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Most of the attention was on Ber, at least. Of course, the last time he’d been in this dining room, he’d marched in to demand that Toren meet with him in private to discuss his challenge to the throne. Everyone had to be wondering if this was some new trick. If not for all that had happened lately, Tes would have been wondering, too. Yet her husband sat as calmly as ever, unaffected by the glances and whispers from the lower tables.
Aside from that, the meal progressed pleasantly enough. Ber and Toren held an actual conversation, if tentative, and even Mehl offered a few comments at times. But Tes couldn’t bring herself to relax. Each bite of food was a struggle to get down, her stomach turning with some nameless dread. What in the world was her problem?
The answer arrived with dessert. As the servant settled the next plate in front of Toren, the High King’s expression went blank for a brief moment. Then a line pinched between his brows as he leaned toward Mehl and murmured, “We’ve a messenger from Centoi awaiting us. We’ll see them in the secondary receiving room after dinner.”
Already? Tes gripped her suddenly cold hands together in her lap. Her father must have spent a great deal to send messengers through the portal so quickly. Even when he’d thought she’d gone missing, he’d sent someone over land.
“Not the throne room?” Mehl asked softly.
Toren’s jaw clenched. “I’ll not grant Ryenil the honor.”
It would be an obvious insult under the circumstances. Normally, the slight would have given her satisfaction, but now?
Now, she could only hope matters didn’t explode into disaster.
Ber knew preciselywhat the king would demand—his head. And no matter what his brother said, he refused to wait elsewhere while the ultimatum was given. Perhaps it was time to stop protecting Toren, but that didn’t mean he would leave him to bear such dark burdens alone. Not when they were caused by Ber’s own actions.
So when they finally departed the dining room, Ber kept pace behind Toren, Mehl, and Ria all the way to the secondary receiving room. Tes strode beside him, the same resolve on her face that he felt in his soul. No more working in the shadows. It was time to confront their problems in the light.
Toren halted just in front of the door. “Ber—”
“We’re coming with you,” he interrupted. “I’ll do my best not to interfere, but I’ll not be left ignorant. Nor will Tes.”
“I never suggested you should be.” His brother smiled. “I’ve had seats placed for both of you beside the dais. However, do hold your tongue. In there, I will be High King more than brother.”
Ber nodded his assent, though the warning had been unnecessary. Despite his protective instincts, he was well aware by now that High King Toren was far different from Tor, his brother. Yet Ber wouldn’t be cowed. He’d made himself a villain in an attempt to help, but his willingness to challenge his brother had been no act.
Every ruler needed someone who would shove them from the path of stupidity.
Toren had to know that, but he allowed Ber entry anyway.
Unlike a more formal meeting, the pair of messengers already waited on the far end of the room. Ber and Tes took their seats quickly while his brother and their spouses claimed the carved wooden thrones situated on the dais. Then after the simplest of introductions from the chamberlain, the messengers knelt in front of the thrones.
“Arise, Emissaries of Centoi,” Toren said, his tone somehow both disinterested and frigid.
Ber always had envied that trick.
The pair from Centoi, however, mostly appeared confused. The man and woman exchanged quick glances as they stood, and then the woman took the slightest step forward. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I believe there must be some mistake. We are not emissaries, only messengers. Only our king could command that exalted role, and we’ve never been near the palace.”
Toren’s brows drew together. “Didn’t you claim you were from Centoi?”
“We are from that land, Your Majesty,” the woman replied.
“And my chamberlain was led to believe it was a matter of grave importance,” Toren continued. “What would warrant an emergency meeting with me except a message from King Ryenil himself?”
This time, the man spoke. “We bear a message from Lady Selesta, Duchess Aony. She sent us from the north portal near the family seat.”
Selesta? If she’d escaped the palace, how had she managed to reach her estate in the northern mountains so rapidly? The portals would have been watched and any records of their use examined. Ber could only assume she’d had an artifact similarto his ring. That would also explain how she’d managed to avoid being seen.
“Duchess?” Toren asked sharply. “What about Duke Aony?”
Naturally, his brother had been told the tale, but the messengers didn’t know that. And so their answer sounded more true. “Presumed dead, Your Majesty,” the woman said. “The power of the duchy passed to our lady, and she has returned to claim it.”
The soft click of Tes’s fingernail tapping on her armrest filled the air, loud to Ber’s ears. The others didn’t appear to notice the impatient sound. Ah, but it carried the rhythm of his own heart, for he longed to hear the message now. The duchess knew a great deal about the situation at the palace.
“Deliver your message, then,” Toren said.
Well, perhaps one person had noticed the tapping.
