“I don’t know what your arrangement was with my father and, frankly, I don’t care,” said King Isaac as he prepared for his coronation. “I am to receive my crown tonight and your tenure on the court shall continue—or not—at my discretion.”

Amos the Abiding—or simply ‘Amos’ to King Isaac—clad in the trappings of a jester, was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Amos was the rightful king of the Languishing Plains; Isaac’s predecessor had understood the arrangement. Too bad the bastard had died before sharing that knowledge with his heir.

“You misunderstand me, boy. I am your king and I will be addressed as such,” said Amos sharply. “I have ruled these lands for hundreds of years and I will rule them for thousands more. You will rule no more than a chisel carves wood—you are but a useful tool with which I impose my will.”

“Ah, but how would the craftsman carve without an able chisel? Would they claw impotently at the wood, their desperate finger nails bloodied? Surely not.”

“Speak plainly, boy. Your aptitude for speech does not lie in metaphor.”

“Very well. Let me speak plainly,” replied King Isaac slowly, each word dripping with disdain. “Let’s assume for a moment that I accept your premise. That I yield that you are, in fact, King Amos the Abiding. If that were true, you still have no power but through me. No?”

Amos opened his mouth to answer but King Isaac cut him off.

“And, again, if what you say is true, oh eternal one, then you need for me to keep your secret. No? Moreover, oh poor Amos the Audacious, were I to alert the court of your claims, you would be summarily burned at the stake as a witch. I assume this is why you would have undertaken such a surreptitious strategy in the first place. Am I wrong, my Lord?”

Amos considered this. Of course Isaac was right. The king’s system only worked insofar as his figurehead was compliant. The flaw of monarchy is that the power lies not with lineage or title, in name or in law but in the perception of the public. Were Amos to re-emerge after all these years, his claim would be regarded with suspicion or outright rejection. Still, even were his claim supported, the boy was right. He’d be burned at the stake. He wouldn’t die—though it sure as shit wouldn’t be a pleasant few minutes—but the damage to his station would be sustained nonetheless.

The truth was a bitter pill. He needed the boy.

Amos paced the room slowly considering his next move. The candles in the room burned low and the light grew dim. Amos took a deep breath.

“Isaac. King Isaac,” Amos began, “what you say is true. Our fates are entwined, yours and mine. Whether you like it or not—Maker knows I don’t—you need me and I need you.”

King Isaac scoffed. “What possible use could I have for an old, poorly dressed oaf who has a penchant for stories and delusions of grandeur?”

“Delusions of grandeur,” Amos couldn’t help but chuckle. “I used to suffer from delusions of grandeur. Much like you, boy. But that’s what time does to you, it wears you down, it clarifies those cloudy spots within you that allow for embellishment and self-inflation, it centers you and beats you over the head with experiences from which you either learn or you die. And I’m still here, boy.

“Since, as you say, I have a penchant for stories, why don’t you allow me one weave one last tale?”

“We haven’t all day, old man,” said King Isaac.

“I’ll be brief. Shortly after my coronation, before I had bathed in those damned waters, and long after these lands had earned their damnable name, I did—as you say—suffer from a delusion of grandeur.

“I had it in my head that a mighty king must be a mighty huntsman. And a mighty huntsman must kill himself a bear. The folly of pride. I paid a man to catch a bear in Russia, cage it, and release it in the woodlands outside this very castle.

“I set out on my hunt, the Queen by my side, my jester in tow, and spear before me. As I wandered the woods searching for the beast, I heard a roar and a rustle. Before I could react the bear was charging right at me. Mayhem ensued as my Queen and jester fled. I stood my ground and took a thrashing. I was lucky to live.

“After having my wounds treated I sent for my jester. I scolded him for having fled. How could he have been so cowardly? He should have stood by his king’s side. And then my jester admonished me with the same words with which I’ll now admonish you.

“It is greater folly to let out a bear that was already in a cage.

“That bear—unnatural in our lands—was a force of nature. It destroyed ecosystems, eliminated whole species, and caused unknowable suffering because of its unchecked wrath upon these lands.

“That bear, of course, is long dead but imagine the irreversible damage he’d have wrought were he undying.”

King Isaac was silent. He stared at Amos the Abiding with an expression of fearful resignation—a child put in his place.

He nodded at the rightful king. He may not have the knack for crafting metaphors, but he could read between the lines.

And Amos was glad to be understood.

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