Page 118 of Faeling
After the interlude in the corridor, it was both a relief and surprise for Ravenna to find that the council had little interest in questioning Vallek on his choice of mate and queen. Whether it was because they liked and supported Vallek or were already accustomed to his unprecedented decisions, she couldn’t say.
Several of the ministers, including those for tax and mining, were especially quiet, offering lukewarm congratulations at best. Ravenna would accept that over outright hostility any day. Their reticence was something to note and tackle later—which was what she conveyed and agreed to in a quick, silent conversation of looks between her, Vallek, and Eydis.
All sat round an oblong table; a high-backed chair had been added for Ravenna. Vallek’s seat had been slightly shifted to the left, creating room for her close to the head of the table. She sat quietly in her chair, feet dangling off the ground thanks to the seat cushion. Although she was still far shorter than everyone else gathered, she could at least comfortably lay her arms on the tabletop without looking like a child.
Not that she’d dare touch the tabletop. Not with those manacles laid at the center.
After a few introductory words about Ravenna and receiving the ministers’ congratulations, Vallek opened the meeting—beginning with the most important matter.
Between those brought in by the patrol and those taken from the Stone-Skin camp, over a dozen spelled manacles sat there. Although benign looking enough, an aura of malevolence seeped from the iron. Ravenna hated even looking at them, fearing it would bring on another vision, worse than the one that already plagued her.
Rising from his seat, the scholar minister bowed to Vallek. Head of the many learned, scholarly orc-kin of Balmirra, the scholar minister oversaw the largest library and records archive in the city, as well as the administration of the three scholariums. Vallek had charged him with investigating the manacles, both in the records and scientifically.
Tall even for an orc, the scholar minister kept his mane cut short and his ears and tusks capped. Silver streaked his mane, and his expression was grave as he said, “My king, my queen, further study will be required, particularly in the archives, as nothing mentioning such items has yet been discovered. However, we did test the manacles’ function and properties.” The scholar nodded at the pile of manacles. “From what we can deduce, they are meant to negate the magic of the wearer.”
An uneasy rumble went through the council, and Ravenna felt more than a few pairs of eyes land on her.
Negate magic…
The thought made her queasy.
Magic was inherent to all folk except humans. Although fae were the only folk left who could harness it, magic was what gave orcs their strength, sirens their songs, harpies their flight, and manticores and dragons their bestial forms. To strip them of such an integral, intrinsic part of themselves…
Who would create such a thing?
“The humans are getting devious,” grumbled the trade minister.
“They couldn’t have done it on their own,” said Vallek. A glance at herazaisaw him wearing one of the most terrifying expressions she’d ever seen. If he could set fire to those manacles with his gaze, they’d be congealed slag by now.
“Twice now, Pyrrossi soldiers were found with these irons,” argued the minister of coin.
“Who would be fool enough to help them?” asked the minister of beasts.
Amaranthe. That hideous hag was conniving enough. She likely thought that even with such a weapon, the humans were still no match for the fae and so it was shrewd to send the Pyrrossi off to weaken other folk for her. Except, Ravenna didn’t know if she could believe Amaranthe would ever agree to work with humans—even in something that might benefit the faelands.
There was Araxos, theanaxof the Droplets. Although he’d seized power over ten years ago, he was still fighting vicious rebellions against his numerous half-siblings. He was known tobe as cunning as he was cruel, but with his attention turned toward his islands and own family, few other folk had had much to do with the dragons since his father reigned.
And, of course, there was every likelihood that a rogue actor could have colluded with the Pyrrossi. Their emperor had a far reach and deep coffers, more than enough to sway any mercenary looking to make a new life—or escape the notoriously brutal dungeon complex beneath the palace at Lycea.
Really, there were almost too many suspects.
More worrying even was what the Pyrrossi meant to do with these irons. Given their merciless conquest of the human territories to the south, as well as the homelands of the manticores along the Irynian Delta, and their current incursions along orcish borders, it wasn’t hard to guess.
Leveling his piercing gaze on Eydis, Vallek said, “I want our spies to find who the Pyrrossi are working with.” To the borders minister, he ordered, “Send out messengers to every patrol currently out. I want all orc-kin looking for any more irons.”
“What shall we do with these?” asked the grains minister, nodding at the manacles.
“Melt them down,” the tax minister growled. “Destroy them.”
“No.”
Everyone looked up at Ravenna, perhaps surprised to finally hear her speak.
The tax minister scoffed. “I’d think you’d want them destroyed most of all, my queen.”
“I don’t like them, it’s true. I shudder just looking at them. But they could be useful.” Nodding at the scholar minister, she said, “We must study them more to figure out how they were made.”
The scholar nodded, a little relieved if she wasn’t mistaken. No doubt he and his colleagues wished to investigate the strange irons more.
