Page 56 of Kingdom of Feathers

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“If you didn’t bring anything to offer, King Basil, I don’t know why you came all this way to treat with us.”

Wren sent the general a glare that he naturally didn’t see, since he was as usual paying her no attention. Had all her father’s advisors only recently become so petty, or was she only just noticing it now that she was painfully aware of Basil’s presence? If anyone had asked her—which of course they didn’t—she could have told them that their attempts to project strength made Mistra seem weak compared to Basil’s steady and unemotional calm.

“I’m not unwilling to negotiate, General,” Basil said, in an excellent display of that calm. “But your demands are unreasonable, as I think you know. Surely we all know that neither kingdom is going to cede the entire ore field to the other. That would amount to a surrender, and if either of our forces were in a position to compel that outcome, we would have reached it years ago.”

“So you admit that your army isn’t strong enough to overcome ours,” said the general quickly, his eyes gleaming with the imagined hit.

Wren sighed, putting her elbow on the table and resting her chin in one palm. Her father frowned at her, but she ignored him. If anyone’s behavior was making them look bad in front of their foreign guests, it wasn’t her posture. This council was a waste of her time. Her scheduled meeting with Basil in the afternoon was sure to be much more worthwhile. Even if they hadn’t found anything new since their one breakthrough a fortnight before, at least they were learning to communicate effectively with each other, which was more than she could say for those present in the council room.

“Only inasmuch as your army isn’t strong enough to overcome ours,” retorted Lord Baldwin, the one representative of Basil’s Lords’ Council.

Basil held up a hand, and Lord Baldwin fell silent. “If there’s nothing further to discuss, Your Majesty,” he said, his eyes on King Lloyd, “I don’t wish to detain you from more important matters.”

Wren’s father narrowed his eyes suspiciously. It wasn’t the first time Wren had observed how much he was irked by Basil’s patience in face of the king’s continued obstruction. She wondered if her father really knew what he was trying to achieve. He’d said he accepted Basil’s request to visit only because he couldn’t politely refuse, but what was the point in making the Entolian king kick his heels in Myst? It was probably the general, constantly in her father’s ear about how important it was for Mistra not to appear weak by ceding any ground.

Wren’s eyes passed from her father to Basil, who was the picture of calm. He’d been in Myst for a month now, and when he arrived, he’d been so insistent that they negotiate immediately, and not waste time he could little spare from all his pressing obligations back in Tola. Surely he would lose patience at any moment, give up on negotiations, and ride back to Entolia.

The thought made Wren feel unspeakably depressed, and not just because of what it would mean for the war. She desperately wanted him to stay another month, so she could show him who she was, underneath the reserve enforced on her by the curse. But it was foolish to expect it. She was amazed he’d stayed as long as he had. He was unlikely to extend his visit by as much time again.

“Very well,” said King Lloyd at last, rising with a little less dignity than normal. “If you have nothing new to say, I do indeed have other things to attend to.” He swept from the room, clearly expecting his retinue to follow. Wren did so reluctantly, casting a glance back at Basil. He remained where he sat, looking a little weary. He sent her the briefest of smiles, but he was swamped by his own companions before she could respond.

Chapter Fifteen

Wren had no expectation of seeing Basil again before lunch, so she was surprised to see his now familiar figure striding toward her not an hour later, as she knelt by the garden pond.

What’s the Entolian doing out here?groused Conan, with whom she had been speaking.

Ignoring him, Wren straightened, her smile of welcome dimming as she took in Basil’s companion. He’d never brought anyone else to speak with her before, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Especially since her own guards were, for once, absent.

“I hope you won’t mind Lord Baldwin joining us, Wren,” said Basil briskly, once the pair had reached the pond.

I mind both of you joining us, Conan shot back. Wren stepped away from him so she wouldn’t have to hear his complaints in her mind, inclining her head in an insincere acceptance of Basil’s words.

The young king seemed to read her reluctance, because his brow furrowed slightly. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it,” he said softly, in a pointless attempt to speak privately. “But I have no new avenues of inquiry. We’re not getting anywhere, and I can’t afford to wait around here forever.”

For some reason he glanced up at the sky as he spoke, but Wren barely noticed. Her heart sank. He’d shown a remarkably patient front every time her father was present—suggesting he wasn’t entirely ignorant of how to play politics—but she’d known he must be chafing underneath. He was eager to leave her—to leave Mistra—and she couldn’t blame him.

He glanced back down at her, his brows drawing further together as he took in her expression. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cleared her throat, not wanting any more forthrightness just now. Raising her eyebrows expectantly, she looked toward Lord Baldwin.

The moment she did so, his head whipped away in a painfully transparent effort to hide the fact that he’d been staring at her. She held in a sigh. The Entolian nobleman was as awkward around her as any of her own people. Mistrans who were disappointed in their future monarch she could understand, but she found it hard to grasp what about her made the Entolian so very uncomfortable.

“Ah yes,” said Basil, sending a small frown his companion’s way. “Lord Baldwin has shown himself particularly effective at finding information, and I asked him to keep an ear to the ground for any whisper of discontented magic-users.” He gave Lord Baldwin an expectant look. “Well, share your discoveries.”

The nobleman cleared his throat. “Yes, King Basil.” Although Wren was presumably the only one present for whom his information was new, he couldn’t quite fix his eyes on her. “I didn’t hear anything concrete, but there are rumors that a group of both Alburian and Mistran enchanters were involved in the attack that transformed Albury’s crown prince. Apparently they showed a general antagonism toward royalty, so it’s possible someone among them may have wished to target Mistra’s royal family as well.”

Basil looked at Wren expectantly. “What do you think?”

She frowned. That wasn’t what she’d heard—she was aware that a Mistran had been behind the attack on Albury’s now-monarch, but the report her father had received had claimed it was only one enchantress, acting alone. And that woman certainly wasn’t the same one who’d attacked Wren and her brothers.

She reached for her slate, then hesitated, glancing at Lord Baldwin. She felt self-conscious to use it in front of him, but Basil was still watching her searchingly, and she couldn’t think of any other way to say what she wanted to.

If Albury identified these enchanters, what became of them?

Basil read the message quickly, and turned to Lord Baldwin, waiting for him to answer. With clear reluctance, the nobleman leaned forward far enough to read Wren’s words.

“Pardoned,” he said concisely. “So they’re still at large.”

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