Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

“Has Valyrie come out yet?” Laedron asked, straightening the back of his collar.

“Not since last night.”

“Jurgen?”

“He hasn’t sent for us yet, but I imagine it’ll be soon. Every window along this road bears a banner or decoration of some kind. Clearly, they’re preparing for a parade.”

“Oh, what have you gotten us into, Marac?”

Marac smiled. “Me? You’re the one who wanted to come to this city and do all these heroic acts. I only went along with you.”

“You’re blaming it on me?” Laedron asked.

“Would you two cut it out?” Brice folded his arms. “Being honored isn’t anybody’s fault . It’s a good thing.”

“If you say so, Thimble.” Marac started down the stairs. “I’m going to wait for the messenger.”

Laedron felt a rumble in his belly. Apparently, Jurgen didn’t block my anxiety with his miracle . The sensation was not that of hunger, but of nervousness. Ignoring it, he went over and gently knocked on Valyrie’s door.

He received a muffled, “Just a minute more,” from the other side.

After fighting with the back of his collar for a while, Laedron heard the door open, and Valyrie stepped out wearing the violet dress. He couldn’t believe his eyes. At some point unbeknownst to him, she must have gone to the market and acquired makeup. Her skin was pale with powder, her lips appeared full and bright red, and her cheeks had a blush to them. The moderate application had resulted in sharpening her beauty like a master’s stroke upon the easel.

Happily, Laedron came alongside her and lifted his arm. “You look very beautiful, Val.”

She slipped her hand underneath, resting her fingertips on his bicep. She smiled, holding on tighter as they descended the stairs. Piers, Caleb, and their men met them at the bottom of the stairs.

Marac gestured, and when Laedron approached, he saw that the white and gold coach from the palace was parked outside by the curb. A driver sat on the top bench and four militiamen stood on step-sides at every corner, and all of them were dressed in fine garments to match the occasion.

An attendant opened the side door of the coach, then lowered the step aid. Laedron helped Valyrie inside before getting in himself. Proceeding through the streets, the coach maintained a slow pace, and Laedron waved at the people gathered along the roadsides.

“I never expected this.” Laedron then remembered the rather nasty conversation he’d had with the consulship. “I suppose I had better apologize to the consuls for my harsh criticism.”

“You owe them no such thing for telling the truth.” Marac leaned forward, pointing his finger at Laedron. “They owe us .”

Nodding, Laedron leaned back in the seat, and Valyrie took his hand. The farther they went, the more crowded the streets became until the coach rolled to a stop outside the consulship chamber. The same attendant opened the side door and helped each of them down. When Laedron emerged from the cab, he could hear nothing over the loud cheers and whistles of the thousands gathered in the square.

Two lines of militia soldiers stood on either side of a deep red carpet that ran under the massive archway and into the chamber beyond. As Laedron and his party passed, each pair of militiamen presented their spears and held them high.

Entering the chamber itself, Laedron glanced at the gallery of consuls, all of them wearing their gaudy ceremonial garb. Jurgen waved and gestured for Laedron to approach.

Standing in the center of the ringed chamber, Jurgen spread his arms wide and said, “Our saviors. Today is a joyous day indeed.” He wrapped his arm around Laedron’s shoulders. “We have much to thank them for, and this ceremony shall be the first way we show our gratitude. The second way is in the form of this bag.” Jurgen waved his hand at two guards, one of them carrying a leather backpack.

When the guard came forward, Jurgen said, “This is your payment for a job well done, my friends.”

Laedron took the sack and smiled. “Thank you. We appreciate your generosity.”

“We appreciate you , my friend.” Jurgen turned to the consuls. “And I, as your Grand Vicar-”

The world seemed to slow to a halt, and Laedron couldn’t help but smile. The culmination of Jurgen’s life. He made it .

“-recognize these as heroes of our church. May a feast be held this day in their honor at the Vicariate Palace and throughout the city of Azura.” Jurgen turned to Laedron. “Come, you will walk at my side.”

Laedron followed Jurgen up a staircase to the Grand Vicar’s platform, then out onto the open walkway leading to the palace. A roar of applause came from the thousands gathered on either side of the platform. Jurgen kept the stride slow, the speed of his step in keeping with that of a parade, and when they arrived in the great hall of the Vicariate Palace, nobility from all over the city, perhaps the whole country, judging by the number, were gathered to welcome them. A series of long tables ran the length of the hall, every surface completely obscured by platters of delectable food.

Jurgen led them through the packed room. Like a ship cutting through the waves, Jurgen caused the gathered nobles to make way at their passing. Taking his seat, Jurgen gestured for Laedron and his friends to rest upon the plush chairs.

“The servants will be along shortly with food,” Jurgen said, leaning toward Laedron.

“Congratulations are in order for you.” Laedron gave him a grin. “The consulship deemed you competent to rule it would seem.”

“Not to rule. To serve.”

For the first time in my life, I have faith that the church will do good things . Laedron nodded at the serving woman as she placed a plate in front of him. With Jurgen at the helm, I can’t see them doing anything foolish.

Exchanging smiles with Valyrie, Laedron nibbled at his food. He found it difficult to eat, and his friends apparently felt the same way because they all ate carefully. He felt the constant glare of eyes upon him, the nobles watching every move, every subtle gesture. Now I know why royals look so weary. It’s not out of boredom; it’s to keep anyone from guessing what they might be thinking.

Part of the way through the meal, Laedron detected the sound of music coming from somewhere in the crowd. The tune picked up, and the nobles parted like wheat in the breeze to reveal a band of musicians and dancers.

“For your entertainment, my lords and ladies!” the lute player shouted, strumming.

With his emphatic thrum of the melody, the dancers became animated. Though the waltz was tasteful and elegant, Laedron could tell that his friends were disinterested with the performance. He kept from bursting with laughter when he thought, What do you expect, Marac? We’re fortunate to see dancing at a church function in the first place!

More people joined in with the dancing, but Laedron hesitated when he thought about asking Valyrie to dance. His enjoyment of dancing notwithstanding, Laedron thought it would be better if he didn’t embarrass himself-or her-with blundering around in front of the entirety of high Heraldan society.

* * *

When the party had died down and he didn’t feel as many eyes upon him, Laedron leaned over to Jurgen and said, “Might we ask a favor of you?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“We require transportation to Nessadene. Would you mind asking Master Hale if we could pass on one of his ships?”

“I don’t see him having a problem with such a proposition.” Jurgen gestured for a page and whispered something to boy who came forward.

The page disappeared into the sea of guests. When he returned moments later, he had Demetrius Hale in tow. “Master Hale, Your Holiness.”