Page 18 of Kingdom of Feathers

“The area currently occupied by our troops is not conducive to exploration,” the blacksmith went on. “The guild would not recommend any attempt to mine while the fighting continues. A more detailed analysis is provided in the guild’s report.”

The king sighed, and inclined his head slightly. The blacksmith resumed his seat, and King Lloyd cast his eyes around the table.

“For the benefit of the council, let me add that the guild’s report also states that we have a kingdom-wide shortage of iron.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” affirmed the second blacksmith. “The demand from the military has depleted our reserves.”

Wren fought the urge to snort. How ironic. The war they were fighting over iron ore was draining them of the iron they did have. The general was speaking again, defending his army’s need for the supplies they’d ordered, but Wren’s thoughts were elsewhere. She didn’t want to wrestle with the complex dynamics between the guilds, the military, the court, and the crown. That was her father’s job, and Caleb’s, and they were both good at it. She had to work so hard just to keep up, and it was wasted effort, since she’d never have responsibility for such decisions. Her time would be much better spent continuing her clandestine research into enchantments. That was an area of knowledge she had practical use for.

Her eyes passed around the room, taking note of who was listening closely and who, like her, was distracted by other things. The guild members looked ill at ease, and Wren’s gaze lingered on them. It was hard to put her finger on what gave her that impression, but she definitely thought they were uncomfortable. Perhaps they felt out of their depth, debating with a general.

“Wren.”

Her father’s calm voice pulled her from her reverie. She looked at him, alarmed at the question in his eyes. She’d become so good at keeping her thoughts hidden, she wasn’t sure he realized she hadn’t been listening. What was he asking her?

“Do you have an opinion on the matter?” he pressed.

Stalling, Wren took a moment to glance again around the assembled council members. The general merely looked impatient with the interruption, and the blacksmiths were awkwardly avoiding looking at their mute princess. But several of the noblemen wore openly disdainful expressions. Wren felt a flash of anger. How could they all expect her to be as good at these things as Caleb had been? Her brother had been trained for his position from infancy, whereas no one had ever bothered to explain matters of import to Wren until they had no other options.

Returning her gaze to her father, Wren shook her head.

“You don’t have any thoughts on how our people might receive a new tax to fund the import of iron from Albury?”

The grim expectancy in her father’s eyes told Wren he wasn’t going to let her get away with melting into the background. With an expression that betrayed none of her frustration, Wren retrieved her slate from its pocket and bent to write on it.

A pointedly cleared throat made her pause.

“Your Majesty,” said Lord Kinley, the same nobleman who had commented scathingly on the swan-Lyall’s presence. He had a look of determination on his face, and Wren felt her heart sink. “If Her Highness wishes her opinion to be heard by the council, should she not state it aloud, as the rest of us do?”

“It is not your place to set limits on the conduct of the princess, My Lord,” responded the king icily.

His voice was as hard as stone, but Wren could see the embarrassment beneath, and she cringed internally.

“Your Majesty,” said another of the nobles, rising to join his fellow, “I must agree with Lord Kinley.” This man’s face was also set in resolute lines, and it was clear to Wren that they had agreed ahead of time to speak. She’d been expecting something like this, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“It was one thing when the princess was a child, and was recovering from the distress of…” the man’s courage seemed to fail him in light of the thunderous look on the king’s face, and he didn’t actually mention the princes’ murders, “of what occurred.” He inclined his head stiffly toward Wren, not meeting her eye. “A distress that was, of course, understandable. But she is a child no longer. Her refusal to speak—”

“Not to mention the swans,” muttered Lord Kinley, and the speaker inclined his head.

“—and indeed her other eccentric behavior, surely ought not to be tolerated any longer.”

Wren felt many pairs of eyes on her, as various of the other council members made noises of assent. She kept her face impassive, but her insides writhed with her humiliation. She knew she was no one’s choice of heir. She knew her “eccentric behavior” was a national embarrassment. But to have it stated so baldly, and to her face…

Only three more months,she chanted to herself.Less than three months. Then the nightmare will be over.

She could feel indignation radiating out from the queen, but she couldn’t bear to meet her mother’s eyes. Even less could she bring herself to look at her father, whose anger once again poorly concealed his chagrin.

“You forget yourselves, My Lords,” he said bitingly. “It is not your place to sit in judgment over my heir.”

He stumbled over the last two words, and Wren knew the rest of the room had heard it, too. It took all her control not to bury her face wearily in her hands. She knew why the lords were worked up. She’d been braced for it. They were right about one thing—she wasn’t a child anymore. In a few short months, she would turn eighteen, at which time everyone expected her to be anointed as crown princess. Not that the ceremony really changed anything—according to everyone else, she was already the crown princess. But it was a public declaration of her status that she knew made many in the castle uncomfortable, given her undesirability as their future monarch. She also suspected that formalizing it would make things complicated on Caleb’s return.

Not that it mattered. The six years of the curse would run out shortly before she turned eighteen. Her father’s true heir—anointed almost a decade ago—would be back by then. He’d be able to assume his position and end the farce they’d all been trapped in for far too long.

“We mean no disrespect to you, Your Majesty,” said Lord Kinley, squaring his shoulders. “We seek only the good of Mistra. And we fear that our kingdom cannot afford the loss in standing that will result from the public anointing of an heir who is—”

“Choose your next words with great care.”

The king’s voice was so forbidding, even Wren felt a chill pass over her. She sat straighter in her seat, gratified to see that for once the king’s anger allowed no hint of discomfort to show through, even to her sharp eyes. Reminding herself that she was the king’s daughter, after all, she frowned at Lord Kinley. A sharp retort rose to her tongue, but of course she didn’t utter it. And a moment’s reflection made her glad of the forced restraint—scathing comments from her would help nothing. Instead she watched him with dignity, daring him to finish his sentence.

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