Page 19 of Kingdom of Feathers

But he was given no opportunity to do so. At that moment, the door to the council room was flung open, and a messenger hurried inside.

Along with everyone else, Wren stared at the young man, who wore a military uniform. After a quick bow to his sovereign, the messenger scurried to the general’s side, murmuring into the older man’s inclined ear.

Wren could tell from the sudden stillness of the general’s frame that the news was something big. The grizzled soldier turned to his king, his expression hard to read.

“General?” asked King Lloyd, tension in every line of his face. His eyes flicked to Wren. Was he regretting insisting on her presence? Or just remembering the last time he’d been brought portentous news, and reassuring himself that his one remaining child was accounted for?

“A report from our scouts, Your Majesty,” said the general curtly. “They say King Thorn died early this morning. Prince Basil is to be crowned immediately.”

There was a moment of shocked silence, then the room erupted in speculation. Wren sat frozen, turning the information over in her mind. So the Entolian king had died at last.

“What caused his death?” A nobleman shot the question at the messenger.

The man cleared his throat. “The report is that he succumbed to an infection, My Lord.”

Wren saw many faces reflecting her own wry thoughts. They all knew what had really killed King Thorn. He’d been felled by the old injury, inflicted by Mistran soldiers years before.

She chewed on her lip. What would this development mean for them? For the war? What would the new king do with his suddenly acquired power?

“Your Majesty,” said Lord Kinley, apparently forgetting that he had been midway through being chastised by the sovereign, “this matter calls for serious consideration.”

“Indeed,” said King Lloyd, his expression thoughtful. “This may change everything.” He turned to the general. “Is there more to the message?”

The older man shook his head. “Very little, Your Majesty. Just that there is to be a state burial in three days’ time.”

“Three days,” mused Wren’s father. “And at that time the prince will be crowned?”

“If not before,” interjected one of the noblemen. Wren recognized him as her father’s chief advisor on foreign affairs. “They conduct all matters of state very promptly in Entolia, Your Majesty, with a minimum of ceremony.”

The king nodded slowly, his brows still furrowed in thought. The general hubbub was growing, as everyone discussed the dramatic news with those seated around them. As usual everyone ignored Wren completely, and she again scanned the group, taking note of the demeanor of the various advisors. People’s unguarded first reactions to news were often most telling, and Wren had discovered that when she wasn’t trying to make her own voice heard, she could turn all her faculties to measuring others’ responses.

The general, she noticed, showed no sign of the fear that lurked in the faces of many of the nobles. If anything, his demeanor suggested a faint excitement, and Wren wasn’t at all surprised when he was the first to speak.

“Your Majesty.” The general’s clear voice cut across the chatter. “May I remind you of our previous conversations regarding this eventuality? Our force is the strongest it’s ever been, and Tola isn’t situated far from the front lines. I could leave within the hour, and I truly believe our forces could reach their capital before the burial.”

Wren blinked into the sudden silence that followed this pronouncement. For a moment she struggled to comprehend the general’s meaning. Then his words clicked into place, and she gave a sharp gasp.

The sound was lost in the renewed clamor. The king raised his hands for silence, but the arguments continued. Everywhere the nobles were getting heated, arguing their points to their neighbors, while the blacksmiths from the guild watched on with wide eyes.

Wren shook her head, surprising herself by the strength of the anger that rose within her. All out war? The general wanted to invade Entolia in earnest?

“It makes sense, Your Majesty,” Lord Kinley called above the many voices. “This is the time to strike. They’ll be at their weakest.”

Wren clenched her fist under the table, watching with disbelief as her father considered the idea.

“I take it that is your advice, General?” The king turned to the military commander, who stood.

“Your Majesty, you already know that I have planned for this event. My advice remains the same as during our previous discussion. I believe this is the opportune moment to strike, and end this war once and for all.”

With what intent?Wren shouted in her head.Will we annex Entolia?

She noticed that no one seemed interested any longer in the ore that sat below the battlefield. It was, as they all knew, merely an excuse. The hostilities that had simmered for nearly six years had nothing to do with iron, and everything to do with the attack on Wren’s brothers. And now that the Entolians had finally suffered the loss which Mistra had attempted to inflict in retaliation all those years ago, the general was ready to drive the hammer home.

“The new king is barely of age,” the general continued, not a flicker of emotion showing in face or voice. “He will be completely out of his depth, not to mention distressed from the loss of his father. He will be in no position to defend his capital. And from what we understand, King Thorn’s resentment overruled his reason more often than not. I do not believe he will have set up proper contingencies to cover his kingdom’s vulnerability on his death. Now is assuredly the time to strike.”

Wren found herself on her feet, not quite sure how she’d gotten there.No. She opened her mouth, only just clamping it shut in time. It had been a very long time since she’d come close to slipping up, and she hardly knew why she felt so strongly about this matter. She just knew, deep within herself, that if Mistra did this thing, it would be a terrible stain on their history.

NO.

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