Another summons, another conference. Adrastus wholeheartedly wished he’d just gone through with his intent and defected all those years ago. Jurion kicked him out of her schools and banned him from her military, but she still relied on him to clean up her messes. Babysitting an ambassador wasn’t his idea of a just reward for a job well done.
“Well, you were involved with Ynuron. They may ask for your testimony on the matter,” Phelan observed, trying to calm his nephew down. Unfortunately, it only provoked him even further.
“And just whose fault is that, I wonder? I didn’t ask for these damn missions; I’m not even qualified for them and you know it.”
“You say that, but you know you’re easily the most qualified of all of us. It may be a peace summit but every country is going to have the best of their best there for bragging rights. There’s not a Thiltian or a Theran alive who doesn’t know the Red Dragon.”
“I curse the day I was given that name!”
Phelan sighed. He could only watch as Adrastus stalked off, blasting his anger at anyone unlucky enough to get in the way. He heard the rampage as it progressed all the way through the castle and out into the stable yard before finally dispersing in the clatter of a horse’s hooves.
“He may curse his name, but he certainly acts like it.” Shion said dryly. The military officials filling the conference room agreed. They looked like they’d seen a real dragon, in fact.
“You have no idea,” Was all Phelan would say. He rubbed at his temples and sighed again.
“Can we really trust that kid with Ambassador Jordane’s safety?” One of the younger officers spoke up, his voice wavering slightly. Not that Phelan blamed him; Adrastus even scared him sometimes.
“His Majesty himself would trust Adrastus with his life. Remember that. He might not seem it, but he’s as reliable as anyone in this room. Dismissed.”
~~~
“Hey, Remi! Have you seen my dagger anywhere?” If there was one thing he hated more than conferences, it was packing to go to a long-distance one. Frustrated, he kicked over a stack of books piled haphazardly on the floor. His room was a veritable storm of debris; neatness was definitely not a specialty.
“You mean…this one?” Remiel grinned and held up his prize.
“Yes, that one. What other is there?” He snatched it from his brother’s hand and stuck the sheath through his belt. Remiel could only watch, shaking his head as Adrastus tore his room apart in search of some other vital piece of equipment.
“Why don’t you just have the maids pack, like Uncle Phelan suggested?”
“They never pack what I need.” He dug out his spellstone pouch from beneath a mountain of discarded clothes and stuck it in his travel bag‘s outer pocket.
“You never do, either. You’re supposed to be bringing clothes and stuff, not half of Jurion’s magic catalysts.”
“I’m the ambassador’s ‘personal attendant’, not some damn silkshirt*.” He surveyed the damage for a moment, then shouldered his bag and left. As usual, Remiel would be stuck putting everything back together in the morning.
*Silkshirt is an insulting reference to high nobility.
~~~
“Ah, the legendary Adrastus Melkaede, it is a pleasure.” Ambassador Roche Jordane, the newest member of the King’s Court, greeted him with a smile and a dramatic (and completely incorrect) military salute. With his stylishly long hair, velvet cloak, and of course, white silk shirt, he was hardly the type for a job of such sensitive nature.
“Sir.” Adrastus bowed, trying very hard not to sneer. What kind of a joke was this supposed to be? The king should have sent Master Shion or even Phelan, not some halfwit noble whose only connection to the military were fencing lessons and medal-awarding ceremonies.
“He’s all we had available, the king wants us at the wall to keep an eye on things,” Phelan murmured under his breath as he also bowed to the ambassador. “You’ll be fine. Just stay out of trouble, ok?”
“This shall be quite the experience, don’t you think, Addy? I certainly look forward to hearing Thiltus’ public apology.”
“…I‘m not the one you should be worried about.”
“Try to keep him in line, would you?” With a sympathetic glance for his nephew, Phelan took his leave.
It was going to be a long ride to Thurtun.
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