The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) by Victoria Grefer

on a separate floor and in a different wing. Valkin walked behind his
father because the Palace halls were narrow, and his face flushed with
uncomfortable anticipation. What did the king want with him? To ask his
counsel? That seemed unlikely, but it was possible. To discuss Valkin’s future?
Even if Neslan had spoken with the king since last night, this hardly seemed an
occasion to broach the topic of Valkin and the crown. Not with Vane possibly
finding himself murd—
    Valkin
refused to finish the thought, to consider Vane might be dead. Not when
Herezoth needed the man like it did, when Valkin would need him so desperately
during his reign.
    Most
likely, the king was planning to use this crisis to train Valkin in some way,
to give him greater responsibilities. Valkin was past twenty, after all.
Twenty-one. He had no legitimate protest should the king suggest he take over
some of his duties, though entwining himself ever more, even inextricably, into
the fabric of the government was the last thing the crown prince desired.
    The
king’s office door swung open at Rexson’s touch well before Valkin felt
prepared to enter the room. He hated that room; he always had, though he
readily admitted it was spacious, lushly carpeted, and well ventilated.
Rexson’s office was where Valkin always held unwanted conversations with his
father. The cedar table where the king hosted meetings with his nobles was too
large for Valkin’s taste, and the suit of armor on the wall, behind the desk
with its organized clutter of papers, seemed to judge the prince somehow. Every
time he looked at it, it judged him. That bloody visored helmet….
    Rexson
led Valkin to the table, where they pulled out adjacent chairs. Once seated,
Rexson said, “This business in Partsvale will demand my full attention. And
Mason Greller’s, along with your mother’s. There’s nothing else to be said.
These maniacs could provoke a civil war.”
    “I
realize that.”
    “I
need you to see to my other obligations, until the crisis passes. The hearing
tomorrow evening between the brewers’ guild and those disgruntled alehouse
owners, you’ll adjudicate. You must host that state dinner tonight with the
Traiglanders. Later in the week, Lorence Vierno’s requesting funds from the
treasury for Carphead. He’s demanding a larger percentage of the surplus,
citing the growth Vane’s school has brought his region. I was going to give him
two percent more. He’s to be grateful for half a percent or take nothing. The
Giver only knows what we’ll be spending on war costs.”
    Valkin
nodded. He couldn’t foresee any way to avoid arms, if only for one battle.
    “Tanya
Greller, she’s called a meeting with me to discuss redistricting Yangerton. It
needs to be done, but not at present. We’ve pressing matters at present, so
placate her as best you can…. You can handle all that?”
    “Yes,
Father.”
    “You’re
more than prepared for this. You have been for some time. I should have liked
to give you greater warning before thrusting this upon you, but….”
    “Don’t
worry, not about the day to day business. You’ve my word, I’ll see it done.”
    The
king displayed his support, and his gratitude, with a squeeze of his son’s
hand. “No word must escape as to the reason you’re taking my place at court.
We’ll name it part of your training, for it will function as such. Stress its
temporary nature.”
    Temporary,
yes. For the moment, it was temporary.
    “Valkin,
about the Traiglanders: you’ll need to discuss that new tariff program with
them in the morning.”
    “I
know. I was with you and Greller when you met with the Foreign Affairs and
Finance Councils day before yesterday. I know what you need Traigland to agree
to. And I know you’re willing to lower tariff rates on imported furniture, if
it’ll have the Traiglanders importing more of our wool at a lower tax. You can
trust me to represent you, Father. Don’t spare a thought over