MPNS Ch 97

Chapter 97

“A monster wave, you say….”

The king’s complexion dimmed. Nikiel felt it more important to study the face of the man beside him—so like the king—than to keep reading the sickly, craven hues of a middle-aged coward, and turned his gaze.

Raphael’s expression was telling. Narrowing his eyes, Nikiel watched his face.

‘…He’s troubled. Troubled, Ra….’

Not panic-stricken like the king, but wearing the embarrassment of one whose secret has been glimpsed. Before Raphael could catch him staring, Nikiel lowered his eyes and elaborated.

“There are multiple indicators of an impending monster wave. The credibility of these signs can be judged by Duke Raymond Boltwik, Minister of the Hunt.”

“And these indicators…?”

The king’s words stumbled. Nikiel addressed Raymond—who had been watching intently from a moment ago—and listed them: a queen Nixie abandoning its nest, the Sanphas secreting non-toxic mucus, the Spitz shifting migration northward. Raymond listened, grave, then nodded.

“Your Majesty, these can indeed constitute signs of a monster wave.”

His look asked how Nikiel could possibly know. Yet unlike before, the look held not shock that Nikiel had divined such hard-to-read signs, but admiration. Uneasy under the surprised regard, Nikiel let his eyes slide away.

“Each sign alone could be dismissed as minor,” Raymond went on, “but together they align. A queen Nixie abandoning its nest is exceedingly rare. The Sanphas secreting harmless mucus to concentrate toxin within, and the Spitz flying north—taken as a whole, as His Highness observes, they predict a monster wave in the north, that is, an exponential surge in monster numbers.”

The king blanched.

A monster wave—nothing like it had occurred in his reign. Before the four lords took the Tournament in hand, yes; but since they assumed command, numbers had fallen year by year.

Under Yullan Balt—whose house holds force enough to stand as a grand duchy—the Tournament had eased the people’s dread of monsters. Voices that lauded the king followed.

How then, a monster wave? Monsters mate within species, but they do not multiply like rabbits loosed in a garden. Such a surge means many are being born from shadow.

And monsters born of shadow become the king’s responsibility. In a land led by a sovereign blessed of the Sun, the very notion is that light allows no shadows to form.

After years of peace, the people would fly into a panic at the words alone. He could not allow it. So the king sought first to deny Nikiel.

“Ah, but really—what would you know? You, ignorant whelp, cooped in the palace, prating as if rumor were fact!”

Though Raymond had vouched for the plausibility, the king—face gone ashen—dismissed Nikiel’s words as the claims of a rabble-rouser. Nikiel had expected as much. A plan to blind himself and hope the danger passed. He answered as if ready for any nonsense.

“Your Majesty, you yourself have scarcely left the palace.”

“Mind your tongue!”

He flared, as if striking Nikiel could disperse every sign of a coming wave. With little change in his face, Nikiel looked to Raymond. A slight nod: he would inform the remaining lords at once.

Nikiel had not expected immediate belief; still, the king’s obstinacy was galling. He resolved to withdraw a step and ask after Gaspar; he opened his mouth—when the royal firstborn spoke at last.

“How dare you, Nikiel. Apologize to our father at once.”

“Apologize… for what? For my loyalty in bringing full warning of a monster wave?”

“Nikiel.”

Raphael raised one brow at the flat reply and stared, a relentless look, as if scolding a rude child. The stare broke—Raymond slipped between them.

Addressing Raphael gently, he said, “It occurs to me His Highness Nikiel has not been told the fate of the traitor Gaspar. I was bound for the prison; allow me to explain to him first.”

The word traitor, smooth on Raymond’s tongue, hid barbs; but spring-breeze voice and kind face softened the edge, leaving some uncertain. Raphael, however, seemed to catch the blade, frowning.

“Sir Boltwik, His Highness and I have not finished speaking.”

“Enough. Nikiel, you ought to know how that count died. Go.”

The king, eager to be rid of Nikiel, waved him off. Nikiel did not refuse the chance, bowed shortly, and turned away with Raymond.

Raphael’s sticky gaze pricked his back; after a few steps, Nikiel glanced over his shoulder. At last the prince had given up—or else could not but follow the king already moving off down the corridor in the other direction.

Nikiel looked aside and asked low, “My lord, the monster wave…”

“You pledged to call me Raymond not two days past.”

“The title’s not the point—no, Raymond, you said signs of a monster wave are present.”

“Not to weigh matters, but forms of address hold meaning for me as well. I crave Your Highness’s broad generosity.”

“You are very smooth-tongued.”

Nikiel could only laugh—astonished. This was not the Raymond who had once growled at him on sight. The slight shift since the ball did not feel ill; Nikiel refrained from asking why. No sense scratching at a healing place.

He asked instead what had troubled him from earlier.

“Is Count Gaspar’s death certainly accident?”

“For now, yes. No evidence of external force.”

Nikiel swallowed. With rumors already running strangely about him, if this bled into the Tournament, his timorous father might strike his name from the rolls. Yullan, as governor, had never wanted him in; the two might well agree.

After a few more steps, a silver-haired beauty came swiftly down the corridor toward them. About his height, perhaps a little less, square-shouldered, strongly built—a long-trained fighter. Reaching them, she bowed her head to Nikiel at once.

“Minervina Weiss, at Your Highness Nikiel’s feet—proxy of the sacred light.”

The gravity of it made Nikiel flush; he seldom heard such honorifics. He cleared his throat. Those who met him—Naet excepted—watched or sneered; Minervina did neither. Her salute held loyalty to the royal house and reverence for the sacred power about him. It embarrassed him.

“Mm. A pleasure, my lady.”

“She is with me, Your Highness,” said Raymond, aside.

It felt like being introduced to a friend’s family; he had to stop himself bowing further. He recalled she was Baron Weiss, Raymond’s retainer.

‘Raised with his sister—a childhood friend.’

Nodding, he stepped back to give them space. Minervina thanked him and whispered to Raymond. Raymond’s brow pinched slightly; then he turned to Nikiel.

“Your Highness, forgive me—would you wait here a moment?”

He asked with unusual courtesy. Nikiel nodded at once. Minervina looked mortified to be stealing Raymond away; odd, but standing in a corridor was hardly hardship. Nikiel hummed softly as they went out of sight—

—and then someone seized his forearm and slammed him to the wall.

“—Kgh!”

“How insufferably saucy you’ve become, my pretty brother.”

A low voice. Nikiel knew the pressure at once—Raphael. He frowned; the prince’s pale-brown eyes looked down with a murky heat.

“What do you think you’re doing, Your Highness?”

Biting off the words, he drew a soft chuckle.

“So, not only before Father do you lose your nerve. To hear you now—such swagger. What fills that head of yours?”

The masseter stood out at Raphael’s jaw. He smiled, yet anger showed plain.