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Tammy puts an arm around her. “Lins, are you okay?”
Lindsey covers her face with both hands, then breathes hard. “I don’t know. I like reading these stories or watching them on TV. I don’t really want to be surrounded by people being killed.”
I pat her forearm. “If it makes you feel any better, those assassins were not real people.”
“Yeah.” Allison jogs over to us. “Real people do not turn into poofs of smoke when they die.”
Roldon Barathor stomps over to the siblings, glaring at Elden.
Sansha shrinks in on herself, sobbing. “We didn’t know. I had no idea anything bad would happen.”
“Oh?” Barathor waves around in a sweeping gesture. “Not one of the assassins so much as came within ten feet of the two of you. The poison failed, so you tried to kill us in a more direct way.”
“We didn’t!” wails Sansha. “Please, you must believe me.”
Nielf is nowhere to be seen. I think the guy dove out a window and kept on running. Maybe an assassin got him outside. The other politically important nobles gradually move in closer, staring at the siblings. Hard to read their expressions as to whether or not they are as convinced as Roldon is the two innocent-seeming siblings did this.
Ugh. Now would be a great time to come up with one of those unexpected things Nesanth wouldn’t be able to react to without breaking cover.
Problem is… I can’t think of anything.
Chapter Sixteen
Book Nerd
There’s an old metaphor about watching a train wreck in slow motion.
I’ve heard it before. Hell, I’ve used it before. This is the first time in my life it’s really felt like I’m standing right in the middle of a proverbial train accident happening in slowed-down time. Only, instead of train cars bending and twisting around me, it’s the ‘polite society’ of an entire kingdom. The silent aftermath of a bunch of knife-wielding assassins lasts about two minutes before Roldon Barathor bellows an accusation of treachery at Elden Galahir.
His sister has almost entirely collapsed into a state of panic, clinging to her brother while staring at the room around them as if they’re perched on the last six feet of the Titanic sticking out of the water. I doubt she’s acting. In fact, if she really is Nesanth, I’m half tempted to take the loss here and let her have this realm out of respect for such a masterful performance.
I don’t think anyone in the room suspects Sansha had anything to do with either the poison or the assassins. Of course, obvious innocence comes with a price. Having a total sobbing meltdown at a moment like this also makes it abundantly clear she could not handle the pressure of being a monarch.
While Sansha appears to be evading suspicion, her brother’s absorbing all of it. He’s made the mistake of remaining too calm. My read on him is he’s stuck between trying to protect his sister and is also wholly incapable of dealing with a situation like this. Rather than show an obvious display of emotion, he’s going in the other direction—shutting down to stoicism. He likely thinks it wiser to say nothing than blurt something stupid.
Over the next two minutes, the climate in the dining hall rapidly goes from one man shouting to absolute Chernobyl. Everyone starts screaming, most of it directed at Elden though a few people are blaming House Normund for using magic to make the Galahirs unwittingly poison the others without realizing what they did.
It’s weird for me to stand there watching the entire upper society of a kingdom devolve into a shouting mob of peasants clambering for someone’s head on a pike. Part of me feels like it isn’t my place to get involved—sort of like being an American tourist in London watching a parliamentary session break down into a knife fight. A somewhat larger part of me feels responsible for stopping this since it’s the entire reason I’ve dragged us all into this realm.
As soon as Roldon draws his sword again and challenges Elden to a duel, I reach my breaking point.
“Wait!” I shout.
No one really notices.
Allison tosses a bolt of dark orange magic upward, which explodes in a bright flash near the ceiling, setting off a loud boom… like firing a .44 Magnum at an indoor gun range. Every five-foot-tall vase or glass item in the room shudders.
That gets everyone’s attention. Voices fall silent, people are stunned by the sudden ‘flashbang’ effect. Allison’s gazing up at the scorch mark she left on the ceiling with a ‘holy crap it worked’ expression.
“Wait!” I yell, again. “You all need to stop trying to kill each other and start thinking.”
Most of the partygoers and nobles end up staring at me. Being in the spotlight isn’t my favorite place, though it’s not the first time I’ve had to take control of a crowd. Might as well commit. I jump up to stand on the nearest table and gesture at the siblings, presently near the center of the room surrounded by the angry mob.
“Think!” I say again in a loud voice. “What happened here cannot be Elden and Sansha’s doing. For one thing, it’s too obvious: no poison in their cups and no one tried to stab them. Do you honestly think they are both so careless and inept they would fail to realize that makes them look responsible?”
Sansha’s sobbing subsides—somewhat—enough for her to lift her head and peer over her brother’s shoulder at me. She appears shocked someone is trying to defend them, and also a bit confused that it’s me, an outsider. Poor thing is still trembling, though. Here’s hoping this scare—if they survive it—is enough of a jolt to convince them they really should not have any interest in the crown. I’m half tempted to say little Thae would be a better choice than these two.
The rest of everyone here just stares at me in silence, thinking.
