Inglud actually intended to share a bed with his mother, Queen Lazerta, as well. He wanted to emulate Angus in everything, so he took that step,” Lokir revealed, relishing in the shock on Darian’s face.

Darian’s eyes widened. Lokir’s words hung in the air like a noxious fog, and Darian recoiled from the implications of what he had just heard. “Wait, you’re saying that the king ... with queen Lazerta?”

Lokir nodded and Darian leaned in, eager to hear more of this tale. “And ... did he succeed?”

Lokir’s smile was sinister, “Well. It’s a long story but ... Yeah. they shared a bed only once, and there was a child born from that union, but it’s unclear whether it was his seed or not. Regardless, they never engaged in such behavior again.”

“What happened to that child?”

Lokir shrugged, “Have no idea. It doesn’t matter I suppose...” Lokir smiled again looking at him. “What does matter is that Inglud asked Nome to do the same before the campaign against the barbarians.”

“Nome? He asked Nome to share a bed with the queen?” Darian repeated again, looking probably like a fool with open mouth and widened eyes.

“Indeed he did. Hehehehe” Lokir giggled. ‘You should have seen the prince’s face.””I can imagine,” Darian said, his mind still reeling from the bombshell Lokir had just dropped.

“So Nome wasn’t really into any of that stuff. He declined and left for war,” Lokir took another sip of his wine, some of it spilling onto the table. He set the bone aside and leaned in, his gaze fixed on Darian. “But. It seems you are much more worthy of the title ‘Serpent-Slayer’ than I originally thought. My apologies for underestimating you, my prince.”

Darian leaned back in his chair, still trying to process what he had just heard. Nome had never mentioned anything about sharing a bed with Nymira. But then again, would he?

Lokir interrupted Darian’s thoughts, “So, Darian Serpent-Slayer. Are you planning to do what you intend to do? Do you intend to share a bed with your queen?”

Darian met Lokir’s gaze, his voice steady, “Yes, I do.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll help you. I’ve had a plan in place for a long time, just waiting for the right prince to come along. I’ll talk to the queen. And you, do me a favor. Talk to Narim. That old...” He wiped his mouth of wine. “The old scoundrel might try to interfere and ruin everything. The king promised to take care of him, but...”

“I’ll talk to him. You can be sure he won’t mind.”

As Lokir spoke, Darian couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. He had found an ally in Lokir. Who could have thought?

“I’ll give you a sign when it’s time to talk business with the queen,” he giggled. “For now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to deal with my business right here on my table.”

Darian nodded, got up from his chair, and disappeared out the door.

It was amazing how everything he’d heard had turned his picture upside down. So Inglud had coveted his mother, too, and even slept with her, and then, many years later, offered to do the same to Nome? I wonder if Nymira knew about this. I guess it doesn’t matter now.

If Lokir has promised to sort it out, let’s hope he will succeed. He hadn’t at all expected that the meeting with the counselor would turn out so favorably and successfully for his plans.

After a few minutes Darian appeared before Narim’s doors and entered. The old man sat by the hearth, reading a letter from a large pile on his table. Unlike the sparse chambers of Lokir, Narim’s study was filled with papers, books, and scrolls carefully arranged in cabinets and bookshelves that lined the room. The table lacked any signs of food, but the room was filled with a pleasant aroma of herbal ointment.

“Ah, my prince,” Narim said, looking at the newcomer through his spectacles.

“No need for formalities,” Darian closed the door firmly behind him, making sure no one was following him, and adjusted his doublet. “I’ve come to discuss business.”

Narim carefully wrapped up the letter he was reading, but didn’t put it on the table. Instead, he looked Darian over with his colorless eyes.

“Before we begin ... I received a letter,” the old man began in his slow, aged voice, exhaling deeply.

“A letter?” Darian asked, surprised. He came closer and felt the warmth of the fireplace on his face. He already knew the answer to his question, but was afraid to admit it. “From Nome?” Darian barely managed to utter the name, and Narim’s slow nod dispelled all doubts.

The old man unfolded the letter and read it from beginning to end.

“I deeply mourn the death of our king and am aware of my right to the throne. However, at the moment, I cannot inform you of any good news. I have been severely injured on the battlefield, and our enemies have almost breached one of the last lines of defense. I will return as soon as I am able. Protect the queen. Nome.”