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The metal-on-metal shearing sound of swords being unsheathed barely registers above the whooshing rush of blood in my ears.Is it really him?
“Stow your swords,” booms Kharon. “All of you.”
His own men hesitate, but ultimately do as they’re told. Luka, however, has his sword pointed directly at Mattice Dulat, High Advisor to the King of D’heilar and the man who inflicted the burn marks on my ribs. “Insults against my wife will be answered for.”
“No, they won’t,” Kharon says like everyone in his vicinity is a simpleton. “This man is D’heilar’s representative, here to witness the nuptials. He’s under my protection.”
The monster who serves my cousin smirks with Kharon’s pronouncement, but Luka’s sword doesn’t waver. One of the First Deve’s guards speaks up as the tension mounts. “Shall I disarm him, my deve?”
The guard’s gall knocks enough of the shock out of my system that I take a better look at him. He’s bigger than the rest and scarier, with a long scar running down his cheek. But he must be mad if he thinks Luka would be intimidated by him.
A burst of laughter fills the field. “You should choose your inner circle with more care, my deve,” Luka says, still chuckling as he returns his sword to its place. “Fools make for poor counsellors.” Ignoring the grumbles from Kharon’s party at the insult and the titters from ours, Luka calls to me. “Come, little raven. We must get our esteemed guests settled. Tomorrow will be a big day as we celebrate our union once again.”
Ion bends a knee and I step up so Luka can hoist me onto the saddle in front of him by my waist. Then, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, he turns Nightshade in the direction of the stronghold, trusting his men to protect our backs.
♦♦♦
I’m not sure how I was expecting Luka to react to Mattice Dulat’s presence, but with calm composure is not it. Though he tells me not to worry, that Dulat will get what’s coming to him, I’m beyond uneasy; uneasy with that man’s presence in the stronghold, uneasy with his seemingly close relationship with the First Deve, and uneasy with Luka’s smug confidence.
That night we enter the Great Hall for dinner to find Kharon and Dulat already seated on the dais. I almost balk at how they’ve seated themselves, with two empty seats between them, Luka’s more elaborate chair next to Kharon and mine next to Dulat.
“Fear nothing, my love,” Luka whispers as we mount the steps.
I can do this,I reassure myself even though a thin layer of sweat has broken out over my skin.For him, I can do anything.
We come to his chair first and I almost miss his cue to stop as he pulls it out and offers it to me. I sit and murmurs start up through the crowd. Someone yells, “Long live our a’deve,” and it sets off laughter and further calls of support. I realize the entire room has taken a collective breath. It’s not only me who’s put off by these outsiders, an ironic twist since only a few months ago, I was the outsider.
Still on his feet, Luka grabs up his tankard of ale and raises it. “To our a’deve!”
The raucous echo of support swells and I smile back at my people, feeling a blush creep up my neck and onto my cheeks.
“How very touching,” Kharon says with a healthy dose of insincerity.
Luka takes his seat beside me. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Kharon? To strengthen our ties with D’heilar?”
The man’s grudging agreement is lost in the noise of the platters of food being brought out from the kitchen. Luka makes no attempt to fill his plate, so I do it for him. I can’t blame him for not having an ounce of appetite, especially when Dulat finally makes his presence known.
“So, Amarinata,” he says in a sickly-sweet voice. “I see you’ve –”
Luka’s fist comes down on the table like a hammer. “If you value your life, you will not address my wife.”
“Really, Luka,” Kharon scolds. “Is that how you treat guests?”
Luckily, we’re interrupted by a mother and her young son, who wishes to present me with a posy of spring flowers. I signal my permission and the boy is lifted onto the dais. “Thank you so much, Darrion,” I say, accepting them with exaggerated care. “They’re lovely. Did you pick them yourself?”
“Yes, my a’deve.” Though he eyes Luka and Kharon with wariness, he goes on to whisper. “I like your crown very much.”
I giggle, feeling so much more at ease. This is familiar to me, this is my life now. “Thank you. Our deve gave it to me.”
The boy beams at Luka, who huffs with a mix of exasperation and tolerance. “Be gone with you, then,” he says not unkindly and I wink at the child.
The mother inclines her head to us as she pulls her son away, and it’s then that I notice Kharon’s guard, the one who dared to speak earlier, skulking off to our left. It would seem he’s the official bodyguard.
Placing the flowers beside my plate, I decide I don’t like the mood at our table. “Was your journey a long one, my deve?” I ask in an attempt to be a better hostess.
Kharon ignores my question in favor of spitting out his own, “What was that?” He lifts his tankard at the woman’s retreating back. “They are offering her homage?” He sounds so incensed that I almost recoil. “How could you let this happen, Luka?”
I turn to find my husband with an arched brow. “Let what happen exactly? Allow a whore of D’heilar access to our people?”
