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ChapterThirty-Three
The Liar
Auberon stood with a group of council members, idly swirling his wine as he feigned interest in a story Lady Annabel was telling—something about an intimate relationship between one of the minor noblemen and a kitchen scullion. Across the banquet hall, Riona and Drystan were dancing together to the delight of the nobles crowded around them. They both wore smiles, but neither seemed particularly happy. Auberon knew the feeling well. He’d been in a foul mood since Eamon’s lackey accosted him that morning. If Walther were here, he would have reprimanded him for his carelessness and stupidity until he was blue in the face. Drystan had done an admirable job of it in the spy’s absence. Even now, Auberon could see the anger simmering beneath Drystan’s polished smile.
His attention slid to the Kostori prince, who was speaking with Prince Domhnall and Duke Valerian near the head table. He hadn’t told Drystan that Eamon had been behind the fight this morning, or that someone had been following him; all he had admitted to was getting into a drunken brawl. If he’d told the truth, Drystan would have insisted on confronting the prince, which Auberon most certainly didnotwant to do. Eamon believed he had the upper hand, which meant that Auberon could have some fun tonight.
Earlier, in the height of his anger, he had wanted to use the same trick he’d done the night of the first banquet, when he’d slipped diluted gloriosa tansy into the council members’ wine. It wouldn’t be strong enough to affect the prince’s health, but it would render him exceptionally obnoxious—even more so than he was on a day-to-day basis. But Auberon had discarded the idea not long after it occurred to him. He wanted Eamon fully in command of his faculties. He wanted the bastard to watch the tide of the court’s favor turn against him.
“Do you know why I loathe the Kostori prince?” he suddenly asked, drawing the attention of the council members around him. Lady Annabel, Lord Winslow, and Lord Tristan turned, the mirth fading from their faces at the sight of his dark expression. “I have a great many reasons—more than I could share tonight—but my main problem is that he has no qualms with the Kostori’s barbaric practice of keeping slaves.”
“Yes, we’re well aware of that, Your Highness,” Lord Tristan said, looking uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. “It’s an appalling thing, slavery. We’ve raised our concerns with the king on that front, but it is His Majesty’s decision whether or not to enter into an alliance with the Kostori. He will do what he believes is best for Rivosa and her people.”
“Will he demand the liberation of the slaves as a condition of the alliance?”
“He could certainly try, but it’s unlikely that King Jericho or his son would agree to it. As horrible as the practice is, their country has been built on the backs of slaves, and they are set in their ways.”
“Set in their ways? If we did not try to change things, my lord, we would never progress.” Auberon turned to Lord Winslow. “Have you not considered what it would be like for Lady Riona to marry Prince Eamon and adopt his kingdom as her home? Do you want her to become queen to an enslaved people?”
A shadow passed across Lord Winslow’s face. “Of course not. If it were up to me, Prince Eamon would have never received an invitation to come to Innislee.”
Good,Auberon thought, hearing the fierce protectiveness in the lord’s voice. Lord Winslow and Lord Lachlan were close—he had seen them talking often at the banquets, and he could tell by the way that Lord Winslow spoke that he cared for Riona. That was one council member he didn’t have to bother turning against Kostos.
To Lady Annabel and Lord Tristan, he said, “And you, of course, must agree with him. We’ve all heard how the tensions between the humans and elves progressed in Beltharos over the last twenty years. First, the king’s elven mistress is murdered, then Cirisians march to war to free their brethren, and then King Tamriel is deposed for his sympathy for the slaves. Who is to say something similar will not happen to Lady Riona if she is married to Prince Eamon?” Auberon asked, a thread of fear unfurling within him at the thought. “What will she do when she becomes their queen? Either she remains silent and allows her subjects to suffer, or she voices her opposition and paints a target on her back.”
Concern flashed across Annabel’s face, but Lord Tristan merely waved a hand in dismissal. “What she does is her own business. If they are married, her safety will be the concern of her husband and his royal guards, not ours. She will obey him if she knows what’s best for her.”
Anger rushed over Auberon at the lord’s blatant lack of concern for Riona, but he was careful to keep his expression neutral. As Riona had said, most of the advisors had only ever treated her like a prize to be trotted out at court events and state functions. The thought infuriated him.
“Perhaps she will, and perhaps she will not,” Auberon said, “but judging from what I know of her actions during the Beltharan civil war, she doesn’t seem like the type to sit quietly and say nothing while her people are being mistreated. She will do what is right, regardless of the risk it may pose to her safety.”
Annabel’s brows rose, and she glanced sidelong at Lord Winslow. “I wasn’t aware you were so well acquainted with our Lady Riona, Your Highness. You speak very highly of her.”
“I’m only repeating what my brother has told me,” he responded smoothly. “My point was simply that you cannot maintain a marriage alliance with a country if the bride gets herself killed.”
“And we cannot demand that Kostos free its slaves without risking war, Your Highness,” Lord Tristan cut in. “Anyway, we are debating hypotheticals and discussing politics when we should be enjoying the banquet. If you will excuse me…”
The lord started to leave, but Auberon’s response halted him before he could take more than two steps.
“I saw a young girl being whipped in the square before the castle for stealing a roasted chicken from her master’s kitchen,” he said. “She couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and she was so thin that one could see her ribs through her threadbare tunic. Her crime was presented before the court and King Jericho passed his judgment. Do you know what that monster did to her?”
Lord Tristan turned back, opening his mouth to answer, but Auberon cut him off before he could speak.
“Because she ran from the guards, he had her feet lashed until the soles were bloody ribbons of flesh. Because she stole, he had her pinkies cut off so all who saw her would know she was a thief. And because she would not stop crying as her punishment was meted out, he had her gagged and bound to a post in the square for all to watch her humiliation as she was whipped.”
Lady Annabel’s face turned a ghastly shade of white, and she reached out to Lord Winslow for support. “He did that to achild?”
“Don’t listen to him, Annabel,” Tristan snapped. “He’s Erdurian, and he will say anything to better his brother’s position in the negotiations. If this story were true, he would have told it to the entire court his first night here.”
“I don’t blame sons for their fathers’ crimes,” Auberon retorted, “no matter how terrible. I had hoped that time away from that monster would do Prince Eamon some good, but he has proved himself to be just as despicable a man as the one who sired him. If you allow Lady Riona to be married to Prince Eamon, you will send her to her death. When she sees the way slaves are treated in Kostos, she will not be able to, as you said,hold her tongue.”
Lord Tristan scoffed. “As you stated, a son is not responsible for his father’s crimes. Even if this were true, Prince Eamon is not at fault.”
Auberon shook his head, his already foul mood darkening at the memory of that terrible day. The young girl’s cries echoed in his ears, thick with pain and terror. He would never forget the impassive way King Jericho and Prince Eamon had looked on as the girl sobbed and begged for mercy. Auberon had already hated the Kostori by then, but at that moment, he had vowed that he would someday bury a dagger into those monsters’ black hearts.
“Perhaps in the girl’s punishment, that is true,” Auberon said. “But if you doubt the truth, ask Prince Eamon about it. Ask him if he remembers the boy who ran out of the crowd and grabbed the whip from the guard’s hand. Ask him if he remembers sentencing that boy to thirty lashes for his compassion.”
Lady Annabel lifted a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. “I… I’m sorry, I cannot listen to more of this. I had heard some of the stories from Kostos, but I didn’t know Prince Eamon was as cruel as his father. Tomorrow, I will find out if the king knows anything about this. Lord Winslow, will you help me find my husband? I think it’s best I go home now.”
