What were they plotting? He wondered. Lord Alexandal had become a changed man. After Olivia’s death the Steward had insisted that Gretchen foster the children, Indrid and Anna, and resigned all responsibility he had sworn to them when Olivia was alive. With Montague’s help, the Head Maid of the royal castle had been accountable for their upbringing. In the years before the Queen’s passing, Alexandal had always been motivated to optimize his leadership as army general by strengthening the bonds between himself and his soldiers, himself and the people of Ikarus, embracing everyone’s ideas. Montague had thought of him as one of the strongest and most caring generals in history, and that was what the Queen had loved about him. But ever since she had passed and Alexandal became the Steward of Ikarus, he barely left his room. When he did, he would leave the kingdom for weeks at a time. Montague had heard the thundering screams that echoed from the Steward’s room at night. The ash print left on Alexandal’s forehead after the new king had been born at Angel Falls was no simple blot of dirt. Montague was certain of that. It had been an attempt by the mage to connect Alexandal’s mind with the Nekrum’s Host. And she’d succeeded. Montague had no doubt that Alexandal was under Demitri’s influence. But, without support of the Ikarus army, there was nothing he could …show more content…
“Tell Gretchen to meet me at my chambers at once. And tell her to bring the supplies I asked for.”
* * *
From the top floor of the Ikarus library Montague La-Rose stared through the balcony windows watching the drops descend. He wondered why each was in such a hurry to splatter. Maybe, they were ready to reunite. Such a short life, he thought, birthing in the clouds then falling to the ground within seconds. It was just like Montague’s short-lived position as Speaker of the Ikarus Council. Life for Montague would return closer to the way things were before; non-political, besides the facts that he didn’t have to pay taxes and his home was larger than his farmhouse, and that food was provided and cooked for him. But he missed his farm: the land, the animals, the smells, the sights, the sounds. He’d had no need to barter for food. As a farmer he’d grown fields of wheat and gardens of vegetables and fruits. Montague had domesticated chickens and fished