Forlaith: More Gathered

January 15 7/31/14

Forgive me for not writing sooner. The desire to write was there, but the seas have been unbearable, even close to land, though I suppose that is part of the problem. The sailors are having difficulty navigating the winter storms while keeping us in range of the coast—where unusual rock formations make it tricky. Living where I do—or did rather—I am use to sailing, but even I have found this rough going. Writing has been completely out of the question.
Since the last time I wrote, we have picked up two other young people to be adopted by the king. The first, Leofrick is not what I expected. I don't like to be cruel, but I believe Rownet may be right when she calls him 'down right ugly.' I prefer the term peculiar. He is skinny, with floppy hair the color of dirty water. He has attempted to grow a mustache, but it has come out softy and fuzzy, despite being twenty-two years old. Rownet teases him ruthlessly and Ardythe has suggested Leofrick learn to shave. I have a feeling the suggestion will turn into a demand once we reach Bathum.
To my utmost surprise, initially Leofrick seemed excited to come along. He is the youngest of a large family with no hope of ever inheriting any land. But the excitement didn't last long. A day after we set sail, Leofrick, Rownet and I were getting some air on deck during one of the few calms and overheard Ardythe and Marcys speaking about their recent acquirement.
“I'm not so sure about this young man you've found me. He's a scrawny little whip of a boy!”
“That's why I chose him, my lord,” Marcys said.
I cringed for Leofrick's sake; I would have hated being called such nasty things. It seemed strange that Marcys would agree with what the king had said. I had thought him a kind soul after first meeting him, despite his involvement in our current situation. Now I wasn't so sure.
“If all your children are beautiful beyond compare, they will question the reality of it. I've never met a family with only beautiful children. Have you?”
Rownet, Leofrick and I scurried down to the cabin Rownet and I shared.
“Who are 'they'?” asked Leofrick, voicing the question we were all wondering. I was thankful he didn't broach the subject of their judgement upon his person. I didn't want to be the one to lie to him in an effort to make him feel better, but knowing Rownet, the task would have been left to me.
We all stared at each other, without any answer to give. “Odrar?” Rownet suggested.
Slowly, we each thought through that possibility, but it didn't seem right. We had all heard our parents discuss Odrar and what we had once been to the distant nation. It seemed hard to believe that Ardythe would have anything to do with them, much less go to the trouble of creating a fictitious family for them.
“It doesn't seem right. I heard my parents say that we may likely go to war with them. What would Ardythe need a family for in dealings with them? Besides, they would know that we were not really his children. It has to be someone farther away,” I added.
Rownet looked confused, her delicate eyebrows pulled together in a frown. Leofrick, on the other hand, nodded. What I had said made sense to at least one person. Still, we didn't know the answer to our question, despite however many different conjectures we might come up with.
The next person to join our happy little family was also far from my expectations. We stopped in Dewhurst, a village known for it's unique fishing industry. I, myself, had never traveled to Dewhurst, but I had read about it and heard my father talk about the hardships that had befallen the ruling family—storms, shipwrecks, and illness.
On this occasion, Ardythe allowed us to leave the ship and see the small village. There wasn't much to see. The village was really only two main streets, connected by three narrow lanes. The two main streets ran parallel with the coast, the lower street connected to the long piers jutting out into the choppy, gray water. The ground was covered in new moss that had grown since the long drought and shallow puddles, the buildings dripped with moisture and green growth. Unlike my own home, the buildings looked as though their builders had been drunk while they worked—their walls leaning at odd angles and nearly all the doors and windows hanging at slight angles.
Due to the fact we were traveling by boat, we did not have horses to carry us up to the family dwelling and so we walked. Rownet and I picked up our warm, heavy skirts to keep them from dragging in the mud. It wasn't a long walk and we arrived a short time after leaving the ship, barely out of breath from the trek.
The family dwelling was unremarkable, even common place. Though made of stone, unlike the other buildings in the village, it was small and worn. The lord emerged, garbed in torn doe skin trousers, ragged boots, and a stained tunic. The only way I could tell he was, in fact, the lord of the manner was by the large gold ring on his finger.
The lord spotted us coming through the open gate and upon seeing his king dropped his bucket of milk.
“You're grace,” he muttered before offering a deep bow and retrieving the now empty bucket.
“I hear from the traders that you have a rather handsome son. Sadon, I believe,” stated the king in a deceptively cheerful voice. He didn't beat around the bush, I noticed.
“Uh... yes, yes I suppose I do. Shall I call him?”
“Please.”
The man nodded and ran away. We were all surprised by his sudden departure. After all, he left his guest standing in his small bailey, the winter sky beginning to spit on us. I pulled my cloak around my shoulders and tried not to shiver.
A few minutes later the lord returned with tall, handsome young man with brown hair and deep green eyes. I glanced at Rownet, and despite the age difference, she was eyeing the man in a way I completely understood. Despite my confined upbringing, I can spot an attractive man like any other woman.
The son was dressed like his father, in clothing that had once been fine, but now showed the signs of age and hard work. Over his shoulder hung a yoke from which hung two large baskets full of fresh fish. The smell was overwhelming.
Finally, the lord realized his error and invited us in, out of the light rain. Inside, we were treated to a variety of fish based food items. Did they eat nothing else?
“Now,” sighed the lord as he sat down next to his comely wife. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“You have two other sons, have you not?”
“Yes, sire. But they are at sea, at present.”
“No bother. It is Sadon that I am here for. You must give him up, I'm afraid.”
“Give him up?” squeaked Sadon's mother. I glanced at the young man. He looked confused. I could relate. How many children did Ardythe need?
“Yes. His country needs him.”
“He's not a warrior,” stated the lord.
“I do not need a warrior. I understand, like others, that you have some back taxes owing to me.”
“Uh... yes, yes your grace. I am working to pay it back. Just as quickly as I can!”
“Instead, allow me to take your son and I will forgive your debt, entirely.”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. This was exactly the conversation I had not been privileged to hear at my own home.
Once again Ardythe was taking advantage of his people and their current, reduced circumstances. Like my family, Sadon's father was trying to pay back the money owing to the king—which could some day result in his death, should he not get it paid back quickly enough—but now an unusually simple solution presented itself. No wonder fathers were tempted to give their children away.
Nevertheless, I continue to feel a deep loathing for my father and what he has done to me. Second on my list of those I hate is Ardythe and third is Sadon's father.
Without a moments hesitation, he agreed to the terms and slapped his wife when she argued.
It makes me almost glad that I was not within when my father spoke with Ardythe. Did he give in so quickly? Did he even try to keep me from this fate?
I'm glad I do not know the answer.
Forlaith

A New Journal

January 11

I never imagined I would be the type to put my thoughts down on paper. But when something this unexpected happens, it seems a requirement of life. If nothing else, it will give me an outlet for my feelings—which are greatly disturbed.
My name is Forlaith. I am the second youngest daughter of the lord of Danim, or at least I was. I suppose that is not the case anymore.
Today I was out in the woods with my brothers when I was suddenly called back to the house. I rode back quickly, worried my mother had been taken ill again.
It is hard to write about her when I know I will never see her again. I keep smearing my ink with tears. At this rate, I doubt anyone will be able to read what I write.
Of course, she was not ill. I could immediately tell something was very, very wrong, though. My father looked angry and my mother's eyes were red with tears. Three men I did not know stood near the door of our great hall.
I wanted to ask what was going on, but it wasn't my place to speak, especially in front of strange men. They were clearly wealthy—draped in fur and clad in highly polished leather boots that protected their feet and shins from our winter climes.
I curtsied to them as I felt my cheeks warm with a blush. The eldest of the three was looking at me so intently that I grew rather uncomfortable. A fear I could not understand grew inside me, making my stomach turn.
Once the older man acknowledged my bow, I hurried to my mother's side.
“My lord, may I introduce my daughter Forlaith. She is my only unmarried daughter. She I will give you in exchange for my debt?”
“What?!” I shrieked before I could censure myself.
I could not believe my ears. I must have been dreaming! I would still be thinking that if I wasn't currently feeling the waves swell beneath this wooden prison.
My mother took me by my shoulders, forcing me to look at her frail, sunken face. “Forlaith. You must do this for the family!”
I felt my eyes brim with hot tears that leaked down my cheeks faster than I thought possible. I shook out of her grasp and turned to my father, who was staring intently at the rush covered floor, and ran to him. I shook him violently, but he refused to look at me.
“What does she mean?” I cried, all sense of the dignity and decorum taught to me by my mother lost. I didn't care what these men thought of me. I cared about my home and staying there. “Father? Please! Tell me!”
He didn't answer. Evidently the older man was growing impatient because my mother rushed to my side. She pulled me away from my father, brushed my ruffled hair away from damp face and forced me to focus on her own tear streaked face.
“You must be brave! You can save us, save us all. We need you!”
I don't know what it is that I am saving them from. My father had said something about debt. Could his debt be so great as to be worth trading his own daughter? After all, he has four unmarried sons he could have traded. But no. A daughter is always worth less to their father than a son. Then again, the smidgens of rumors I've heard in the few hours while on board the ship suggests my brothers would not have answered the king's needs.
As it turned out, the older man at my father's home was in fact the king of the Island. I was too much in shock at the prospect of leaving my family forever to really grasp who it was standing before me. Now that I have enough mental space to consider it, I cannot bring myself to care. I have already spent most of the day with him and my only real thought is that he scares me, and not because he is king.
There is a darkness in his eyes that disturbs me, as though he has seen the very worst and knows nothing can touch him now. It is not good for a man to be without fear or hope. At least, that is my opinion.
Thankfully I am not alone. There is another girl here. Well, when I say girl I really mean a woman. A rather old one too. Her name is Rownet. Ardythe took her from her family two days ago. I cannot make her out. She is sad, as any woman would be who was about to be married to a good man then suddenly carried away from her home. But there is also a resignation in her features and her tone of voice that seems at odds with our situation.
I realize we must strive to acquiesce ourselves to whatever the king intends to do with us, but I cannot imagine myself capable of resignation in only two days. In two days time I will still be crying over this miserable journal.
Perhaps if they would tell us why we have been taken, I could better achieve the reconciliation that she seems to bear so effortlessly. But all we receive are hints and rumors. What I can gather from what I've heard and what Rownet has told me is that we will be adopted as Ardythe's children being that his only son recently died.
I am unsure why this is necessary.
The worst of it is that I know I can never escape. The first thing Ardythe said to me once upon the enormous ship was that if I try to run away, or displease him in any way, he will kill my entire family. I have no choice, though I consider myself brave enough to run away and make my own way in this world; I cannot make my family pay for my selfishness. Their lives depend on my obedience, and therefore he will have it.
It is as though I am now the king's possession. But if my own father's actions are any example to trust, being the king's child and being the king's possession are much the same thing.
I suppose all I can do is try and sleep in the hammock provided and keep my head down.
Forlaith

A Stolen Woman

January 9 

I wish I had more time to write. I apologize for such a long delay in writing again. Ardythe has kept us at a run since I returned with the list of potential families. The very next day the fastest ship in port was sent to Mallawi with Ardythe's letter. Let us pray it makes it there in safety and that they accept our request.

But that has not been the only drain on my time. In just a few days Ardythe had acquired a ship and hired Haddock as the captain. I confess I felt it necessary to suggest my brother-in-law. I cannot deny it was partially due to familial partiality, but that is not my only reason. Haddock is a discrete man, and he will keep his crew in line.

During these few days, I arranged all the provisions needed. Much to my surprise, a day before setting sail, I discovered Ardythe intended me to accompany him. This is the first time I have sailed and by far the farthest I will have ever traveled.

Let me first begin by saying I do not like sailing. My stomach likes it even less. I will not go into details. I am told we are experiencing calm seas. I cannot imagine what rough seas must be like.

Before I continue, I must tell you a little about the Island nation so that you might understand our journey. The main island is called Cathan and why our nation does not use that name, I do not know. Cathan is the shape of a large 'c', with the opening facing west, towards Odrar. Within the inside of the 'c' is another, smaller island with three large cities on it. Other islands are scattered around Cathan in a haphazard way. We will be traveling all the way around Cathan, making numerous stops to visit the nobles on Haddock's list.

I do not know why the king insists on my accompanying him on this journey. Perhaps it is the fact that there are so few people who truly understand what we are doing here beyond him, Jehan, Haddock and myself. Alek knows, understands even, but does not fully support our mission. Still, like the other crew members, he has agreed to remain silent. I just hope they do, for their sakes. Ardythe is a violently ill-tempered man.

Our first stop was in Pervil, a small city less than a days' sail from Bathum, but it was fruitless. The family there was small and most of their children were too young for marriage. The only one old enough was red haired and freckled. Though I saw hope for the young girl, who was eager to join in our 'adventure,' as she called it, Ardythe insisted she was too ugly. We left the girl crying in her mother's arms. The mother was also weeping, but I believe that was due to a sense of solace than grief. No doubt she was happy we would not be taking her child from her.

We quickly moved on from there and arrived in Guildforth late that same day. Osim has smiled on us and hastened our boat and filled our sails with his great breath.

In Guildforth we came upon a refreshing sight—a beautiful noble woman.

Her name is Rownet. She is tall, rounded, and sensual—perhaps a little old for our mission at the age of twenty-four, but it is hard to say with these foreigners. They may not have the standards we do.

Sadly, the meeting with her family did not go as smoothly as I had hoped.

What am I saying? It was a disaster.

Rownet's parents, the lord and lady of Guildforth greeted us warmly and welcomed us into their home. Ardythe did not give them long to play host. He got right down to business. Jehan and I chose to keep our mouths shut. Haddock chose to stay on the ship.

“I will not waste your valuable time. I need Lady Rownet to accompany me.”

“Excuse me?” asked her father. “For what?”

“That is not for you to know. It is enough for you to know that you will never see her again and that you must pretend that you never had a daughter in the first place.”

At this I glanced at the mother, who's eyes were reddening with unshed tears. Unlike her husband, she knew the danger of the moment; she knew who was really in charge.

“You cannot take her. She is about to be wed. This very week, in fact.”

“Her country needs her!” demanded the king.

“Perhaps we should chose another,” I whispered in Ardythe's ear. He shoved me away violently and I held my tongue.

“This nation is in danger. Her assistance could save of us from war.”

“Do not lie to me! King of the Island, as you call yourself! I know the truth. You simply want another pretty woman to warm your bed! You cannot have my daughter.”

Ardythe was on his feet in an instant, his wide face flushed with anger. I scooted my chair away and spotted the wife doing the same.

“If I simply needed another whore, do you think I would have traveled all this way. Here are the plain facts. She will be coming with me,” at this the king glanced at the young woman who now had tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks. “And if she so much as thinks about running away, I will send my army to destroy your pathetic village and they will bring you back to me so that she can see you die. Do I make myself clear?”

I couldn't breath. What was he saying?

I knew our need for these young people was great. I even thought our idea to trick the Mallawi was a good one, but not if it meant threatening and disheartening our own people. How could they ever trust Ardythe again if he threatened anyone who apposed him. Couldn't he just explain their plan?

But the king never explained anything, not even to me or Jehan. We simply followed him blindly and hoped he didn't lead us into the fires of Neraka.

“Have I made myself clear?” he asked again, snapping each word.

Rownet, brave girl that she is, rose from her seat and stepped forward. “Yes, my lord. You make yourself clear. I will go and have my maidservants pack me a trunk.”

“No!” shrieked her distraught mother, who lunged forward to grab her daughter. At the same instant the father, in his fright, charged at the king. Ardythe's guards, who are well skilled, had the old man on the floor in moments.

I suppose the one thing we can be thankful for is that they did not kill Rownet's father. I doubt she would have been so compliant had that happened.

I will not retell the rest our visit at Guildforth. It would dishearten me too deeply. Rownet and all her family cried and said their last goodbyes, never to see each other.

I am disgusted by what we just did, sickened to the point of actual nausea. We've stolen a young woman from the very brink of marriage, only to be thrust into a world she does not know or understand, and soon to be forced to marry a foreigner.

And she is only the first.

What demons have we become?

Marcys

An Ally

January 4

Despite the need to handle many of the basic tenants of my position, I spent the day in the market place and along the docks. Why you ask? Well I will tell you.
Ardythe wants beautiful children to attract the attention of foreign royalty. Until a lucky thought crossed my mind, I was at a loss as to how to find such people.
I am not well traveled. It is not the job of a steward to journey with the king. The castle is my domain. I live, breath, eat the doings of those residing in and working for this great home. My knowledge of the Island's lords is based on how much they tithe to the king.
Thankfully, I did happen to have a passing thought that the traders might know which lords had sons and daughters worth looking at. After all, traders are seldom saints. They admire and ogle like other men, maybe even more than other men.
I took the old nag of a horse down to the central market and began strolling through the stalls. I found many appetizing items for sale, but very little information. One trader suggested Dartford, a city on a nearby island, due to their wealth and influence, though he could not remember any substantial facts about the family's children, other than their having a few.
From there I took the nag down to the docs where the traders were unloading their hauls into large wagons.
“Marcys, is that you, ol' fellow?” asked a familiar voice from amongst the barely controlled chaos.
I turned, searching for the face I hadn't seen in years, maybe even decades. And there he was. Haddock.
My brother-in-law.
It had been years, too many years, since we had last seen each other.
“Brother,” I said, too softly for him to hear in the throng, and waved my hand so that he knew I had spotted him. The last time we'd seen each other had been at the burial of his wife, my elder sister. She had died in childbirth, leaving behind a broken husband and an infant son, and I had been to preoccupied with Ardythe's needs as the acting leader of this nation while his father succumbed to a wasting disease.
Haddock limped up to me and slapped me on the shoulder. His leg had been badly damaged in his youth but that didn't stop him from working harder and faster than any in his crew. A man, who I assume to be Aleksandru, his son, followed at a short distance. Alek looked just as Haddock had at that age.

“It is good to see you,” he said in his usual verbose manner as he thumped my back again, for good measure.

“And you brother. You look well. Alek,” I added by way of greeting to my nephew.

“What are you doing in the slums of Bathum?”

“I would hardly call the docks the slums. But I am here on a rather odd and delicate mission for the king, and you may be just the man I need. Is there somewhere where we can talk?”

“Come aboard my ship. My cabin is quiet enough. Alek, lead the way.”

Haddock linked his arm with mine and I slowed my pace to match his while Alek weaved in and out of the crowd, subtly making room. A few minutes later we arrived at the appropriate dock, swayed our way along the dock to the plank, and bounced across it. The ship was a small thing, mostly covered in crates tied down and sailors working to undo the sturdy knots that held them. Haddock led us to a door leading under the poop deck and down a narrow hallway to his own cramped quarters. Alek leaned against the door, leaving space for Haddock to sit on his narrow mattress and the only swinging stool for me to perch on. Despite the claustrophobic feeling, I knew his room was spacious compared to what his men endured.

“Now, mind tell'n me what all the hush hush is about?”

“Well...” And I laid it all out before him, Fendrel death, Ardythe's depression, Odrar's threatening posturing, and our current plan to forestall war. Haddock listened quietly while he ran his rough fingers through his white beard. Alek, on the other hand, looked concerned. Early on in my retelling I noticed his eyebrows pull down in a frown. By the end, the muscles in his jaw were standing out as he ground his teeth together. Unlike his father, he did not have the years of experience to calm his reaction to upsetting news, or maybe he saw something in our future endeavors that we older men had not realized. I hope it is the first.

“So I am needing to track down a list of likely noble young men and women to be... um... adopted by the king.”

“Adopted?” scoffed the younger man. Haddock silenced him with one quick look.

“I thought you, who travel a great deal more than I do, might know of prodigious families. Their involvement may save this nation from a war that we cannot win,” I added, more to Alek than to his father.

Haddock nodded, as if he genuinely understood and agreed with me.

I just hoped I agreed with myself.

Alek shook his head and left the cabin.

“I know of a number of families with beautiful daughters and handsome sons. All intelligent and well educated. I will give you a list,” he added as he turned to a little writing desk that hung from the ceiling between my seat and the bed. On it was attached a small box with rolls of paper and a black writing stick. He began to scrawl a quick list in a short, blockish hand.

With the list safely tucked under my warm, fur-lined vest, I ventured forth and returned to the castle.

The list he provided me had the names and locations of nine families scattered around the Island nation. I did not know how many children the king thought he needed to adopt but I hoped this would be sufficient. I recognized a name or two from the list due to the fact they owed back taxes. Should I inform the king of this? It would be a helpful fact to have at hand if the nobles became difficult. Perhaps a trade?

What was I thinking? What father would trade their son or daughter for a few years of back taxes?

Had I had any children left, I would never trade them.

Marcys

A Delay

 January 3

We were gravely mistaken, but perhaps it will work out to our advantage. Aempleforth needed no prodding from us. The fire was already built and doused in oil. All we had to do was light it.
Jehan sent a trusted man to the small island to scout the general feeling of its population. What he found surprised us all. The small island was already trading heavily with Odrar and sending diplomatic parties to meet with Odrar's politicians. The island would have seceded within a few short months, whether we acted or not.
When Jehan reported all this to me, I was astounded, to say the least. How could we have missed the signs?
Was the prince's illness to blame? I was the first to admit Ardythe had been distracted by his son's sickness and that his advisors did not always act in the best interest of the people, when other choices might line their pockets. Still, to have an entire island ready to change alliances without our knowing was a shock.
This also meant that we could not wait for Ardythe to recuperate and mourn at his own pace. We needed our leader and we needed him three weeks ago.
Despite our trepidation, we returned to the king immediately.
As we expected, we found him in his son's room, which was beginning to smell.
“What now,” he growled without looking up.
“This must end, my lord. A king does not have the luxury of mourning at his own pace. We need you now.”
“But you have the amazing Marcys,” slurred the king, his speech heavy with sarcasm and his tone biting. I did my best to ignore him. I may not be a politician or warrior, but I was damn good at my job. His castle thrived despite the recent drought due to my vigilance.
“We don't need a steward, we need a king.”
“Get out.”
“No.”
“GET OUT!” screamed the king, the veins in his neck becoming visible in his urgency.
“NO!” snapped the general with equal heat.
The king jumped to his feet and drew himself up to his full height. The king, though sixty-one, was still a formidable man. He stood well over six feet, with broad shoulders and wide face accented by a once broken nose and a few small hunting scars.
He glowered down at the shorter man. I would have been cowering in the corner had that look been turned on me. Thankfully Jehan is made of sterner stuff. He glared up at the king with equal vehemence.
“I. Said. Get. Out!” barked the king, each word spoken as though it were the most important he had ever used.
“And I said no. You must deal with this.”
The king exploded into a string of curses, some completely new to me. As he raged he began to grab up the smaller pieces of furniture and hurl them against the stone walls. A chair broke over my head before I realized I needed to duck.
After what felt like an eternity, Jehan stepped forward, dodging a projectile and grabbed the king by the color of his soiled shirt. Next, to my utter astonishment, Jehan drove his heavy fist into the king's jaw.
Ardythe staggered back a few steps, his face flushed red with his recent exertions and his eyes as round as water pales. I doubted he had ever beens truck since he reached adulthood; no doubt the fact his closest general would do so added weight to the surprise.
“You are KING!” snapped Jehan. “You do not have the luxury of self-pity. You must act to save your people. And if you do not, I will personally escort you to the fires of Neraka and I have no doubt Ibinta will accept you with open arms for such a crime.”
Ardythe stared at Jehan. I could barely breath as I watched the two men face each other. The only sound in the destroyed room was the crackle of the fire. As I watched, I noticed an impressive bruise begin to form along the king's jaw. Jehan had not pulled his punch.

Slowly, Ardythe rose form his defensive crouch and reached towards his general. He patted Jehan on the shoulder before moving to the door. It was the first time the king had left the sick room in weeks.

Jehan had broken through his grief.

I followed the two men out, happy to be away from the stench of death and human waste. Ardythe motioned for us to follow him.

He led us to his own chambers where he began to strip out of his soiled clothing.

“Update me on the situation and what plans you two have concocted,” he said before dunking his head in the basin of water. It must have been cold because he sputtered and gasped as the water ran down his bare chest.

I allowed Jehan to do the speaking, only adding the occasional detail. Ardythe nodded from time to time as he dressed himself, too impatient to wait for his man servant to attend him.

“I like the idea of giving them Aempleforth... those good for nothing, ungrateful bastards,” grumbled the king. “Make it happen.”

“There are other issues, my lord,” I ventured before he could dismiss us.

To my surprise, Ardythe smiled at me. “Yes. Evidently I need a wife and a child. But I don't see that happening any times soon. I suppose the best I can do is find a surrogate heir. Why must my family have a history of only producing one child. If I had a sibling, their son would inherit the kingdom.”

“We also need allies.”

“Ironic that if I had a few children allies would be all the easier to come by,” chuckled the king. His complete transformation had me worried. Moments ago he was too deep in sorrow to hold his head up, now he was laughing about the very issue that had fist sunk him.

I would mention it to Jehan.

I glanced at the general. His eyes were unfocused, seeing something I could not see.

“What if...” he began as he were still lost in thought. “What if we could get you a few children... and marry them off to get allies.”

“No one here on the island has soldiers to provide. Even if we could just go to the market and buy me children, who would they marry?” I asked, astonished by the ideas coming from a man I thought to be my friend.

“No locals. No. They would need to marry foreigners. A nation not effected by the drought that has damaged us so thoroughly.”

“And who would that be? Odrar is obviously out of the question,” I added with a touch of mirth to my voice.

“Ha!” barked the king as he sat down to eat the bread and fruit left in his room.

“Mallawi,” stated the general, as if we both should have thought of it.

I stared back at him. Mallawi was even further away than Odrar, so distant, in fact, that our people had had nearly no contact with them over the last century. What little I knew of them was that they produced large families and worshiped no gods.

“Those heathens?” I asked, slurring the word in my disgust.

“Heathens or not they are powerful and wealthy, just what we need. In this moment is it a greater sin to align ourselves with heathens or let our people become submissive to Odrar once again?” asked Jehan.

I looked down at the king who was busy shoveling food in his mouth. When he swallowed he said, “Jehan is right. I will align myself with Ibinta herself if it protects my people. But we still haven't figured out where we will get these mysterious children of mine.”

“The local nobles, of course,” suggested Jehan. “The Mallawi do not know us well enough to know that they are not your own children. We have not even traded with them if over fifty years. You show up on their doorstep with a horde of children they will be seen as yours. Why would they doubt you?”

I opened my mouth to ask another question when Ardythe raised his hand, effectively silencing us both.

“I will draft a letter to be sailed to Mallawi with all haste, begging leave to visit them. Marcys, discover a number of potential children. Nobles. Attractive. Well educated. Jehan, find a large ship and a crew that will be discreet. We can't have an idle word from a drunken sailor ruining it all.”

“And these children will come willing... why?” I demanded.

“Leave that to me,” murmured the king, a darkness filling his eyes. I felt my stomach turn. What could he have planned?

But it is not my job to question the motives and actions of kings. Who am I, but a lowly steward. He does as he wills, whether moral or not, and I cannot stop him. I just hoped that we would find willing people to go on this great adventure to the distant lands of Mallawi.

Marcys