“Did you know this place was like this?” I whisper.
Lach shakes his head. “It was still being built that last time I was here.”
My sandals smack against the tile floor and I grimace, missing the familiar weight of my boots. He chuckles at my disgust and reaches a finger out to graze the billowing train of my skirt.
“I miss my leathers,” I grumble. “And my axe.” I eye my axe that peeks over his shoulder. My outfit didn’t allow for it to be strapped to my back, so I opted to have Lachlan carry it on his.
In a lightweight tunic and matching trousers, he looks devilishly handsome. Thin material showcases the broad expanse of his chest. The sleeves are tight around his shoulders, but leave all of his arms bare. My hands pat down my billowing skirt, and the outline of my father’s dagger can be felt through the many gauzy layers.
Sheathed in the holster around my thigh. It gives me a bit of comfort. It’s not that I don’t like the more feminine clothes, because I do. They’re stunning. It’s that I feel exposed—vulnerable.Even if the dagger is still easily within my reach, thanks to a high slit that cuts high up my thigh. I don’t feel welcome in this place.
The clatter of plates and sounds of hushed conversations greet us as we walk into the dining hall—and it is majestic. Jewel-colored windows allow for a flood of rainbowed sunlight to pour in from above. Large potted palms are along the walls, their towering peaks not even close to reaching the top of the ceiling. Hundreds of candles are deposited in the middle of long, ornately crafted tables. Such a stark contrast to the small stone cottage Boudicca keeps on the cliffs.
A single table stretches the length of the room and holds a bountiful spread of food. Lachlan whistles as we help ourselves. I load my plate full of fruit, eggs, and lentils. He does the same and while I wait for him to finish, I spy Ashur seated at the furthest end of the dining hall.
“I’ll save you a seat,” I tell Lach, and walk across the dining hall.
Lachlan’s mouth is crammed full with a slice of pita bread, so he nods in confirmation.
Several people who look vaguely familiar from the limited occurrences I saw him at the Great Hall surrounded Ashur. But Neva, of course, is on his right.
“Ah, Your Majesty, good morning!” He calls, waving me over.
Balancing the plate in one hand, I wave with the other. “Good morning.” I smile graciously at everyone at the table. But it is not returned.
“I trust you and the Captain slept well last night?” Ashur asks. Before taking a sip of the steaming tea cradled in his hands. Neva looks down at the fingers she twists in her lap as I slide into the chair across from them.
“We slept very well. Thank you for such gracious hospitality.”
A scuff of boots on the tile alerts me to Lachlan approaching. I pull the chair out next to me without looking. He slides into it, setting his mountainous plate of food down, and throws a grateful smile my way.
The people gathered around Ashur shoot tentative glances our way before focusing back on him, as if they’re waiting for his orders—and not mine. I clear my throat and he looks up.
“Oh apologies, Your Majesty, these are officials of several communities in my district and they had some concerns about removing the moonstone.”
An older gentleman with a long white goatee and a shining bald head clears his throat. “Not concerns.” He throws a glare at Ashur. Obviously, this was well discussed beforehand, without me. “But outrage. That was a gift blessed by Ishtar herself and has brought prosperity to our island. You cannot offend the goddesses by removing it!” His voice raises higher with each syllable.
Lachlan sets his fork down with force, but the sound is overpowered by the scraping of his chair against the tile. I place a hand on his forearm, stilling him.
“What is your name?” I ask the man whose chest is still heaving from his righteous indignation.
“Yusuf,” he spits. Eyeing me up and down like something, he scraped off the floor.
I stare unblinkingly at the man as I lean forward. “Well, Yusuf. I see your point. It would be an affront to the goddess if we removed her blessing.” Hums of agreement ring out and he sits back in surprise. “But it was not a gift from the goddess. In fact, it is probably an offense to that very goddess that it hangs in a place of honor on HER island.”
Yusuf’s eyes narrow and he opens his mouth to argue.
“In fact, that moonstone is a corrupted artifact from the very enemies this realm was sworn to defend the universe against.” I point to myself. “I have already destroyed two artifacts just like it and magic has returned to those islands. But if you would like me to leave it there and restore magic to the rest of the realm, I will.” I shrug, tossing up my hands in front of me. “And when I have restored magic enough that the gateways are open again—you,”—I point my finger at his chest,—“can explain to this island why it is still without magic.”
I pray he doesn’t call my bluff. My eyes never leave his face.
Yusuf looks around the table for support, but finds none. Several heads bow in supplication as my voice echoes through the silent dining hall.
Leaning back in my chair and plastering on my most polite smile, I ask, “So, what would you like me to do?”
Yusuf grimaces, his thin upper lip snarling enough to reveal several gold teeth. “Remove it.”
His words are followed by a loud thunk as Lachlan slams a fist on the table. “Please,Your Majesty,” he grinds out. The angle of his jaw is as sharp as any weapon.
