Whisper of Waves

46

Midsummer, the Year of the Wyvern (1363 DR)

SECOND QUARTER, INNARLITH

The Midsummer Festival and another party.

Willem Korvan stood on a wide belvedere lined with statuary, which overlooked the harbor and the dark expanse of the Lake of Steam. The night was clear and the crescent of Selune, followed by her Trail of Tears, rose through a sea of stars. The lights of the city and the stars reflected in the calm water made Willem feel as if there was no world under his feet, just endless night sky on all sides of him.

He had never felt more alone in his life.

“There you are, my boy,” Inthelph said, causing Willem to jump.

His skin gone cold even in the hot summer air, Willem turned to greet the master builder with a nod and saw that his mother had come looking for him too. Behind them rose the lofty towers of the ransar’s palace.

“Really, my dear,” his mother said. “Are you out here all alone?”

“Just admiring the city lights,” he said.

My boy? My dear? As if they owned him.

He tried not to cringe outwardly when they stood at the railing with him, one on either side as if flanking him, trapping him.

“I was just telling your mother about the new project,” said the master builder.

“He was,” Thurene said. “It sounds terribly exciting.”

Willem turned to look behind them to the cluster of needle-like towers that rose above the low buildings of the city like a copse of trees in a field of grass.

“The Palace of Many Spires,” Willem said, his voice so quiet it was barely above a whisper.

“The home of the ransar himself,” the master builder added, his voice almost as quiet, reverent where Willem’s was simply frightened. “It will be the crowning jewel in my career, if not my life.”

“Surely the latter would be the birth of your lovely daughter,” Thurene prodded.

Willem closed his eyes and stood stiffly withstanding the uncomfortable moment.

The master builder at last cleared his throat and said, “Of course, madam. In my career, then, to be sure.”

“But it’s already such a pretty building,” said Thurene.

“And it will be prettier still when your son and I are through with it, Madam Korvan,” Inthelph replied. “The ransar has asked that I provide another spire, one taller and more graceful than any other. It will house visiting dignitaries from realms near and far. It will help make Innarlith a city-state of importance to all of Faerun.”

Willem had heard Inthelph and other senators say that before, but he didn’t understand it. How could a spire make anything like that degree of difference? It was more busy work. It would occupy the master builder’s time and energy, then it would occupy the treasury and a small army of workers. In the end, it would likely sit empty most of the time, but when it was all done, the ransar would be able to tell everyone that he had built it, and how glorious it was. In the end they would have been doing something other than going to parties and ceremonies and balls and talking, talking, talking to the same small group of people.

“Tall and graceful,” Thurene said, her voice and manner intentionally wistful. “Words that have been used to describe my Willem. I’m sure he’s the man for the job.”

Inthelph smiled and clapped Willem on the back.

“Mother….” Willem started.

“Indeed, he is both of those things-all three,” the master builder said. “Willem will be at my right hand the whole way.”

Thurene gasped and grabbed hold of Willem’s arm. He put a smile on his face when he looked down at her. She beamed, her face glowing in the starlight. A group of revelers in the street below let out a spontaneous cheer-he didn’t know why. They were all drunk, and it sounded to Willem as if they were cheering his latest political success.

“Your right …” Thurene said, pretending she was unable to go on.

“My right hand …” the master builder replied. “It is impossible for me to describe the extent to which I’ve come to rely on your son, Madam Korvan. He will be involved in every decision, assisting me more closely than anyone on my staff. He will assist me with presentations to Ransar Osorkon himself.”

Thurene gasped and tightened her grip on Willem’s arm-so much so that it was almost painful.

“Your son will sit on the senate some day,” Inthelph pronounced. Willem looked at him and was greeted with a wink and a fatherly smile that made him turn away again. “He is doing everything right and making all the right friends, including, this very night, the ransar himself.”

“Did you hear that, Willem?”

“Yes,” Willem said. He smiled and was disappointed by how easy it was, how sincere. “Yes, I did, Mother. Thank you, Master Builder. I only hope that I will continue to prove worthy of your trust.”

“I’m certain you will, my boy,” Inthelph said, touching Willem on the elbow.

Willem looked at him again and the look he saw in the master builder’s eyes made it plain what Inthelph expected of him. Willem would design the tower, Willem would build it, Willem would lead the teams.

Willem had no idea where to even begin.

“I am so proud,” Thurene said, pulling on his arm. “We should go back inside before anyone thinks we’ve left early. That wouldn’t do at all, would it, Master Builder?”

“Not at all, Madam Korvan,” Inthelph replied. “The ransar is still more sensitive than usual, too, after that terrible, bold theft of a priceless family heirloom right from this very palace.”

“Really?” Thurene gasped. “How awful. How long ago did that happen?”

“What was it, Willem?” the master builder asked.

“Six months or so?” Willem answered, his mind elsewhere.

He let them lead him back inside and when they stepped back into the noise and frivolity of Osorkon’s Midsummer revel, Willem knew precisely where to begin. He knew whose vision would stand among the soaring monuments of the Palace of Many Spires and whose name would forever be etched in its stone, and Willem Korvan knew he would be neither of those men.