Buorlan paced before desk, shifting through pages sprawled over his desk. He took out a small timepiece from his breast pocket and clicked the release. His eyes shifted to the door and back again. He closed the watch cover with a sign.
Buorlan looked over his shoulder out the tall window. From a distance the people looked like Shadows sliding and undulating over the lower city. The colourful canopies of fabric blended into a vibrant rainbow. Multiple carriages rushed down the king's road heading away from the castle. Buorlan checked the time again. With midday giving over to afternoon the King's address would have finished a few minutes ago. He looked over to the door. He couldn't wait any longer.
Buorlan straightened his waistcoat and pulled on his black cloak. He walked to the other side of his desk and picked up his notebook.
He checked his appearance in the mirror by the door. His black hair was slicked back in a single curving wave. A single obsidian tear drop hung from his right ear. His black cloak draped over his right shoulder reached just above his shoes.The cloak had golden filigree embroidered around the edges and the royal insignia, the skull of a dragon with a sword thrust through its eye, rested on his chest.
"Oh father's before and after may this meeting be as quick and painless as possible." He prayed.
Almoris was late. Bourlan signed. His biggest political ally had stepped away from politics. The royal heir keeping Volus in check was dead and Midnight, who was supposed to distract Ilrune, had created a monumental mess he had to clean up.
Ilrune wants nothing but power. He claims to care about his country but does nothing but raise taxes and swindle the common folk.
Am I any different? Buorlan thought. All the terrible things he had done and would continue to do haunted him. Families torn apart and people's lives ruined. He saw mother's bruised face and her dying on a pyre for killing her abusive husband. No, something has to change.
He would restore the royal bloodline and put a Chalieu back on the throne. Marcs Chalieu will make a great king and Buorlan would continue to improve this country for his mother's sake.
In order to change this country he needed to survive this meeting. Without Almoris's report he was going to be skinned alive.
Buorlan nodded to his reflection ready to face his mentor's wrath. He shifted his notebook, turned the latch and walked out of the room.
The corridor beyond was the same white stone, with patches of black soot in the corners clinging to the walls like a parasite that would kill the host if it was removed. Tall windows to his left let in streams of afternoon sunlight, the opposite wall was covered in large tapestries of events long past. A thin rug ran the length of the hall, a single red line rimmed the outer edge, marking the southern wing.
Buorlan turned to the final tapestry and pulled back the edge, revealing a slim door. Placing his hand on the worn wood he closed his eyes. He reached into his chest and pulled a thin strand of Tue through his veins. The door shook then swung open. He climbed through the crude passageway, crouching in the low tunnel. The door shut behind him, creating a gust of wind through the pitch black. Buorlan counted his steps. He reached a nondescript wooden door at the other end. Buorlan leaned forward listening to the corridor outside. He placed his hand on the wood and reached for that tendril of energy again. Still close, the Tue responded and slithered through his veins to connect with the door. He shuffled backwards as the door opened, creaking on its rusted hinges. He winced at the sound and waited. The tapestry blocked him from any intrusive eyes. Satisfied with the silence, he climbed out from behind the tapestry.
The corridor was a copy of the last, barring the windows. Two of the tapestries were the same as the ones hanging in the previous hall. Some old queen had many of the tapestries replicated and spread throughout the castle to confuse trespassers and would-be assassins. All the corridors have the same rug running their length with different colour borders. Only an astute few have figured out the system without being told. Even fewer learn how to walk between the tapestries.
The rug before him had the same diamond pattern across its centre as the rest but the inside edge now had a green line indicating the northern side of the castle.
Buorlan straightened his cloak and strode down the corridor. He turned left at a crossroads towards a set of larger doors a hundred metres down the hall. The corridor had the same tapestries along the walls with sconces lit between them. The rug was wider and quietly boasted two green lines next to the gold pattern.
Buorlan took out his timepiece and checked it again.
"My lord!" Almoris shouted down the hall.
The older man was dishevelled and out of breath as he reached Buorlan. His top button was undone and his jacket was creased. He bowed and extended the small stack of papers in front of him.
"I thought…I had…missed you." He said, through laboured breaths.
Buorlan looked the man up and down, before flipping through the pages.
With his breathing under control Almoris continued to explain, "On top is the report on the counterfeit gold, on the bottom is the current report for the festival proceeding and a report on the royal treasury."
"Has the finance minister corroborated the report?" Buorlan asked.
"I am afraid not. He has decided to start the spring festivities early." Almoris lowered his voice. "There was also a letter from Lady Bluebelle. I'm sure you're aware of the current discourse in Ochia. I believe the letter is to do with her current travel plans."
Buorlan slowly nodded his head, looking down at the final pages in front of him.
"Thank you, Almoris. Take the rest of the day and enjoy the festival. And the next two as well. You deserve to spend some time with your family."
The man's eyes lit up, the edge of his lips curling before he smoothed his face into neutral professionalism.
"Thank you, my lord." He said. His voice had a slightly higher pitch than usual, as he bent into a deep bow. Almoris rose and walked back the way he had come.
"It would seem you do have a heart inside that cold chest of yours." Iepho said, off to the left.
"Of course, how else would I pump the frigid water through my veins." Buorlan responded, not looking up from the report.
Iepho burst into laughter, a laugh that shook his entire body and infected others. Buorlan watched in cold silence, immune.
Iepho stood at the entrance to an adjacent corridor leaning against the wall. He was slightly shorter than Buorlan. He wore an angular northern style coat, the front joined diagonally at the waist, in an ice blue, open to reveal a thin ruffled shirt beneath. Ice blue pants tucked into white decorative leather boots with broguing up the ankle.
"Considering your outfit, it is ironic you call me cold. You look like an icicle gained sentience." Buorlan spat back.
The gentleman chuckled and looked down at his appearance before responding.
"I dressed simple today to avoid showing you up and this is the thanks I get." He said with an over exaggerated pout.
Buorlan resisted the urge to roll his eyes and walked towards the large doors, slipping the new papers into his notebook. He rapped his knuckles on the door.
"Lan, you need to relax a bit. You may actually find some enjoyment."
"Call me by my full name." He grumbled.
"ENTER." A muffled shout came from within the room.
Buorlan opened the door and they stepped inside.
The room was long with a sparse entryway. The lower half of the walls were covered in a dark wooden panelling. The top half was covered by a red curtain pulled flush to the walls. A long rug ran the length of the room.
The two men walked through the entryway, past the fireplace and set of comfortable lounge chairs to the back of the room.
"Royal Chamberlain." Both men bowed low and spoke in unison.
A large desk sat in front of a high window at the back of the room, the occupant fervently writing. Silnan continued to work, making the younger men wait. The Chamberlain had a head of grey hair cut short. A plump round face and wrinkles as he squinted through a magnifying glass to read. He wore a gold undercoat with strained buttons reaching around his portly midriff. A red overcoat was hung on a hook behind him.
Silnan stopped writing. He looked up at the two men, refilled his wine glass and took a swig.
"Silnan, I-" Buorlan started but was cut off with the swipe of the older man's hand. Buorlan kept his face neutral but anger coursed through his veins.
The Royal Chamberlain took another draft of the wine before placing his glass on the desk.
"You will wait your turn," he growled, "Iepho, for the love of the mother's before and after, make it good news."
"Of course your eminence. With spring upon us the nobles have been flocking back to the capital. I have finalised and confirmed the Queen mother's plans for the coming season. She has graciously agreed to take over from the Queen as she is in isolation. The finance minister has overlooked the plan and agreed to add it to the agenda for the next council with the King."
Iepho handed over a sheet of paper to the Royal Chamberlain, who briefly looked it over.
"The border dispute between Earl Korda and Viscount Trill has been resolved. Both parties have agreed on a new border and construction on a low wall is underway. To continue the amicable relationship I have been in talks of marriage between the two families and they both seem keen.
"Finally, due to Duke Volus' recent unfortunate investment Viscount Pilco has agreed to give his brother a generous loan and donation to the crown in the hopes that the issues will be dealt with discreetly."
Silnan reached forward for his wine glass. "The donation was sizable, I would hope, considering what he is asking for." He took another sip.
"Quite so. But if you are not satisfied with my word, the finance minister and the Viscount will be at the spring banquet tonight."
Silnan nodded in thought. Then turned to Buorlan, his eyes turning sharp. "And your report."
"The festival has proceeded smoothly. We have made a significant profit from previous years. Instead of having the stools taken down if they were without a permit, we added a significant increase in the price. Only those unable to pay were moved on or arrested. This led to significantly less disruptions and unrest with the public."
Buorlan handed over the financial report.
"Has this been approved." Silnan asked.
"The finance minister was busy." Buorlan admitted.
The Chamberlain shook his head looking between the two men. "It seems you are capable in some capacity. What of the gold situation?" The Chamberlain responded before he took another swig of his wine.
"It has been confirmed that one thousand four hundred and twenty counterfeit coins were made. Duke Volus surrendered the thousand in his possession and we managed to find a few hundred between the metal workers who made them. One hundred and forty two coins are still unaccounted for." Buorlan said.
"And how do you intend to find the rest?"
"We have the original creator in custody working on a way to distinguish the real from the fake. As of right now we are tracking Midnight's movements and trying to identify where she used the coins."
"You're telling me that there are counterfeit coins, that are indistinguishable from the real thing, in current circulation," his voice began to rise as his anger bubbled to the surface, "and you have no way of fixing it!" The Royal Chamberlain rose from his chair, his gut resting on the table as he leaned forward. "Your incompetence is an insult to the King," he spat his words, "I know your ambition to one day sit in this seat and yet you fail again and again. I thought I taught you better."
The Chamberlain fell back into his chair, his midriff spilling over the arms. Silence washed over the room. He took a deep breath before addressing the two men in front of him.
"I understand the competitive nature of your positions. But, you both have separate jobs and you work for me. The incident at the winter solstice will never happen again. Am I understood?"
"I wasn't prese-" Buorlan began.
"I won't hear your excuses about that blue haired fairy!" Silnan interrupted. "You may not have attended the banquet but I know you played a hand in it! Understood?"
"Yes, your eminence." Iepho replied.
"Of course, Royal Chamberlain." Buorlan replied.