For your own sake, go see what he commands.” It is not a request, my prince, and your father is not a patient man. “You are to present yourself before the king. He raised an eyebrow in permission, and the elf ducked under the lintel and wrung his hands. Kjartan looked up from the pot of gold leaf he had been using to gild his nails and found the chamberlain’s messenger still there, hovering in the doorway like an omen. “Or we’ll strike him out and go with the traditional number after all.” “He’d better not be,” said the king, rubbing his fingers comfortingly over the sceptre carved from the queen’s thighbone. He assures me the prince will not be long now.” He sighed and motioned to his chamberlain with a creaky wrist. King Volmar of Vagar withdrew his stormy gaze from the sea that curled in steel-grey waves below the open balcony of his throne room, withdrew his hearing from the cries of the gulls, and looked again on the three dutiful boys who stood below the dais, as decked out, primped and prepared as their maid and manservants could make them. What kind of a tale starts with “There once was a king who had five sons and tried to live forever so he could afford to kill them all”? That was how the tale should have started, Volmar thought, as he eased his disintegrating bones on a throne grown too hard. There once was a king who had three sons. To everyone who has ever written me an email of support or left me a friendly comment on any of my blogs.
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