Page 50 of Kept

Drago gripped the hilt of his sword. “A suggestion only, my lord,” he said, a hint of irritation in his expression. He covered it well as he gave me a short bow. “Your Grace, my men are at your disposal.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Captain Drago. How was the journey?”

“Cold.”

Someone unaccustomed to vampires of the warrior class might take offense at Drago’s bluntness. But I’d spent half my life with Varick of Lar Keiren. Drago wasn’t being rude. He simply saw no reason to expound on what had likely been a miserable march from the Wastes to Lar Budina. Warriors didn’t complain. They endured, shrugged, and moved on to the next mission.

The chair at the end of the table opposite Lar Guna was empty. I went to it and rested my hands on the back. “Don’t let me interrupt, Artur.” I gestured to the map. “Please continue.”

Lar Guna held my gaze a moment too long. Just as the lords began to shift in their seats, he cleared his throat and pointed at the marker someone had placed on Lar Katerin. “Right, so as I was saying, I think if we enter from here, we could…”

I tuned him out as I considered my options. I knew what my father would have done. If my sire were alive, Lar Guna would already be on his way to the Rift. But could I execute a male for his thoughts? If I did, where did it stop? Did I kill my entire Council for thinking about joining whatever rebellion he’d cooked up? Once I threw all the lords into the Rift, when would the rumors start? Madness, they would say. A king who saw threats everywhere—just like his father.

History was forever repeating itself, and its laziness was on full display now. My father had ruled with Valen at his side, and he’d dispatched his “ghost” to spy on his lords in the most private and intimate settings. “If you want to know what a male is really thinking, listen to what he tells his mistress in bed.”

My father hadn’t been wrong. Like the other members of my sex, my dick had led me down numerous paths of stupidity. And now, like my father, I had access to power that wasn’t mine. Given’s ability allowed me to peer into Lar Guna’s head. But thoughts weren’t crimes.

And my situation was precarious. Lar Katerin had fallen on my watch. Everyone on the lawn had witnessed Given raving like a madwoman. The lords of the Council didn’t fully trust Jordan, and I wasn’t convinced they believed the stories about the demons behind the Thicket. The lowpeople outside knew nothing of mages or elves. Would they believe me when I told them Lar Guna had plotted treason in his mind? My ancestors had become kings because they controlled the Deepnight. I no longer did. I was fairly confident my army was still loyal, but I couldn’t be entirely certain. My father’s army had been loyal too—until it hadn’t.

Given and Varick stood at my back. If I fell, I’d almost certainly take them with me.

What were my options?

“You think you’re smart, boy. But you’re weak.”

I know, Father.

“—do you, Your Grace?”

I looked up to find everyone staring at me. Lar Guna’s jaw was clenched. Captain Radu regarded me with an expectant look on his face.

I started to shove my hair back and stopped myself. “I beg your pardon. Did someone ask a question?”

“You were always too impatient to listen.”

Radu motioned to the marker atop Lar Katerin. “Yes, Your Grace. We wanted your thoughts on the wisdom of striking the South. Lord Lar Guna believes retaking the capital will put us in a good position to push the humans back across the Rift.”

And Lar Guna would do none of the pushing. That much was certain. I let my gaze fall on the map. It was beautifully illustrated, the major cities of Ter Isir drawn in precise detail. In Beldurn, the Towers of the Mir rose above the rest of the structures. Aberwas in Wesyfedd was a squat tower. Lar Katerin was a sparkling jewel, the Sanctum’s spires stabbing the air. The map didn’t show the bleached sky or the burnt bodies in the streets. On paper, Lar Katerin was as beautiful as ever.

“I am no soldier,” I said. “I would like to hear Lord Varick’s opinion on the matter.”

Lar Guna made a sound.

There. Such a seemingly inconsequential noise. But it might as well have been a shout. Because in uttering it, Lar Guna threw down a gauntlet.

I picked it up.

“Is something wrong, Artur?” I asked as Varick moved to my side. Another awkward silence fell as Lar Guna looked between us. Then his gaze moved to a spot over my shoulder.

Given.

Dread slipped down my spine. Lar Guna’s expression was the same one he’d worn outside the blacksmith’s shop the day we crossed the Rift for Rolund’s funeral.

“Everyone knows about us,” I’d told Varick.

“Yes, but we’ve been careful. We allowed them to pretend.”

But we hadn’t been so careful lately. There was no Rose Room in Lar Budina.

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