Page 26 of A Court of Truth and Thorns
We all turn.
As silly as it is, my first thought upon seeing King Owain and Queen Maria up close is how much Rune takes after his parents. Owain and Rune are of a height, and the prince’s jawbone is cut the same way as his father’s. Queen Maria is plainly responsible for Rune’s high cheekbones and Raza’s ethereal beauty. Maria’s eyes, a dazzling shade of emerald, echo in the pale green dress that flows behind her like the wings of a butterfly. Tall and lithe, she seems almost fragile next to Owain’s steel eyes and Rune’s deadly grace.
Owain halts a few steps into the room, far enough to forceus all to come to him. Rune is the last to move, but when he does, he strides all the way forward and drops to one knee before his father. I think of Lord Gapral, who wielded formality as a tool. Or a weapon. Neither good nor bad, just tactical.
Wil throws me a glance, as if asking my opinion on how to best greet the royal.
My gut tells me the glance is a mistake. Any sign of weakness is. Despite having all the power of Everett behind him, Owain has come to play hard. He’ll exploit any possible advantage, even over a young prince finding his stride in a royal visit.
Then again, we’ve come as beggars. Perhaps it little matters after all.
Wil finally settles on a bow. I curtsy, staying with my skirts spread until the queen bids me to rise. Rune receives no such courtesy.
Wil clears his throat. “Thank you for granting me an audience on such...short noticehardly seems the right phrase.” His boyish voice strives for gravity but surrenders to its casual cadence within a few words. He sticks his hands in his pockets.
“Shall we sit?” Owain says darkly, an ill-hidden attempt to minimize Wil’s further assault on protocol.
Wil nods, steps back toward the sofa without looking, and trips on the carpet. Catching himself on the sofa’s armrest, he controls his descent enough to land his backside on the seat instead of the floor. I let out a very slow breath.
“My condolences for the loss of your father, Prince William,” King Owain says finally, apparently determined to battle impotence with formality. “How might I be of service to his son?” Wil waits until Maria and I have found our seats. When Rune stays kneeling, his black coat glistening in sunlit patches, Wil frowns questioningly at him. “Prince William,”Owain enunciates sharply, “how might I be of service to the Dansil throne?”
Wil’s attention snaps back to King Owain, and he raises his chin. A surge of energy rattles through me. This is it, the reason we’ve come, the last hope for Dansil. For Leaf.
Wil swallows. “Before my father’s death, he and Envoy Jajack negotiated a peace agreement between our kingdoms. The official surrender of Sylthia lands to Everett and a peacekeeping force from your kingdom to support Dansil’s throne. I come asking you for those troops.”
Such plain, simple words. My breath stills as our future hangs silent in air crackling with judgment. Wil’s hand grips his knee, his knuckles bloodless. My lungs burn. Thetick-tockof a clock’s pendulum is the only sign that time still moves. Slow. Heavy. Laden with the life and death of a kingdom.
Finally, slowly, King Owain tilts his head to the side. “I believe the situation in Dansil has somewhat altered since those negotiations took place.”
My stomach sinks.
Wil’s eyes dart to me, his head shaking in denial of the words, begging me to have heard something that he did not.
King Owain begins to rise.
“Yes, Your Majesty, it has changed.” I hear my own voice before I make the decision to use it. I lean forward, my elbows digging into my thighs. Not a lady, but a scout. A verygoodscout. One determined to fight until the bitter end. “It’s become worse for us all. Especially for Everett. Because the one poisonous dagger that the Dansil war has held against your kingdom’s side—the terror mongers of Viva Sylthia—is now a country-backed, fully stocked force.”
A tiny flinch of surprise flashes in Owain’s dark eyes. He sits back down.
I press the assault. “Dansil has posed no true threat toEverett for years, Your Majesty. It was Viva Sylthia’s attacks that destroyed the living-crystal mines Everett had built up in Sylthia. The mines that Everett could competently protect are long dry, and the moderate-risk ones have crystals enough for perhaps a year. Likely less, given Everett’s gluttony for living crystals.That, sir, is why you entered the ceasefire talks to begin with.” I pause, meeting his eyes. “Bishop Bahir is the leader of Viva Sylthia. Is that who you want on the Dansil throne?”
Owain cocks a brow. “Fighting words, Lady Kalianna. But how am I to believe them? What evidence have you that the Goddess-loving Bishop is, in fact, the mastermind behind Viva’s terror?”
“You have the evidence of my observations. I imagine my background as a scout is a poorly kept secret by now.” I straighten my spine, my heart pounding, blood coursing fire through my veins. My ears ring with the music of war. “Additionally, our two young whisperers were Bahir’s prisoners, and Questioner Calvin has interrogated a member of Bishop Bahir’s scarlet guard—they can all offer their testimonies of the facts. Finally, there is the word of your own son, the prince of Everett, who has spent the past two years spying on the Dansil throne. Ask him.”
Those last words spark a flash of pleasure in Owain’s eyes. As if the trap he set had finally sprung. My chest tightens.
“Ah, yes, the boy.” Owain looks over at Rune, who’s still kneeling on the floor. “Lady Kalianna seems to believe you have something to say. Get up, then; take off that stifling coat and join the conversation.”
Rune’s face rises, his eyes blazing. “No.”
“I insist.” Owain’s voice sends a shiver down my spine. “I’ll have the fire stoked if you are cold. Unless you prefer that I—”
Rune comes smoothly to his feet and begins to work the buttons. Owain nods in pleased approval. Rune’s dark eyesbelie nothing, but the shine of dull fabric catches my attention again. Rune isn’t cold; he’s sweating. I can’t help but draw a breath, curious as to whether Rune’s familiar musky scent will cross the several paces of air between us. A stupid, odd curiosity in the middle of such a meeting. I look away quickly.
The scent does reach me. Not musk and sweat, but copper. My head snaps back to where Rune is folding his coat neatly over his arm. The back of his white linen shirt drips with bright red blood.
18
