“In other words, we don’t draw attention until absolutely necessary?”
She faced me with a sly smile, her gaze sparkling with mischief. So far, she proved to be a valuable ally, explaining the nuances, while Anderz preferred me to remain silent and listen.
“We shouldn’t give the gods more reason to forsake us,” she breathed, leaning close as her stare flickered to a counselor further down the table.
“Surely the divine have abandoned someone already,” I muttered.
“Not all have renounced your brother.” Aliea’s smile never faltered, but her eyes snapped back to mine with a silent warning. “Some that would see him ascend.”
“Then why hasn’t he won a trial?”
“Not all the Rites have been completed,” she warned, her bright grin incongruous, as if discussing the weather.
Anderz’s thin, wrinkled hand rested on the back of my chair. “Princess, the road to the North is vital to the Priests of Nothar.”
I cleared my throat and offered Aliea a smile of my own, then returned my awareness to the topic of discussion. The council debated providing draft horses for the priests’ winter travel. Adastrus neglected their requests for years, delaying the delivery of the Stones.
In Tilamuik, the common folk supplied goods for the temples. Their offerings kept their places of worship well-maintained. Perhaps things worked differently here?
“The priests are being tended to in the Temple of Togamar,” Lady Aliea supplied. “They are in poor shape—donations being sparse.”
Ah, there was my answer.
“Faith means little when you have no coin to fill your belly.” Leihim’s voice rang out clear, drawing the room’s attention.
“Choose your remarks carefully, Master Hinyte.”
“I’m stating a fact, Counselor Feyre,” he replied, his gaze fixed on me. “Perhaps if our ruler prioritized the gods, the people would as well.”
“The prince regent reveres the divine, Master Hinyte.” Reuthland’s words snapped like a whip at a rebellious servant. “The people provide for the temples, and the gods provide for the people.”
In that case, one might question the necessity of a ruler.
“Tradition dictates the prince regent hear the priests’ request,” someone called further down the table.
“Hewillhear it.” Reuthland’s hand curled into a fist.
It was obvious, since I returned to Wynterborne, that she received more pushback than ever before concerning my brother. His standing with his court was slipping.
“As you all well know,” she hissed, “he has more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Like seeking the gods’ favor?” I scoffed before I thought better of it.
The room fell silent, every gaze turning on me. Anderz’s hand slid from my chair to his thigh, tapping a restless beat.
“He prepares for the Rite,Your Highness,” Reuthland said, her tone clipped, promising violence. “As you would do well to consider.”
I took a deep breath, sitting straighter. It was time to employ some of the political tactics I’d learned. “Counselor Reuthland, tell me… doesn’t the second in line to the throne receive a yearly allowance from the treasury?”
She clenched her jaw, her glare dark enough to stifle the sun. “If only they were here to claim it.”
What she meant was, if only I stayed away.
“Incorrect, Counselor,” Lady Aliea interjected. “Tradition dictates that they are provided for as long as they live, by the ruling heir.”
I owed that woman a pastry—a dress, a necklace—whatever it was that noblewoman liked.
Reuthland’s lip curled in a snarl. “As we were unaware of her survival–”
