(The Dark Servant)Midnight Matters by A. Ellas (young adult books to read .txt) 📗

himself. “The Ylion calls him cousin. Please use your head. You don’t have to put on a show for me.”

Jezaia sighed at him, then shot Rak a glance. “He was always a willful brat, not like you, Jethain. You were such a tractable child. Where did I go wrong?”

“I grew up and now think for myself,” Jethain said in a weary tone.

Larin, thinking the danger was past, started cleaning up the mess on the floor. The queen, spying a target she did have power over, pointed to the servant. “Take that slave to Hasaviz for training!” One of her personal guards, Gadel, moved forward and Larin began to cry. Jethain shot to his feet and immediately doubled over, gasping for breath.

Rak pushed Jethain down and shoved Larin behind him. He turned to face the queen and pointed at the door. “Exo! Get out!” he thundered. The uproar brought Jethain’s guards into the room. Orste and Fentri took up positions to protect the prince.

“I’m the Queen! You’re a guest. You have no right to order me around in my palace, my kingdom. Guards! Arrest him!”

“I am a high priest and this is my patient.” Rak roared back. “That supersedes rank and protocol. Do not touch me!” Green lightning crackled about him in response to his rage.

“Arrest the King’s son?” The Queen’s guards exchanged looks with the Prince’s men. “We must hear that from the King’s lips, Your Majesty.”

“Then take that slave! That is my order!” Jezaia shrieked.

The guards shifted foot to foot, torn between obeying the queen and facing the green lightning about Rak.

Rak’s wings spread to their impressive twelve foot span, green lighting tracing along the spars and black fire dancing on the sails. The snarling death hound stood before Rak, guarding both his master and the slave his master shielded.

“You will not touch

him

, either,” said Rak. “Leave, now, before I lose my temper.”

“My money’s on the high priest crackling with power, if you catch my meaning,” said Fentri as he gripped Gadel’s shoulder. The guard nodded agreement and stepped back.

“Mother, go,” Jethain gasped from his curled position.

“How could you abandon me? Don’t you love me?” Jezaia sobbed at Jethain. Morth growled, lowered his head, and stepped towards her. She gasped at the hound, turned, and fled. Her guards filed out in her wake as quickly as was humanly possible.

“Good riddance,” muttered Rak.

“By your leave, high priest, may we return to our posts?” Orste was very, very respectful. Fentri, a solid old war horse, wasn’t the least bit perturbed.

“You may. Keep her out of here.”

“I’ll answer to Father should she cause trouble. I’ll not see you disciplined and you know Captain Jisten answers to me,” Jethain added.

“Yes, Your Eminence, and yes, Your Highness.” Orste and Fentri saluted before they resumed their post in the hallway.

“Araken, fetch a manumission form from my bedside, please?” Jethain was still curled on the chair. “The palace is no longer safe for Larin.”

Larin kissed Jethain’s hand.

Rak’s wings vanished back beneath his cloak again as he walked to the bedside, found the right form and bought it back, along with pen and ink. Then he set everything aside in order to check Jethain’s pulse. “You stood up too fast. Really, brother, you must learn to trust me.”

“I’ve never had anyone but Jisten to trust,” Jethain said quietly. He uncurled enough to scrawl on the papers. He was used to writing on them from odd positions. The scribes cursed every time they had to make heads or tails of his writing, although there was a running joke as to what position the prince was in when he had made out this particular document.

“Here, go quickly, before the queen regains her courage and goes to Hasaviz,” Jethain warned and handed the papers to Larin, who bowed and kissed more hands, including Rak’s, to the priest’s annoyance. Larin had a bounce to his step as he walked out.

“Are you nauseated?” asked Rak. He hadn’t missed Jethain’s hand position, and although the gut wounds were healed now, the re-injuries, purgings and bloodlettings had taken a toll on the prince’s health.

Jethain shook his head, his mournful gaze on the ruins of the breakfast tray. Rak put a hand on his shoulder. “Brother, I am sorry I was not faster, I did not expect—”

“I hear you’ve ruffled my Queen’s feathers this morning,” said the king as he strode in unannounced, a harried looking Jisten at his elbow. The captain saw the mess on the floor and sidestepped to order someone to clean it up.

“No wonder you always look tired,” muttered Rak. “Your bedroom is a muster point for half the palace!”

“Jethain will get plenty of rest now that you’re my heir,” said Owain. “Jethain can command the army full time, he’ll make a fine Lord Marshal for you.” Owain glanced at Jethain and added, “But he’ll have to move out of this suite, since it’s for the crown prince. The packing sevants should be here any minute.”

“I am not your heir!” Rak protested yet again. “Your Majesty, stop this at once!”

“You don’t want these quarters?” “I did not even agree to become your heir if Jethain died, and he is not dead. My brother, your heir, is very much alive and will remain that way.” Rak took a deep breath. “And ix, I do not want his rooms!”

“You are eldest and thus Crown Prince. Your God returned you to us. Do you want my quarters?” Owain had a happy, dreamy look on his face. Rak would have bet an entire Okyran gem mine that he was thinking of moving farther away from the queen’s quarters.

“I am happy with the rooms I have,” Rak shouted. “I am not your heir, and I will never be your heir. I am a high priest of Zotien.”

“All this fussing accomplishes nothing. Your God has made no objection. On the contrary, He sent you back to us. You will strengthen Koilatha!”

“It is not done,” Rak