“You, my son, have demonstrated the intelligence of a chicken. Pecking away at seed on the ground when a fox is in the henhouse,” my father started into me with an anger I hadn’t seen more than once a year before his mind broke. His royal brow furrowed, and the regal hairs that crept up to the middle of his forehead only further demonstrated his ire carried on waves of creases.

“Leave us,” I commanded.

The silent guards and servants all rushed to comply, ignoring my father’s harsh words as he continued to berate me. I only partially listened, myself. He would return to himself when he ran out of breath and calmed. Instead, I looked out the window of the tower, gazing across the expanse of sky, though I didn’t approach. He’d already pushed two women and a guard out of that window during his bouts. I wasn’t willing to be the son he murdered as well, just to get a view of my city below.

“You have doomed us! Doomed us all! I knew your sister would have made a better queen, but you went and killed her! M-my daughter,” He slowed his speech and gazed at his two hands, lost in contemplation of his love for the dead harlot.

I crossed my arms and waited. My patience had already been worn thin by the simpering of noble men and women who supported the kingdom in today's court. It didn’t take long before my father blinked his eyes and looked around with a renewed dawning of comprehension.

“My apologies, son. King. I don’t know what came over me,” he muttered. Spit and blood stained his chin and robes, it felt each fit was worse than the last.

I could tell him. I had before, reveling in the shame and guilt he would feel as vengeance for the unwarranted spite he inflicted on me, but I didn’t have time for that any longer.

“Father, I need your guidance,” I began.

“Of course, of course.” He said though he didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he straightened and smoothed the silk sheets and blankets that he had slung around in his recent fit.

“The wizard. He took the duchess’s offer and now heads to war against Mirktal,” I said in as calm a voice as I could manage.

My father looked up at me sharply, his hands still stopped. I could see the thoughts turning in his head at my words, the reflection of candles flames seemed to pale in comparison to his eye’s brightness.

“That is odd. If he didn’t swear to Mirktal, then where does his allegiance lie? Not Tervan, they wouldn’t have him. The Tea’s chains must lead somewhere,” I listened to my father as he spoke. He hadn’t always thought aloud, but had given over to the habit so that his words could be written down and finished later if interrupted by a bout of madness.

“If he heads to war, the assassin failed. Though, it wasn’t ever a certainty,” the former king kept talking.

I interjected, providing more in case it might prove to be the missing piece of the puzzle, “His disciples are all accounted for. Alred too far away to matter. Thuril was killed in a dungeon. Nire committed suicide before we could get to her. Walker was killed by the Mirktals. Kine is watched closely. The girl retreated to the tower. If he had found a way to counter the effects of the tea, we’ve stopped his plans.”

My father followed along, nodding his head slowly, “You think the elves plot?”

I shook my head, “All spies report the six enclaves have retreated through some portal. Their homes lay abandoned.”

“Not elves. Not dwarves, either then. None of the five kingdoms. You swear you felt tea inside him still?” he asked, though it was rhetorical.

I nodded and watched one of the greatest minds in the world work through the problem.

“His ridiculous demands for couches. His blatant embarrassment of the Laxtons. Why would he seek to weaken that specific duchy further?” the king asked himself, though I think the both of us arrived at the answer at the same time. There was only one power left, though we dreaded to even consider it. That the wizard would align himself with the Seafolk would be a thing of night-terrors.

“Father, he couldn’t have…” I trailed off, afraid to even speak my fears aloud.

My father shook his head, “We can only prepare for the worst. I’ve heard of dark, ancient things that sleep deep underground as well. If he has betrayed us to the Seafolk, we may have already lost. Him in the west to cut retreat as they swarm in from the east. All happening while we are weak? Sena would fall.”

“How would we even prepare for that?” I whispered, hoping that his mind remained clear enough to finish our discourse.

My father began coughing, hacking up blood before he spoke again, “Warn Mirktal, call off this war. Ask them if they want to defend Laxton Bay when the Seafolk crawl ashore.”

“I—I can’t just ask cousin Rilt to call off the war. He doesn’t care for me. We need our armies at higher tiers, regardless.”

My father looked at me, unrelenting. I stilled my back to keep myself from shuddering. “I will, father.”

The man, the former king, accepted my words with a relieved sigh, and looked towards the ceiling before speaking the prayer, “Hallowed are the chains that bind us to our duty. Responsibility to others is the greatest chain of all. Each of us a slave to one another.”

“Hallowed are the chains,” I closed my eyes and answered him, closing the prayer. When I opened them back up, I could see his madness had returned. His wrinkled face twisted in a malevolent rage. Seeing the man that I had always looked up to, the former pride of Sena, in such a state hurt me more than I could ever speak. Instead, I turned away from him to allow the servants and guards to resume their duties as I would resume mine.

“Hallowed are the chains that bind us,” I whispered again to myself, seeking solace in those holy words.