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“I realize it is likely an unsurmountable feat, and yet I know in my heart it is the right course.” His forehead creases. “I do not feel that the mortals are inferior. I have never felt that way.”
An unexpected wave of respect washes over me as I regard this Islorian king, his words echoing my accusation from the day in the rookery.
“We have rules in place to try to protect them. Laws against turning mortals, and against children entering the tributary system. Punishment for harming them without cause. But there are whispers coming from the east of mortals being bred like cattle and sold in an underground market. It has always existed, but it is quickly becoming more prevalent. Children are being ripped from their parents’ arms and fed upon. The younger they are, the sweeter their blood.”
My eyes widen in horror.
“I, of course, would not know that firsthand,” he adds quickly. “But many cities in the east have become cesspools of indecency, and that indecency is now spreading across Islor like a plague as virulent as the blood curse itself. These immortals mock the laws we have in place to protect mortals and threatens to return us to dark days from our past. It is the opposite of what I want for Islor’s future, and I fear that is part of the reason for the increase. It is a bold declaration of opposition.”
Kettling is in the east. “Adley doesn’t care about how these mortals are being sold in his city?”
“Who do you think is at the helm?” he says evenly. “On the surface, Adley professes his undying devotion to Cirilea and the throne of Islor, but Kettling has always been an adversary, even as far back as the days of Ailill. He does not want a society where mortals are equal to us. He would put them all in chains and cages if allowed. My father knew of this. He knew what Kettling was doing, but he turned a blind eye in favor of keeping the peace. That’s what he wanted to be known as—a peacemaker. That is why he forged this union with King Barris, who was said to be a progressive man, not so entwined in the religion of fates and caster power. The same cannot be said for his wife.”
There’s a twinge of bitterness in Zander’s tone. “But my father was far from perfect, and he made many mistakes. One of those was believing Adley is an anomaly. The truth is, there are many who share his beliefs that mortals exist solely for our survival. My father gave Adley too much time and leeway to make Islorians wealthy and therefore loyal to him. They have no interest in sacrificing their affluence for my plans. I am a threat to them. And while there was a time when Adley could have been easily removed from his position and this situation we find ourselves in avoided, that time has passed. He has too many ardent supporters.”
I can hear the passion and frustration in Zander’s voice—but also the hint of resignation. “Can’t you send Atticus and the army there?”
“That was my plan. After we married and my parents abdicated the throne. But now we face pressure from Ybaris. Half the army is camped near the rift with the other half ready to march at the first sign of trouble. To call arms against Kettling now would mean dividing the men even more.
“While those loyal to Cirilea are many, we cannot battle both Ybaris and Kettling, especially not if Adley calls on allies from Kier. They are daunting warriors, even for mortals, who fought alongside Kettling long ago, the last time Kettling rose against Cirilea. And every day I receive more messages that men are allying with Adley. If the east joins together under him, they will be formidable against me.”
And yet the man stood in the front row of the court yesterday and bowed to his king. I sneer with distaste. “I don’t know how you didn’t sic Abarrane on him.”
“Believe me, it is an urge I struggle with daily.”
I shake my head. “Whoever betrayed you in the castle is the least of your worries right now.”
“Perhaps.” But the dark expression that passes over his face says otherwise.
My thoughts wander in the lingering—and oddly comfortable—silence, back to Lord Quill’s unfortunate demise. “Elisaf said they found a vial of the poison in my lady maid’s dress.”
“One tiny vial, easily hidden in her clothing. From what she told us upon questioning, each tributary only needed to ingest a drop’s worth in their drink. There were almost twenty drops in that vial when the priestesses tested it.”
“But you took it from her.”
“We did, and it is still safe within the royal vault. Untouched.”
“That means there’s more than one. How many did I bring?”
“We do not know. But Abarrane found another one on your brother when we captured him.” And by the troubled look on Zander’s face, I’m guessing that’s also a concern to him.
“How would Adley get hold of this poison?”
“Another fair question that I do not have an answer for. I’ve received reports of Ybarisans seen in Meadwell in the east and Salt Bay in the south. They are traveling in groups of two to three, slipping in and out of taverns, asking about tributaries of the nobility.”
I follow his train of thought. “You think they’re carrying more of these vials with them and targeting the humans to get to the lords and ladies.”
“It would be smart to assume they are. At the moment, though, much of the court is here for the coming summer fair, and their lands are being governed by stewards.”
But they’re not safe here, either, if Quill is any indication. “The seamstress, Dagny, said the Ybarisans killed a tributary.”
“Lady and Lord Rengard’s of Bellcross, on the other side of Eldred Wood,” he confirms. “Males matching their description were seen fleeing as the body was found, so it is safe to assume they had a hand in it.”
“Why would they kill her?”
“That remains to be seen.” Something in his voice makes me suspect he has an idea that he doesn’t want to share with me.
“Hey, you know who would know?” I pause for effect. “Tyree.”
