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A muscle twitched in Erik’s jaw, but it looked more like amusement than offense. Náli, brat that he was, could get away with the sort of insubordination that would land older, more serious men in shackles.
“I’ve been visiting the plane between worlds since my infancy,” he went on. “It isn’t a trick and it isn’t a hallucination. Whether he’s truly the emperor or not remains to be seen – he might be a powerful Selesee shaman peddling lies – but he is Selesee and he is powerful. And he is” – his gaze slid one chair over to Oliver, shrewd in a way it hadn’t been the last time they’d met; he seemed so veryalive, now – “for whatever reason, fixated on finding Oliver.”
Erik traced the heavy pedestal of his cup with a ringed thumb, frowning. “But Ollie isn’t–” He cut himself off, expression turning guilty.
Oliver laid a hand on his sleeve. “It’s all right, darling, you can say I’m not very important.”
Erik’s frown deepened. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Oliver’s not known of his own magic for very long,” Revna said, more tactfully. “He’s not been walking in other planes as you have your whole life,” she said to Náli, who shrugged.
“As I said: I don’t know his reasons. Only that he wants you.” His gaze came to Oliver, and Oliver glimpsed the quick, animal sheen of fear in it. For a know-it-all boy prone to bluster, his interactions with the so-called emperor had been rattling – and that in turn rattled Oliver, though he tried not to show it.
The other four members of the Dead Guard had taken refreshments standing up against the wall, formal and silent, but Mattias was seated at the table beside his master. Revna’s brows had gone up when they’d first sat down, but no one had said anything, silently accepting this shift in the captain’s role. For his part, Mattias seemed to be settling into it rather well. He spoke up now, when he never would have before: “Are there not records here of the Sel emperors? A way to verify that he is who he says he is?”
“In the library, yes,” Erik said. “We’ve been over them, but they’re wildly outdated, and the illustrations are crude.”
“The last four emperors were named Romanus Tyrsbane,” Birger said.
Náli’s brows went up. “The last four? Or the same one all this time? ‘Immortal’ is a part of his title, after all.”
Birger shook his head. “Men are mortal. It’s a title, only. Immortality isn’t possible.”
Náli titled his head, so his hair glimmered like a snow fox pelt in the firelight. “More than you know is, in fact, quite possible.”
Birger made a sour face, and Revna cleared her throat neatly, drawing everyone’s attention. “Well, it will take weeks to prepare the march, so all of you magical lads have time to research before you depart.” She sounded brisk and falsely cheerful; Oliver wondered how she’d sound once Tessa told her she intended to march – or fly, rather – along with them.
“Yes,” Erik said, “and it won’t change our travel besides. The most urgent business is joining the Aquitainian forces amassing in Inglewood. We’ll worry about the emperor after we’ve smashed through his lines at the Crownlands,” he said, firmly, in a clear dispersal of the meeting.
As they broke apart, Tessa went to urge a protesting Revna to go and lie down. Bjorn wanted Erik to go and inspect the walls with him, because the masons had questions. Birger went off with Magnus and Lars to see about settling the Fault Lands men in the barracks with their own forces. Rune, feeling the pressures of princedom no doubt, had taken it upon himself to work with the young lads not yet old enough to march to war, working on their archery skills; Tessa sent him a proud look when he announced he was holding a practice in the training yard.
Oliver slipped his arm through Náli’s and said, “Come and take a walk with me.”
Náli sent him an amused look. “If it’s a tryst you’re after,Your Lordship,I must warn you that Mattiaswillcave your face in.”
“Not to worry, Mattias is much more my type than you.”
Náli laughed, and it was a marvel to hear that it was a real, true laugh, not colored with derision or bitterness. He soundedhappy.
Mattias did come along, a pace behind them, and though he made a face, initially, when he spotted their linked arms, he soon settled. Oliver cast a glance over his shoulder at him as they entered a garden alive with the dripping of melting icicles, and found that he was staring off across the grounds, hands loose at his sides, unworried. Secure in his master’s affections and not afraid that Oliver might be trying to woo him away.
“So,” Oliver said, as they started down the path. With the snow thinned, the gravel shifted audibly underfoot.
“So,” Náli echoed. His boots looked new on the path, a gray leather with intricate white stitching along the tops. His whole gray ensemble was elegant and fresh; he’d dressed up for this trip, this meeting, and Oliver found it unbearably cute. “I don’t know what a book can tell us about this bastard, but–”
Oliver squeezed his arm. “Enough about the emperor for now. He’ll keep a bit longer. I want to know” – when he turned a grin on the boy, he had the pleasure of watching his eyes widen and his ears pink as he anticipated the question to come – “who made the first move.” He tilted his head pointedly toward Mattias, and Náli groaned.
“Oh, don’t be a gossip.”
“Don’t you be a bore. Bastards in Drakewell don’t get to gossip: it’s nothing but coat closet trysts and standing quietly up against a wall during parties.”
“Well that certainly isn’t my fault.”
“Humor me, Corpse Lord. It’s been nothing but war, and death, and betrayal, and cannibals, and…” He’d started jokingly, but trailed off when the truth of it all fell over them like a stone-weighted net.
Náli’s step faltered beside him, and they walked on in silence a moment, both regarding the toes of their riding boots.
When Oliver lifted his head, he found Náli glancing over his shoulder, and he glanced, too. Mattias strode behind them, brow knitted. When Náli met his gaze, he nodded, and Náli turned back with a sigh.
