Page 105 of The Call of Crimson
But from my spot beside him, I can see the tension in the way his muscles pull tight beneath his tunic.
“They said their crops started failing a month ago,” Luella explains. “Then they heard of attacks at the borders and decided it was safer to leave. Or something like that.” She shrugs. “Hard to keep it all straight with no shipments arriving this week.”
Elijah rubs his jaw, troubled. “I’ll come speak with them myself,” he promises. “What goods are you missing?”
“Port and mead mostly. I rely on Caedel for beef, so hopefully I’ll still be able to feed my patrons,” Luella answers.
My stomach clenches, the news from this morning flashing through my mind.
“Caedel is—” I start.
“If you do not receive the beef this week, please let me know,” Elijah cuts in smoothly. “For now, you may see Lord Jaeson for access to the royal wine cellars. The vintages may not be as good as Lennox’s, but they’ll get you by.”
Luella nods. “Thank you, Elijah,” she says before heading off to find Lord Jaeson.
As soon as she’s gone, I turn sharply to Elijah. “Why did you keep the truth from her?”
He leans in, his voice pitched low. “Sometimes it’s better if they don’t know everything. Yet.”
“Theydeserveto know, Elijah,” I argue, my voice edged with scorn.
“I’m not saying they don’t.” His eyes are heavy with exhaustion. “But when the refugees arrive, the truth will come out soon enough. There is no need to incite uncertainty early.”
“They should feel uncertain,” I snap.
“It’s the crown’s duty to shield them from unnecessary fear,” he replies calmly.
“By lying?” I scoff. “What happens when the beef never arrives?”
Elijah shrugs helplessly. “Then we feed them from the castle stores.”
“We’ll need that for refugees,” I argue. “This isn’t sustainable.”
Elijah reaches for my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I know. This isn’t a perfect solution. It’s a temporary one. We'll find better answers as we go.”
“For the record, I don’t agree with this tactic,” I mutter.
“And that’s fine, Ophelia,” he says, lifting my hand to his lips. “I don’t want you to blindly agree with me. But no disagreements in front of the people, okay?”
Silently, I nod and drop my hands into my lap.
Several grueling hours later, we finally reach the last petitioner. My back aches from sitting, and my stomach growls loudly enough that Elijah smothers a laugh behind his hand.
The doors open, and in strides a male I’ve never seen before.
He’s tall, easily the tallest I’ve met, with cinnamon colored hair and sharp teal eyes that gleam like a polished blade. He looks... furious.
“Cillian?” Elijah says, clearly surprised.
The male crosses the floor to the dais in four long strides and tosses a sack at Elijah’s feet.
“I’m not your fucking guard dog, E,” he says, irritation rolling off him like smoke.
“Of course you’re not,” Elijah says mildly, bending to inspect the sack.
He opens it cautiously, swearing beneath his breath just as I catch a glimpse of the contents.
It’s a head. There’s a severed head inside the sack.
