Page 3 of Silver & Smoke
THE DOORS SWUNGopen, and they were greeted with a near-deafening cheer. Wren hardly recognized the hall, which, not so long ago, had still been in repair. Now the space was extravagant, everything dripping with luxury and opulence. Bouquets of flowers were pressed into Wren’s hands. Well-wishers invaded her space, kissing her on both cheeks, declaring, ‘You’re a perfect match!’
It spoke of Lucian’s power and resources that he’d managed to bring an event like this together so quickly. There was no doubt in Wren’s mind that the cogs of the nobleman’s plans had been whirring for quite some time, and now could not be stopped.
Wren and Darian were swallowed by the crowd, and when she looked back she couldn’t see the silver-haired Bear Slayer in their midst any longer. That was for the best. She should never have asked this of him.
‘Congratulations,’ someone cried, embracing Wren and showering her with more kisses. She didn’t know who any of them were, or where they had come from, but it was a carefully staged production orchestrated by Lord Lucian – an effective means of spreading the news of the pending Devereux and Embervale union to the people who mattered most, at least in his eyes. She hated that she was here instead of her workroom. She needed to study Torj’s blood. She needed to consult the Master Alchemists about his poisoning. She needed to harvest more silvertide rose. Instead she was here, caught up in Lucian’s charade while the toxin sunk its claws deeper into her soul-bonded.
‘Thank you,’ Darian called out beside her, pinching her arm to snatch back her attention. ‘We couldn’t be happier. Isn’t it wonderful to have a burst of joy amid all the warmongering? It’s just what the midrealms need –hope.’
‘Indeed, Lord Devereux, indeed.’
The voices all sounded the same to Wren, all with that silken quality she’d come to recognize as masking hidden agendas.
Servants rushed forwards to unburden her of the flowers and offer food and drink. Numb, she shook her head and waved them on, mumbling her thanks. It felt jarring to be here amid the sparkling wine and silver trays of tiny delicacies, while beyond Drevenor’s walls, conflict festered.
Darian led her through the throng of people, and she caught glimpses of familiar faces on the outskirts: Thea, Wilder, Dessa, Audra, Farissa... Cal and Kipp were with a group of soldiers, Kipp gesturing enthusiastically with his empty glass. But Wren had known him long enough to see that it wasn’t his usual carefree demeanour – that beneath the grin and mirthful gaze, he was calculating.
Kipp met her eyes and offered a subtle dip of his head, a reminder to Wren that she had her own role to play. After Lord Lucian had visited the archives and delivered his threat – orproposal, as he called it – she had strategized with Kipp for as long as she could. She would do whatever she had to do to save the Bear Slayer’slife, and to stop what was now the most valuable kingdom in the midrealms from falling into the wrong hands. It was their plan that unfolded around them now, and Wren had to make it convincing.
She steeled herself as she looped her arm through Darian’s and walked about the lavish hall, making idle small talk with nobles from all around the kingdoms. She smiled when expected, blushed at compliments, and deferred to her ‘betrothed’for allseriousmatters, as any good woman would do. She hadn’t grown up in a noble house of lords and ladies, but the Thezmarr of her youth had always been a place where women were meant barely to be seen, let alone heard. When she’d become the Poisoner and found herself among the trappings of wealth, things had been much the same, only with prettier decorations.
As she moved through the flock of people, Wren felt a pair of eyes burning a hole through her: those belonging to Lord Lucian Devereux. Her chest seized. Had he seen her go to Torj in the gardens? It certainly wasn’t beneath the bastard to have her followed, but she’d thought that single risk was necessary, to tell Torj she loved him, to assure him—
Beside her, Darian tapped a silver fork to his glass, calling for silence.
The room fell quiet at once.
‘My future bride and I thank you for your congratulations and support for our union,’ he said smoothly. ‘We are thrilled that in a time of conflict, we have managed to find love.’
Despite wanting to recoil from his words, and from his touch as his arm slid around her waist, Wren leaned in, her body soft and pliant, her eyes wide with adoration, ever the besotted fiancée. She had been many women in her time. Alchemist. Poisoner. Lover. And now, the future wife of Darian Devereux. She hoped this lie was the last mask she wore before she shed all pretences and became her true self. The one who would battle tyrants and rule a kingdom with her soul-bonded Warsword at her side.
Make my son look the fool, and Torj Elderbrock’s life will be forfeit. Lord Lucian’s words were never far from her mind, but they came back to her now, loud and clear, as he scrutinized her from across the room. It was Torj she thought of as she rested a hand on Darian’s chest, ensuring her engagement ring sparkled in the candlelight for all to see.
He beamed down at her as he spoke. ‘But even amid the celebrations, we cannot forget – we are indeed in a time of impending war.’ His voice rang out across the room, full of command. ‘And now that the houses of Devereux and Embervale are to be joined, we must ensure that my wife-to-be doesn’t lose her beloved kingdom. So, we thank you for your compliments and assure you that your names will be the first on the invitation list for what is bound to be a spectacular wedding, but we must retire with our trusted council for the evening.’
There was an array of final toasts and salutes, but soon the hall was emptying, leaving only the essential players behind – the players Lucian had chosen for his agenda, and those Wren and Kipp had ensured would be with them every step of the way.
Darian motioned for her to sit at the head of a large oak table on the far side of the hall, pulling her chair out for her. Kipp, who she’d named her royal adviser, took the seat to her left. Audra, the High Chancellor and all the alchemy masters took their places, while Thea, Wilder and Cal stood on the outskirts, and Lord Lucian took the seat opposite her.
In addition, Wren gaped at the presence of King Leiko, Queen Reyna and Regent Liora, their guards now lining the walls... Lord Lucian must have set this plan in motion long before he cornered her in the archives if he’d managed to call the rulers of the mid-realms back into council so soon.
She saw a blur of silver from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t dare seek the Bear Slayer’s gaze. Not here. Not with Darian seated to her right, his hand covering hers for all to see on the table’s surface. Not with Lucian watching her like a hawk.
All at once she seemed to be staring down at yet another war assembly. Wren finished her study of the group and found there was one notable absence.
‘Where’s Zavier?’ she asked.
Lord Lucian cleared his throat. ‘If I may... Given that the prince’s actions sought to protect an enemy of the midrealms from our justice, might I suggest that he be forced to abdicate his throne?’
Shock rippled down the table in the form of whispers and gasps.
‘Abdicate?’ Wren frowned. ‘He has only just been crowned. Naarva has only just been reunited with its ruler.’
‘And that ruler put the realm at risk,’ Lord Lucian countered.
Wren turned to the High Chancellor and Audra, the latter meeting her gaze.
‘The Prince of Naarva has been confined to his rooms and is under guard,’ the Guild Master said.
