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‘And who will be going? The Envoy?’

‘The king has not informed me as of yet.’

It was a half-truth. The king had not informed her… because he did not know. ‘He wished for the Council to discuss negotiations first before deciding who to send, but I assure you, my Envoy will have no business with this.’

‘Your Envoy?’

Shit! She misspoke. She should not have said that.

‘Interesting.’ The young lord’s upturned eyes glimmered, and his smile widened a fraction. ‘Well, let’s get back to the matter at hand, shall we? I believe there are many changes we can make to the treaty. Some resources can be exchanged for the new development of Selcirith’s armada, and the expansion of Cal Cathlar’s more illicit forms of income has raised their tax revenue, specifically in the city of Alabasus. We could increase the percentage of their debt since they now have the means to pay more than they did when the treaty was signed two decades ago. With the extra mouths we are going to feed by assisting the people of Vennedove, we may be able to sway their votes.’

‘And if we can’t?’ Lord Eborthorn asked, voice still hoarse and raspy.

‘You think too small,’ the young lord continued. ‘As Area—forgive me—as the General stated before, Vennedove is made up of all manner of species, originating from across Idyssa. I am sure their families would praise our act of kindness and would like to ensure their safe return. Plus, the show of mercy will indicate that Andrea has changed its ways.’

Grumbles of disapproval followed the young lord’s claims, but Areanel had stopped listening to their bickering over negotiations and what needed changing or adding.

Instead, her attention was drawn to the looming figure that stood at attention by the large double doors. One of the king’s Soldazt stood motionless—an immovable force.

Then, an aide rushed forward, dressed in deep mourning black. They kept to the edges of the room, hiding, unnoticed, in shadows, as they made their way towards her with quick steps.

‘General,’ they said, bending to whisper in her ear. Their voice was soft, but it squeaked, reminding Areanel of a mouse. They must have been as old as her daughter, Lilith. Surely far too young to be working in the palace. ‘His Majesty has commanded your presence in his study.’

Areanel said nothing. Her eyes remained trained on the silent sentinel that stood waiting by the doors. With a slow nod, she dismissed the aide, and they scampered away, shying from the Soldazt as they scurried past and down the winding halls.

Placing both palms flat against the table, Areanel took a moment to soak in the cold feeling of solid wood against her skin. It grounded her. Reminded her of the solid wall she needed to build around her mind in preparation to meet her father. Their interactions often left her tired and depleted, a constant battle of wills, never knowing what he would say or do.

Closing her eyes, Areanel steadied her breath. Her lungs expanded with each deep inhale, measured and calm.

The first colour she saw as she opened her eyes was the god Edre’s favourite (and admittedly hers too). Fireflies, glowing a bright green, stared back at her. She wanted nothing more than to reach out her hand and smooth the creased lines along Rymedur’s furrowed brow. He was concerned.

Sending him a small smile, Areanel’s heart bloomed like a flower in spring at the way his eyes—usually hard and piercing to everyone but her—softened. She reached for the shadow still curled at her thigh and used a single finger to stroke beneath (what she thought was) its chin. Peeking up, the shadow twisted around her fingers like a silken ribbon.

‘Return to your master,’ she whispered. Bringing the shadow to her lips, she laid a gentle kiss upon its curious head.

The inky shadow swung that head between Rymedur and her, before slowly, reluctantly, slithering back under the table. She watched it climb up Rymedur’s strong build, its movements sombre and slow like a petulant child dragging its feet after a scolding. It settled against Rymedur’s forearm, but not before giving her one last stare. Areanel felt a pang, almost like longing, in her chest.

For a second, her mask slipped. Rymedur shook his head at the shadow, fighting a smile, and the look he gave her was filled with love. Her heart leapt, jumping from her chest. She yearned to be close to him, if only for a second more, but she knew better than to keep her father waiting.

With one final, shared glance, Areanel rose from the table and marched away without excusing herself. No one said a word. Instead, each lord had chosen to avert their gaze the minute they had noticed the familiar clang of the Soldazt’s armour by the entryway. They would not help her, she knew that, but the knowledge that even her brothers would look away sent a pang of sorrow through her heart.

The Soldazt stalked behind her, silent as always, only this form of shadow made her insides turn and her skin crawl.

Chapter 17

Areanel

‘Has the council meeting concluded?’

The rich and warm tone—smooth like silk and as sharp as a blade—had Areanel involuntarily bracing. Her hands clenched into fists as her body tensed, taut as a bowstring.

‘It has.’ She hurried to keep up with her father’s long strides; she had caught him leaving his study.

King Aerileas did not bother looking at her as he said, ‘Then, please, do enlighten me as to why you thought it appropriate to tell the council that I had approved of the farce you orchestrated.’

Areanel fell a step behind as she noticed his stern expression. Light from the large archways, carved directly into the mountain, illuminated the twisting halls and cast a glow on the side of her father’s face, transforming his grim expression into something menacing.

Sweat coated her brow, and her breath stuttered for a moment. Did he know? All her plans were falling apart, piece by piece. Did he know that she, and not the Council, planned to use the citizens of Vennedove to their advantage? Would he punish her?