Page 16 of Kept

“Artur…” Lar Bassa warned.

“I will not be silenced!” Lar Guna snapped, his voice rising and his eyes beginning to glow. He swung toward me and pointed the same finger he’d stabbed at the table. “You’re the only one who can control it, so why aren’t you doing it? You busy yourself with bedsport and neglect your duties. You are failing Nor Doru!”

In a blink, Varick was behind him, hauling him back with an arm around Lar Guna’s neck and the tip of a dagger against the smaller male’s temple. “I will kill you where you stand,” he hissed in Lar Guna’s ear.

Chairs crashed to the floor as the other lords stood quickly. Lar Guna gasped, his fangs punching down as his body realized it was in mortal danger. Lar Bassa drew a blade of his own and then looked unsure of what he meant to do with it.

Captain Radu had no such problem. His own dagger flashed in his fist as he bared his fangs and hissed at Lar Guna. “It’s treason to speak such insults against the king.”

“It’s the truth!” Lar Guna protested. He gagged and struggled. “We’ll all burn if this continues!”

“You first,” Radu growled. “My men should stake you out at the edge of the Rift.”

Lar Guna’s eyes were wild as they rolled to me. His voice climbed several octaves. “You are not your father, Laurent, to murder in cold blood!”

Varick tightened his grip until Lar Guna’s eyes bulged. “Damn you, I should cut out your disrespectful tongue! That will stop you from speaking.”

“I wouldn’t, Lord Varick,” Jordan said quietly.

Everyone stilled.

All eyes turned to Jordan. The Archmage hadn’t moved in the chaos. He remained seated, his head bent as he toyed with the iron night-blooming rose he’d saved from toppling off the table. At last, he set the iron marker down and looked at Varick. “You never know when you might need Lord Lar Guna to speak for you.”

The silence held, everyone frozen like some dramatic painting. Jordan’s blue eyes met mine, the length of Ter Isir between us.

“Release him, General,” I said. As Varick obeyed, the other lords righted their chairs and resumed their seats. A hush fell over the chamber, broken only by Lar Guna struggling to catch his breath. Everyone waited for what came next. They waited on me.

I stood, my gaze going to the jagged groove that split the table in two, representing the Rift. The table was older than the chasm. According to palace lore, craftsmen had added it later, after the earthquakes that destroyed Eldenvalla had cracked open the land between Sithistra and Nor Doru.

“No king is perfect,” I said. Then I looked at Given. “Vampires are mortal the same as men. Isn’t that what they say in the South?”

“Yes, my lord.”

I smiled at her before returning my gaze to the males around the table. “I am not my father. That is correct. I don’t punish my subjects for speaking their minds. I respect the opinions of everyone on this Council. That’s why I believe it’s important for all of you to know the truth about what we’re facing.”

No one spoke. No one moved. Again, they waited on me. I didn’t wear the crown, but I felt its weight pressing down on my head.

“Palaces are the worst places to keep secrets. By now, you’re probably all aware of the prophecy the mages of Wesyfedd carried from the Towers of the Mir the night Queen Given was born. But if you haven’t, it says the savior of the realm will be bound in blood and reborn from the Rift.”

Several gazes darted to Given. The scrutiny made anger spike in my veins. Made me feel helpless. I wanted to yell at them to stop looking at her. She wasn’t an animal caged for their amusement. She hadn’t asked for the prophecy, but it had trapped her nevertheless. Maybe I understood a little how that felt.

I cleared my throat. “We are fortunate to have the Archmage on our side.”

Now, the gazes turned to Jordan, who wore a plain green jacket and had never looked younger or less intimidating. Not exactly the inspiring hero I needed to convince the Council I wasn’t going to end up killing us all, but I was apparently stuck with him.

“The Archmage tells me that, like it or not, the prophecy touches every kingdom in Ter Isir. It touches Nor Doru, and our Deepnight.” I pointed to the section of the table where the dead lands of Eldenvalla sprawled, the border marked by dozens of iron trees. “Our queen and General Lord Lar Keiren entered Vai Seren and met Midian, the king of the demons that dwell behind the Thicket. We don’t know their numbers, but it doesn’t matter. When the elves called up the demons from the Shade, they handed their empire to pure evil. The elves are all dead, their bodies possessed by spirits that can turn minds inside out and bring even the strongest warriors to their knees. And they don’t need to lift a single sword to do it. That is what we’re facing.”

Around the table, males looked at one another. Brows furrowed, and a range of emotions played over faces. Fear. Disbelief. A few of the lords whose estates bordered Eldenvalla looked resigned. Doubtless, they were all too familiar with what lived behind the trees.

“The Thicket is failing,” I said bluntly. “It’s weakening the same as our Deepnight. The Archmage tells me that these things are connected. As the Thicket begins to fall, the Deepnight continues to disappear. If the Thicket breaks down completely, nothing will stop the demons from spilling into the rest of Ter Isir.”

Lar Bassa looked up from the table. “What do we do?” he asked hoarsely.

“I don’t know.” As frowns deepened and the weight of the crown pressed harder, I met Varick’s gaze. He stood near the wall again, his dagger sheathed and his golden eyes steady. He was right. I couldn’t run off and hide. Couldn’t lose myself in prayer and pain. That escape was temporary. It solved nothing.

I drew a deep breath and turned back to the table. “I don’t know,” I repeated, “but we need to acknowledge that we are at war. I’d hoped we wouldn’t have to battle the South. But the Brotherhood has a stranglehold on Sithistra, and the Towers don’t interpret the prophecy as we do. Worse, it seems they don’t understand the threat the collapse of the Thicket poses.”

“Nor Doru is not without gifts,” Jordan said. He stood and pushed his chair back. “Queen Given and Lord Varick are elven-born.” He looked at Given. “Rolund gave Nor Doru the South’s greatest treasure when he sent his sister over the Rift.”

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