Chapter 67: An Offer to Refuse
An Offer to Refuse
Martel was led through corridors winding around the palace until he had lost his bearings. He did notice that they ascended to one of the upper floors before the servant knocked on a door. "Wait here," he bade the novice and entered the room. Martel stood a brief while, looking at his surroundings. They were less ostentatious, with portrait paintings filling the walls rather than frescoes. Martel guessed they were ancestors or relatives of the duke, all of them stern-looking men and women in garish clothes.
The servant returned and beckoned for Martel to enter the room, which he did. He found himself in a chamber similar to those of his teachers at the Lyceum, except this clearly only served as a study, not a bedroom. Bookshelves took up space along one wall. A bronze statue of a warrior filled one corner. A constant ticking sound alerted him to the presence of the Khivan clock, taller than him and thrice his width, keeping time. And opposite the door stood a desk, behind which he recognised the duke of Cheval.
The nobleman sat jotting down a few scribbles on parchment before he placed his quill in its house. He blew gently on the ink to help it dry before depositing the document in a drawer, which he locked. Finally, he looked up at his visitor, one hand stroking his perfectly trimmed beard that framed his mouth. "Master Martel, I take it."
"Yes, my lord." Martel gave a short bow, unsure how to act.
The duke rose from his seat. "I am glad you accepted my invitation. Since that evening at Legate Fontaine's, I made a few enquiries. You are new at the Lyceum, yet you show great promise. You outwitted a battlemage with years' more training, not to mention my inept son." Martel relaxed upon hearing this while feeling an unfamiliar sense of warmth. He could not quite fathom that one of the most powerful men in the Empire was praising him.
The sound of a small hammer striking an anvil interrupted their conversation. Mystified, Martel looked towards the source of the disturbance. It came from the Khivan clock, where a small figurine had emerged holding a hammer.
"Eight o'clock. We better make our way to the feast. Follow me." The duke left his study, Martel in tow. "I have also been told you are apprenticed to the apothecary at the Lyceum." He locked the door behind them.
"Apprenticed may be overstating it," Martel admitted. "Currently, I am more of a helper. But I hope to advance and learn all I can."
"See, that is what caught my interest," the duke revealed as he let Martel through the labyrinthine passages of his palace. "I have had dealings with your mistress, the Sindhian woman. Her elixirs are good, but at a high price, and I suspect she refuses to sell her best creations. I already have a court wizard, but a court alchemist trained in Sindhian knowledge would be a boon." He glanced over his shoulder at Martel.
"That sounds intriguing," the novice replied, mostly because he was unsure of the duke's meaning.
"Of course, you would be better compensated than any post in the Empire. And once my current court wizard retires, those duties would be yours as well." fr(e)ewebn(o)vel
Alright, so it was an offer of employment. And from the sound of it, an enticing one. "I am honoured, but I am also limited in my choices. Once I graduate, my next twenty years must be given to the Empire."
The duke waved his hand about. "With my wealth and connections in the Imperial administration, that is hardly an issue. As long as you acquire the skills I seek. If Aster is to thrive, we must learn all we can from our neighbours, whether Sindhu, Khiva, Tyria, the Western Isles, or even as far as Cathai."
"Such as the clock in your chamber."
The duke gave a little smile. "Correct. I was among the first to buy one, and I have several more. Now, my servants know to serve me breakfast at precisely seven o'clock, my stable hand has my horse saddled at eight, and my weapons master is ready to spar at nine." He stopped and gestured down the stairway. "Follow down to your left. We shall speak again when the time comes, I'm sure."
Martel gave a bow and took the path as instructed, returning to the grand hall.
~
Back at the celebration, Martel found the space filled with people. Locating Eleanor or just any friendly face would be a challenge. As he looked, his mind went over the duke's proposal. When he first heard it, Martel had been dazzled by the opportunity. Half a year ago, he would never have expected such a powerful nobleman to take notice of him, let alone offer him employment even long before his schooling was done.
Of course, it clashed with his original plan to return to Nordmark; then again, even if he became a weathermage, his placement for the next twenty years relied upon the Imperial administration, where he had little influence. Training as an alchemist would not fulfil his originally intended purpose, but perhaps the people at home could benefit even more from such skills. His mind briefly wandered to his father, contemplating if the right potion or salve could have saved him.
On a balcony in the middle of the hall, visible to all, the duke appeared. A herald stomped his staff into the ground to command silence. "My honoured guests," Cheval began to speak. "I welcome you to this solstice celebration. Food, drink, and entertainment to satisfy everyone shall flow without limit in but a moment, yet first I would ask you all to spare a thought for our brave legions guarding the borders of our blessed Empire." contemporary romance
The guests did so, with varying degrees of silence and reverence.
"We must never forget that our celebrations are only possible while our valiant soldiers hold the enemy at bay, whether they be the barbarians of the far north or the malicious Khivans, who even now dwell in our midst. As the legionaries defend our borders, we likewise must safeguard our cities, so they may know their families are protected just as they protect us."
Different shouts of agreement rose into the air.
"With that said, tonight is a night for celebration! Enjoy!" The duke extended his hands in every direction, inviting his guests to partake in the many delights on offer. As perhaps the only one, Martel stood immobile, stunned by what he had heard. He knew now that he had no desire to work for the duke of Cheval, and he would have to find a way to refuse one of the most powerful men in the realm without making him an enemy.
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