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“It’d be more practical if we hadn’t already killed so many,” cut in an older priestess, glaring wickedly at the advisor—but not at Alekur, Iseris noted. Alekur was the heir to the throne, so perhaps that was wise.
“Silence,” growled the king. “There’s more to the message from our allies in Kavanar.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. As I said, the fighting has intensified. There are rumors of kidnappings, villages destroyed, surprise attacks. Worst of all, Demikin is dead. At the hands of a m?—”
The queen straightened sharply. “We must tighten our constraints.”
“Let him talk,” the king drawled.
The queen cast a sidelong glance at him. “The mage blight grows, my lord. It will soon overflow our shores. We must not stoop to the levels of either of these foreign kingdoms.”
The king only narrowed his eyes at her. Murmurs rose in the room, cutting into the tense silence, advisors launching into bouts of advice on how to handle the “mage threat.”
Iseris swallowed and tightened her fist. This did not bode well. Not well at all. Her fingernails dug into her palm.
“Quiet down, all of you!” The king was shouting at them, but she didn’t hear more than that. She had a vague sense that a truly good king would be able to demand decorum in a different, more dignified manner. Not that she’d ever seen such a thing.
The soft, musical chink of chain mail alerted her too late that she was not alone.
She tried to hide the way she stiffened by pasting a demure smile on her lips as she turned her head, feeling like a cornered cat preparing to fight.
But the eyes of the Devoted Knight that met hers had a familiar laughing glint, their brown hue almost black in the dimness.
“Javarin,” she whispered in greeting. Her heart eased its pounding, but only slightly. Whatever laughter and warmth she always found in those beautiful, sharp eyes, she knew the truth, and he didn’t, or he certainly wouldn’t look at her that way.
They were enemies. Deep down.
Not because she’d chosen to be, though. She would have chosen quite the opposite with him if she could. Javarin was the closest thing she had to a friend.
“What a bunch of clucking hens, eh?” he murmured, sidestepping closer to her. “You’d think events a continent away actually affected them.”
Oh, it affected their hate well enough. But she nodded, keeping her smile in place easily now. “When one has no problems of one’s own, one must turn to one’s neighbors, I suppose.”
“I think that’s precisely their hobby.” From gods only knew where, Javarin produced an apple, holding it low but clearly offering it to her. “When was the last time you ate?”
She frowned, then snatched it from his hand. “I have no idea.”
Worry could turn her body into a bundle of nerves, a twitching, untethered thing that forgot the daily needs of water and food and sleep. His fingers brushed her palm as he handed over the fruit, a brush of warmth after the cold. The apple’s skin was firm and smooth in her hand, mottled crimson and pale green, but she missed the warmth. What would his skin feel like beneath her fingers?
She’d never know.
“Thank you,” she replied, holding the fruit close. It was too risky to eat it now, and the gift too precious to consume too quickly. The minute she was out of this hall, though…
“What if he’s lying to us?” The queen’s question caught Iseris’s attention.
“He told you, he can’t. He’s a slave,” the king snapped.
“Prove it, then.” There was a cruel twist to her lips. “Thrust your hand into the fire, mage.”
The messenger’s features twisted, but his feet moved with just as much urgency as when he’d arrived, carrying him to the nearest brazier, and?—
Iseris tore her gaze away. “I can’t look,” she whispered. She didn’t think Javarin heard her over the man’s cry, but he had.
“Wise choice.” Javarin’s murmur was rough, his features transfixed, horrified.
“Enough!” The king’s voice was thunderous in the hall. “Remove yourself from there. Priestesses, treat him.”
“N-no need, Your Majesty. With a little rest, I can heal myself.” The man’s voice was shaking. She trained her eyes on the apple, not looking up. Gods, the cruelty. Her heart was pumping faster now. Could death be preferable to this man’s fate? No, no. Life was always preferable, but… so, so cruel. “Perhaps an hour or two,” the mage continued. “I can fix it.”
