Page 11 of Conspirators' Kingdom

“Youknowwhattodo.”

“This is still a bad idea.”

Mereruka raised his brow at Bas.

“Fine. But when you’re so sick of her witch magic crawling all over you that you’d rather jump off a cliff, I plan to remind you I told you so.”

“Duly noted.”

Mereruka stepped from the lodgings of the late trade minister, freshly washed, groomed, richly dressed, and most importantly, smelling of excellent perfumes. Bas struck out to act as his spy. Their ship had finally reached the harbour of the Cursed Continent and the ship was close enough to the berth for the shifter to make landfall with ease. Mereruka had to admit that when he envisioned what this dreaded place might be he hadn’t imagined…this.

They had sailed into a bay shaped like a crescent moon and had headed towards the largest berth. From there, a wide, straight street drew the eye upward. In the hazy distance, imposing mountains acted as the spokes of a diadem with a walled, gleaming palace the crowning jewel. The docks were bustling, full of the so-called mages, some who appeared as witches might, some like shapeshifters, jostling for space and selling their catch. Buyers haggled over prices as pickpockets plied their trade. Sturdy wooden and stone buildings of varying quality lined the cobbled streets. Though their manner of dress and language were foreign, the city appeared as any prosperous port might. The sight gave him hope that he might not, in fact, be marrying a barbarian and that the refined comforts of home might be on hand.

As their ship settled into place and the anchors let down, Mereruka gathered the diplomatic party before him.

“Remember that while we are here, we are acting as symbols of Maat. Our actions will directly affect the prestige of King Khety. If any of you act in a way which disgraces His Eternal Serenity or myself as his direct representative, I shall take great offence. I hope I do not need to remind you what happens to those who anger a prince.”

Silence and darting eyes met his announcement. He’d hoped the next obstacles would make themselves plain, but he was not so lucky. The former toadies of the trade minister remained tight-lipped, their grudges simmering. So be it.

“Before we disembark, I demand that each of you swear a simple oath. You will swear upon your names that you will not leave this continent without your Prince Mereruka.”

Mereruka watched as his enemies separated themselves from the innocents. While many were simply puzzled by his demand, a few—the plotters—kept their faces carefully neutral. They knew he’d caught onto one of their schemes. Each of them swore their oaths, cutting off at the knees Khety’s chance to abandon him here.

That problem taken care of, he readied himself to descend from the ship. Before a rude plank could be placed on their vessel, one of the crew drew up the water of the harbour and turned it into a flight of steps. The mages sharing the pier looked upon their party and fled. He supposed he and his fellow fae, in all their many, riotous colours, would look strange to a people who had never beheld anything more exotic than the dull, clay-like colours displayed by other mages.

As his party reached the cobblestones, a number of carriages were waiting, their riders arrayed before them in their finery. Mereruka, standing at the apex of the group, could feel the weight of a thousand stares as the inhabitants of the Cursed Continent openly gaped. He stifled a sigh. Three approached him—two women and a man of uncommon brawn and height, crowned with bullish horns. Ah good—a shapeshifter. Mereruka recoiled as the man stepped forward, adorned with steel and carrying a sword of the same wretched metal.

One of the soldiers among the fae stepped forward, kitted in scale-like mail, curved sword of enhanced bronze in hand. Mereruka held out his palm to send the soldier back. No need to turn this into a bloodbath. If fae were unknown to these people, they might not know the threat and insult they’d given. Mereruka looked at the man and shook his head. He looked to the two women, one blonde and the other a redhead. The blonde looked uncertain, but the redhead had a serious, unflappable air about her. Pointing to her, he signalled her to step forward. Whatever she said to the man, he backed off warily, taking his cursed iron with him. The redhead approached.

Mereruka pressed three fingers to his lips in the hopes these strange peoples understood the sign asking permission to share language. She made no move or expression to show that she understood. Cursed Continent indeed.

“It seems they’re ignorant of the language spell. If they make to attack, use barriers only,” Mereruka said to the soldier at his side.

“Yes, Your Tranquility.”

He turned to the woman and hoped she wasn’t hiding knives on her person. Gathering the spell in his mind, he reached out to pull her head closer. She blinked in surprise. It must look as though he were leaning in for a kiss. If only. Her bright hair was soft and her bottom lip was plump. Mereruka had only a moment to realise that her magic wasn’t repellent to him before her lips parted in shock and the spell struck, exchanging languages between them with a strand of white light. Locked in position until the spell filled his head to bursting with knowledge, he was pleased to see that no one had made to attack. Spell completed, he stepped back, his head pounding. The woman, already possessing a light complexion, turned a shade paler as she stumbled back. To his surprise, another woman leapt from the redhead’s shadow and steadied her, her grey eyes assessing his party.

“Can you stand?” the grey-eyed woman asked.

“Yes, it’s just a headache,” the redhead replied, immediately contradicting her words by swaying on her feet.

“I apologize for the unpleasantness. Allow me to share this language with the others.”

He turned without waiting for a reply, his people ready, and he gathered the spell on his tongue once more. Gods, how he hated this part. This time, the strands of light radiated out from his mouth to each fae before him. As if his skull were being cleaved in two once more, he comforted himself knowing the pain would disappear soon enough. Mentally shaking himself as his head cleared, Mereruka turned back to the welcoming party, such that it was.

In Rhacotis, the whole city would turn out for his arrival. Here, there were only a measly few carriages and a harbour full of slack-jawed barbarians.

“My name is Prince Mereruka of the Land of Maat. I am acting as lead ambassador in place of our king for the duration of our stay.”

“I am called Illustra Taisiya Spark of Lethe, the Empire of Mages. I have been appointed as an ambassador by the Empress Selene. If you will follow me, I will escort you to the carriages so that we may show you your lodgings at the imperial palace.”

Mereruka sent out tendrils of his magic in the direction of her gesture, but they recoiled. More iron. He wasn’t getting anywhere near those death traps, promises of cushy lodgings or not. When he didn’t move to follow her, she stopped, brow raised in query.

“I apologise, have I caused offence?”

“Is this your first time meeting a member of the fae race?”

“It is, Prince Mereruka.”

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