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“Yes.” Lindsey fans herself. “She popped in unannounced at the castle to pay a social call. Poor innocent thing started to walk in on you, saw what was going on, and ran away before the three of you saw her.”
“Sansha told Vidara, to warn her there could be political complications if word got out.” Lindsey nods. “She was afraid if the wrong people found out it could make trouble for your family.”
Anvar paces. “How is it they all don’t know if Sansha saw us as you claim?”
“Because she sensed that the three of you loved each other and you weren’t getting close to them for bad reasons.” Lindsey fidgets. “She hasn’t told anyone other than your sister.”
“That’s gotta be awkward at the dinner table,” whispers Kingsley, wincing.
“Nah. It’s tame for Quentin.” Lindsey rolls her eyes.
Anvar makes a ‘who the heck is Quentin’ face, though evidently decides it not worth asking.
“Anyway,” says Tammy in a stern voice. “The reason we know so much about you is… we’re from another world. In our world, there’s a guy with strange powers who can see everything that happens in this world and he turns it into stories. People who live where we came from think you, and everyone here, are just characters in a made-up story.”
Anvar blinks at her. “I find that rather implausible.”
“You asked.” Tammy shrugs. “How else could we know your secrets?”
“Or how you got drunk for the first time when you were twelve,” says Lindsey. “And how you fling yourself into art and drinking and partying as a form of self-soothing to escape the feelings of abandonment you have from your parents, neither of whom noticed you existed when you were little.”
Allison whistles. “Uhh, guys. We’re trying to save this world from complete destruction, not spin this into an episode of Dr. Phil.”
“Your turn,” I say, staring at Anvar. “What’s your truth?”
“Don’t you know already?” he blurts, clearly embarrassed. “You know all that… how can you not know?”
“Because the book that would tell the story of what’s going on right now isn’t finished yet.” Tammy holds her arms out to either side. “Things have happened. Bad things. We’re trying to stop them. The man who sees into this world and writes those books said you’d try to kill off all the other nobles to get revenge on them for the deaths of the last king and queen.”
Anvar looks down. “It is true. I was planning to destroy them all. But… planning only. For as long as I’ve been alive, the other houses have mocked and belittled my family. The instability in the kingdom following the king and queen’s murder gave me the opportunity to put an end to all of it.”
“It?” asks Kingsley.
“The political backstabbing. All the lies. The treachery.” Anvar waves about randomly. “There’s scarcely any scrap of worthiness to any of them continuing to live.”
“Even Sansha and Elden?” asks Lindsey. “They seem harmless.”
“Well…” Anvar scratches idly at his collarbone where it’s exposed by the huge neck opening of his robe. “If the way they are isn’t an act, I suppose. If what you say is true, Sansha could have spread rumors about me and did not do so, so perhaps they are as they seem.”
Kingsley pokes Anvar with his courtroom stare. “You’re admitting to the assassination attempts?”
“I am not.” Anvar holds his hand up in a ‘wait’ gesture. “I said I had been planning to undermine and destroy the other houses. Someone else has decided to do it before I could come up with a satisfactory plan. Assassins are much too crude and direct of an approach to suit my taste. I am content to wait and see how far it goes. If someone else ends the noble houses of Frostmarch, then so be it. Better for me not to be connected to it and get what I want with my hands clean. And, no, the assassins who attempted to kill me two weeks prior were not staged, merely inept.”
Lindsey tilts her head. “Are you not worried the assassins will come after you again?”
“Not really.” Anvar sighs. “I don’t think they will because my family is not significant enough to worry about. We sell wine… and after my father’s failed attempt to steal power, no one in the kingdom would tolerate a Londuin on the throne. Even if I wanted the crown, which I do not, successfully obtaining it would be as good as drinking poison myself.”
“So, you fiddle while Rome burns?” asks Kingsley.
“Pardon?” Anvar blinks at him.
“You paint, drink, and have parties while assassins hunt the nobles of Tarramor.” Kingsley glances at Allison. “Get anything from his head?”
She smirks. “Not really that kind of telepath. That said, I think he’s trying to picture us all naked.”
“I am an artist, milady.” Anvar bows at Allison. “Clothing conceals the magnificence of the gods’ creation. I only appreciate their perfect work and wish to preserve finer examples thereof. I would adore the opportunity to preserve your beauty in oils.”
“Flattered. Sadly, I’ll have to pass.” Allison grimace smiles. “We’re a bit pressed for time.”
