Page 75 of A War of Three Kings

“It seems we need the fae, and I’m curious to see what they can do in a battle,” Lord Adalwolf agrees. “I also vote in favor.”

My grandmother raises her hand. “I vote in favor.”

All eyes turn to Lord Tomas. He looks like he has bitten into something sour. “It’s not like it matters what I vote for.”

“The motion passes, then,” my father says, returning to the table. “Assuming we cannot resolve the issue with the coming negotiations, Aldrin will have more of his fae soldiers pass into this realm and join us in this war.”

Chapter 19

Aldrin

Our party rides in bleak silence as we cross the no-man’s-land between Fort Blackrock and the royal pavilion. I don’t understand the need for taking horses such a short distance, but the humans seem to think mounting these smelly, unpredictable creatures is a sign of status.

My warhorse bites at me every time I mount it to ensure a burst of panic ripples through me, reminding me who is in charge here. I have never missed Kai more, despite the kelpie’s insanity.

Our procession is led by Naomi on her great elk, with Edmund at her side, the might of the High Priestess and Lord Protector combined. Keira, Caitlin and I are directly behind them, with the lords and countess following in our shadow.

I keep Keira close to my side, not daring to show a hint of the terror I feel at losing her. Last comes an entire host of guards from each house, including all of my people.

It feels like we are marching to a battle. It may very well erupt into one.

Two royal guards dressed head to toe in deep purple velvet blow long, low notes from twin horns as we approach, and similarly attired guards pull back the flaps of the pavilion. PrinceNiall steps out, flanked by soldiers in full armor, with a druid in fine brown robes at his side.

At the sight of the prince, Keira rides forward and takes a position beside her father. I grind my teeth, unable to stop her or join her. As far as anyone outside that war room knows, I am Keira’s fae bodyguard alone. Not the man she wants to spend her life with. Not when she still needs the title of Mother of Magic to protect her.

“High Priestess. Lord Protector. Mother of Magic Keira. Do you pledge to come in peace for negotiations with King Finan?” Prince Niall asks.

The druid steps forward, holding long golden chains with an egg-shaped vessel hanging from them. Smoky tendrils of incense escape the decorative container, smelling musky and floral, with herbal notes.

“Speak no word of mistruth, as my magic will make it known,” the druid says.

I narrow my eyes at those vapors and notice the unnatural way they move and writhe, reacting to each word spoken. A spell of intentions, aided by the concoction within that vessel. A druid’s magic is different from my own. Older. More primal and raw. Taken directly from the earth and trees.

“I pledge that we come in peace for negotiations with King Finan,” the High Priestess says, then Edmund and Keira repeat it word for word.

The smoke continues its lazy dance, moving in time to their words but not really changing. If it detects sinister intentions, I suspect it will thrash. Such magic can be powerful before the ignorant, but easily manipulated by someone who knows what they are looking at. It reacts to a person’s bodily signals, after all.

After examining the smoke, the druid murmurs a few words to the prince.

“King Finan also pledges peace during these negotiations,” Prince Niall says. The smoke jitters ever so slightly. He is unsure.

“I would hear it from his lips,” Edmund demands.

“Then you will be left wanting.” The prince turns on his heel and strides into the tent. “Please, follow me if you will.”

Tension ripples through each of us as we dismount. I lean in and whisper in Keira’s ear, “Do not trust this Finan. You may have known him as a prince, but the crown of a king changes a person.”

“And you have to restrain yourself from violence,” she whispers back. “He will provoke you.”

“I cannot make any promises,” I grumble.

Edmund stalks into the tent, with Caitlin hot on his heels. I size up the guards lining the entrance, noting the longswords strapped at their backs and the daggers at their sides. They wear segmented body armor and skirts of chain mail.

“The king will not tolerate any weapons in his presence,” a guard declares. “Leave them here.”

“We will not go unarmed while the king’s guards possess weapons,” Caitlin snaps.

“Just do as you are told,” Edmund says over his shoulder as he pulls weapon after weapon from his person. “We don’t need swords when we have magic.”

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