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When Cyrus doesn’t budge, I open the door to force the decision upon him. He looks neither stricken nor exasperated when he finally leaves, just resigned, aloofness settling upon him like a well-worn mask.
The Council of Dukes isn’t having a meeting so much as a shouting match.
When fourteen dominions are contending for weapons and supplies and soldiers during the most anxious of prophetic times, every scrap of information opens a new avenue of negotiation. A real pack of wolves would fight over a carcass in a more orderly fashion than the scene in the Council Chamber.
While new reports of beasts have slowed down, dominions are struggling with containing the ones that are still roaming. Now that we know these creatures were once human, we’re hopeful they may have a chance to be human again. Old forts have been repurposed rapidly as makeshift corrals, but it’s difficult, dangerous work.
I enter the Council Chamber a quarter after the hour—when the quarrels have warmed up and insults begin flying. The first thing I hear is Lord Ignacio calling Lord Oronnel “boil-brained” and, in retaliation, Oronnel calling Ignacio’s dyed wig an “aborted squirrel.”
I find a seat perpendicular to the king, against the wall.King Emilius didn’t request my services for this meeting, but he wanted me to be aware of present plans.
Across the room, Cyrus is on his feet, fist driven onto the table. The golden whorls of his coat shine under the hazy lighting. He’s tearing into Lord Denning’s argument with a daggered look he would never wear in public. “We have no intelligence that says burning Fairywood is preventing more beasts. In fact, Raya believes that the Fairywood may be our greatest asset in removing the dark magic from these cursed men.”
“Her demonstration doesn’t fool me.” Lord Denning has been dealing with the beasts for the longest, along with Lord Ignacio and Lord Arus. He recently returned from the Eleventh Dominion, where at least two villages suffered casualties. “She credits her magic to fairy blessings, but the man transformed back in a matter of hours. My wife has it on good authority that she is a charlatan. I make no apology for this, Your Highness, but your bride is in league with that Witch of Nightmares, if not a witch herself.”
“Howdareyou.” The prince plays his lovelorn part with zeal, no one the wiser of what he and I have done. “The rumors have been recanted—”
“No such thing—”
The noise escalates to a din. While the king and I have proclaimed the witch is to blame for the beasts, my lack of information about her has created a ripe environment for rumors to grow, and I don’t know enough about the witch myself to lie in order to soothe people. Many in court remain suspicious of Raya.
Eventually, King Emilius drums the table. “Peace,” comeshis low voice, barely audible, but it’s enough to cascade a hush down the table. “We will have no slander against Lady Raya. Cooperation with our neighbors is the top priority. Lady Raya is our prophesied salvation—and I would gauge further, a sign that the Fates mean for Auveny and Balica to unite one day. The Fates must have reason for tainting our land with dark magic. Consider: is it so that we may defeat it with the joining of an Auvenese prince and a Balican leader? Seer, your thoughts?”
I lift my eyes. King Emilius usually gives forewarning if he’d like me to speak, but I hadn’t prepared anything. He looks the picture of patience as he awaits my response, but his gaze is heavy with expectation and I know this is a test of my loyalties.
I err toward aiding Raya’s reputation. “Lady Raya is chosen by both fairies and the Fates. Though some may doubt her now, what we remember in a decade will be that a spirited outsider attended the ball at the Fates’ will, entranced us all, and brought hope in darkness. The first step of Auveny’s new era.” Pretty words that say just enough without overindulging.
Cyrus is thin-lipped. This isn’t the response he wanted. But his fight isn’t with me; he glowers at his father. “We shouldn’t be thinking about widening our borders regardless. Beasts are walking the earth. Let’s focus on our own issues first.”
“I would argue it’s the best time to think of it,” Lord Ignacio muses down the table. “Balica is distracted. Weak. They beg our aid. We should demand something in return for the soldiers we sent to them.”
“Speaking of aid, we’re sendingtoo manysoldiers to Lunesse. Raya requested a small battalion to help secure the capital, not so many to occupy the state. I was supposed to coordinate these deployments with the general, but someone else spoke to him first. Who was it?”
“The orders came directly from me,” King Emilius says crisply. “The extra soldiers were to guarantee her land’s safety.”
“Thesafety—” Cyrus scoffs. His eyes meet mine, as if these words are truly for me. “It’s an invasion in kinder terms and one that will not be seen kindly by Balicans once Lunesse recovers.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I remain quiet in my seat. I won’t pretend to enjoy these plans, but I won’t pretend I didn’t see this coming.
Shouting rises to headache levels again until the meeting is adjourned. Lords and advisers leave the room jesting and squabbling, continuing their conversations outside.
“Seer,” the king says as I rise. “A moment in my study, if you have the time.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” I wait for him by the arched doorway.
Cyrus brushes past me without acknowledgment. The back of his hand grazes mine, a jolt of a moment that feels more treacherous than it is, even with my hands gloved. King Emilius follows close behind him, and I force a smile to my lips just in time.
The king doesn’t need the aid of another to walk today, but I offer my arm out of politeness, which he takes. Stress, more than anything, seems to be aggravating him. His hair has grown a shade grayer since the start ofsummer.
We make small talk about the wedding preparations. The main rooms have been redecorated in whites and golds. You can smell the kitchens cooking sweets at every hour.
I edge into more serious conversation as we turn down the hallway to his study. “I do think there is merit to what Cyrus is saying,” I say, careful to seem neutral. “I’m afraid we tempt war with Balica—and Felicita’s prophecy warned of war.”
The noise in the king’s throat is dismissive. “Balica has a minuscule military. We would crush them if events led to that.”
But it’s not about the victory,I want to say.War is war, war is blood, war is death.
I used to dream of wars as a child. It isn’t the same as reading about them in books. I see the things that aren’t recorded: the tears, the cowardice, the confessions given upon a dying breath. Forgotten threads that touch upon times long ago or, maybe, times that never were. It’s all the same now; a history unremembered may as well have never existed.
