by Max Barry

Latest Forum Topics

Advertisement

Post

Region: Skyreach

Norvath
Shortly after the Columbian delegates had left to their new quarters, King Albin was ruminating over a glass of whiskey on recent events in one of the Palace's many smoking-rooms.
First had been the Kromkarie rebellion that had sparked all this- the catalyst for the split between Monarchy and Democracy.
Then had come the Internationale, and the widening rift that even now looked set to swallow the region whole.
And then-
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a polite cough, and he looked up to see Duke Tritten leaning delicately on the doorframe to the smoking-room.
"Care for a little company?" he inquired.
Albin gestured to the armchair nearby, and the Duke drew it up and collapsed gracefully into its embrace.
"A little early in the evening to start on the heavier drinks, isn't it?" He nodded to the bottle of whiskey and glasses resting on the little table between him and the King. Albin shrugged.
"It's a little late to start questioning my drinking choices."
"Fair enough." He was already pouring himself a glass. There was a short silence as he leaned back. and took a short sip, in which Albin studied him more closely. Duke Tritten was considered something of an oddity among the ranks of nobility; The Trittens were a West Predorian noble family, and Duke Merrick Slavki Tritten was the only member of that family to defect to the Middle Predorians. Almost overnight, he'd become an excellent intermediary between the "New Blood" of the newer noble houses and the "Old Guard" of older houses, demonstrating an ability to deftly manipulate almost anyone across the breadth of the nobility. It spoke volumes of his skill and usefulness to the Crown that he'd attained the vaunted title of a full landholding Duke, and by all accounts his estate in the southern foothills was doing very nicely indeed. He'd amassed a following of younger nobles who carried out his little missions and excursions, and the "Tritteners" were already a familiar sight running about Esterden.
As he finished his sip and leaned back into his chair, he flicked an eyebrow at Albin.
"The Prince is going home in the next few weeks, isn't he?"
"Prince Magnus? Yes. Shortly after winter." The young Norvic prince had been residing in the Palace for the past year or so now, as his father had decided it would be good for relations- and for his personality- if he were to foster in Middle Predor for a time.
"And I've heard Sophie has struck up quite the friendship with said prince. Unexpected, that one."
The king cocked an eyebrow at him. "What are you hinting at..."
"Oh, nothing."
Albin gave him a suspicious glance, then let the silence continue as he drew a sip from his glass.

"So, when were you planning on sending her to Norvath to foster?"
The king almost choked on his whiskey, reducing him to spluttering. Coughing, he glared at the Duke. "Where did you get that from? I haven't spoken a word to anyone."
His Intelligence Minister smiled as he reached for his glass.
"Really? You told the Queen you were thinking about it. Or was she mistaken?"
Albin shot a sharp look at him, but the Duke's eyes merely grinned at him over his glass.
"What have you been doing with my wife?"
"Why, merely chatting, of course! You know we are lifelong friends. By the way, her cooking is excellent. Stop getting food prepared for you and try it sometime."
"She cooked you dinner?!"
"Not like you've been eating any of it recently. But enough about her cooking. I feel sending the young Princess to Norvath is an excellent idea. You're always trying to get her out of the palace and out of her bubble- she'll be outside the Palace and in the company of a friend she trusts. And I suspect she might take to it better than you think."
"Hmmph. And I don't suppose you had an idea for when we might send her over?"
"Well, you were thinking of inviting the Norvic airfleet to take part in the upcoming Fleet Review, no?"
"I haven't- damn you, Tritten, where do you keep getting this from!? Certainly not my wife!"
"Oh, you know," He waved a hand airily. "I have my sources.
Anyway, why not stage the Review a little earlier this year, and then the Prince and Princess can travel together with the Norvic airfleet? It will be an excellent opportunity to strengthen the ties with Norvath, which I know you're eager to do, and it'll get the young princess out of your hair and hopefully give her a little spark."
Albin nodded. "I could do that."
"Excellent! Once again I steer your rule from the shadows, as my rivals constantly grumble. Now, I have a meeting to attend, so I'm afraid I must be going."
"Would you like me to get the door," The king remarked sarcastically, "Or will you get your sources to do it for you?"
"No need to bother, your majesty;" He smiled. "I'll just take the window."
And in front of Albin's doubtful eyes he got up, drained his glass, sauntered over to the single window looking out over the palace gardens, opened it, and stepped daintily out.
A faint yell from a royal guard as the Duke landed gracefully in front of him came drifting up through the window.
He makes a good point, though, Albin considered. It might give Sophie some life...

...Wait a minute, that's a third-story window!

---------------
Later that week, a formal invitation was sent to Norvath for its airfleet to take part in the annual Predorian Fleet Review as honoured guests.
As he waited for a response, King Albin continued his fruitless attempts to figure out just where the Chief Intelligence Minister, Duke Tritten, kept getting these little snippets of information.

ContextReport