Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(82)

Peithon mused, pondering these events, thinking about how it affected Xanthos and himself.

‘The silver?’

‘Here.’ Peithon handed out the coin. ‘You have done well. Keep this up and I will see you prosper. My position as master of trade is a very lucrative one. I am sure you understand.’

The steward hesitated. ‘I have more news. But this is worth more than one silver. It involves you.’

Peithon frowned. ‘How much?’

‘Five silver.’

‘If it isn’t as important as you say . . .’

‘Trust me, you will find it so.’

Peithon returned to the moneybox and counted out five silver coins, each bearing the impression of the eagle of Phalesia.

‘Lord, I overheard the queen bringing up uncertainties regarding the payments from the king’s treasury to the workers on the new harbor wall.’

Peithon kept his face carefully smooth, hiding his emotions. ‘Go on.’

‘It was difficult to hear. She said she has a witness, a merchant, who will prove the validity of what she says.’

Fear clenched his stomach but all he did was murmur. ‘Who is the witness?’

‘I do not know. The king saw me nearby and asked me to leave.’

Peithon forced a smile. ‘Here is your silver. I am pleased you have brought this to my attention. Never fear, Alastor. This misunderstanding will be cleared up.’

‘Lord.’ The steward bowed and departed.

Peithon wondered if he had left any loose ends. He had carefully cultivated strong alliances with the merchants, who stood to benefit as much as he did from their arrangements. He murmured names and considered each man in turn. Who would betray him? Who would stand to benefit?

He decided it was time to see the king.




Peithon found the king and his queen out on the Orange Terrace, sitting on the stone benches and staring out to sea. Their heads were close together; they stopped speaking when he approached.

Markos smiled and stood, fixing a warm expression of welcome on his closest adviser. Although stooped, he still had the frame of a warrior, and there was no thinning of his thick, curly white hair. His matching beard covered his mouth but didn’t hide the small scar on his left cheek.

Peithon remembered when the king had taken that wound, long ago in the war against Tanus. Once they had both been young men, strong and invincible, with the athletic builds of the world’s finest warriors. Markos had been ten years Peithon’s senior, but a strong friendship had grown. He remembered how close they had been then.

Now Markos’s shoulders were hunched while Peithon’s muscle had run to fat. Time had passed. This world was a different place.

‘Peithon,’ the king said. ‘Please, sit with us.’

The queen didn’t stand, nor did she speak or smile. Over time Thea had poisoned the king against Peithon, and she now had her husband’s ear, whispering slurs against him, the king’s most loyal companion. Peithon felt rage build within him, both at Thea and her policy of befriending the disgusting creatures who had robbed him of a bride, and at Markos, who appeared to have forgotten the strong bond they once shared. He suddenly wanted to hurt them, to make them acknowledge that he deserved to be more than a glorified merchant.

Peithon remained standing. ‘King Markos, Queen Thea, I heard the news. The sacking of Orius was only the beginning, I fear.’

‘Word travels fast,’ Thea murmured.

‘You won’t sit?’ Markos asked, returning to his seat.

‘No, sire. It seems that I have many tasks ahead of me if we are to prepare for what might come.’

‘Yet still no word from Dion,’ Thea said, gazing out to sea. ‘It has been weeks since he left on his foolish quest.’

‘We all fear for him,’ Peithon said. ‘We must assume he is safe.’

‘So what are your thoughts, Peithon?’ The king turned his steady gaze on him.

‘They are going to return to attack Phalesia. I have no doubt.’

The king’s eyes widened with surprise at his conviction.

Thea frowned. ‘All we know is that they raided Orius.’

Ignoring her, Peithon spoke to the king. ‘The sun king’s men slaughtered our neighbors, our countrymen – Galeans all of them – before making threats to Phalesia and seizing the first consul’s daughter. We must send the army to help reinforce Phalesia’s defenses. Our soldiers need to train with theirs, and our officers should advise the consuls in preparation for battle. Our allies need our help.’

‘It would leave Xanthos defenseless,’ Thea retorted. ‘Who are you to advise the king on military strategy?’

‘Now, wife,’ Markos said, holding up a hand. ‘Peithon is a warrior first and foremost. Just because we are old men with new responsibilities does not mean we have forgotten who we were.’

Keeping his expression sincere as his gaze turned from the king to his formidable queen, Peithon thought about how much he hated her. The king had needed a second son, he understood that, but somehow this woman with no people and no home had wormed her way into his graces. She had betrayed the memories of her countrymen, slaughtered by wildren, by refusing to take the fight to the eldren they once were. Eldren once fought humans for control of the world. They were just biding their time before the war began again. If he were king—