“And you continue to be the biggest thorn the Angel has ever imposed in my side,” Barrett drawled.
“The public needs a ruler.” Nassik’s voice was as icy as his blue-eyed stare, sharp cheekbones and jawline creating an angular, unapproachable expression. He folded his hands atopthe table, a brutal scar peeking from beneath the cuff of his tunic—one of the Engrossian markings.
“They have one,” Barrett sneered.
“Who chose to fight in the opposing army!”
Barrett’s voice darkened. “And which is standing today?”
In the answering silence, I drummed my fingers on the table.
Two weeks. That’s how long it had been since I arrived at the Valley Palace as one of Ophelia’s representatives. She and Barrett wanted to present an alliance of the two major clans following the war. Mila and Lyria had been here even longer. And Barrett had been dealing with these challenges for nearly six weeks when the Engrossian-Mindshaper army forfeited on that battlefield.
No title,I’d told Ophelia when she asked if I would come in her stead. It was my only stipulation.
No need,she’d answered with a sly smirk.
I hadn’t been sure what she meant, but I didn’t question it. Lyria and Mila retained their titles. I was only here as a figure of the Mystiques and to assist Barrett. My brother.
And because Tolek had accused me of moping after Mila left the outposts. As the courtly bickering continued, my hand slipped beneath the table to squeeze her thigh.
She flicked her eyes my way, reproachful brow raised. When I returned it, one corner of her lips ticked up. Spirits, we’d been in this chamber for hours. It was nearly dinner time; I couldn’t wait to get her out of here.
“Nassik,” Barrett snapped, nothing but an erratic, cocky command. In contrast, his consort and general, Dax, was all calm intimidation where he stood behind the prince’s chair. “Look around you.” Barrett paused, allowing the older man to do so. The other two council members, Pelvira and Elvek, mirrored the action, taking in the six empty seats lining the long, rectangular table. The emerald velvet curtains were heavywith dust, the windows cracked open to allow thick, swampy air within the palace’s stone walls.
Barrett lounged in his chair, one hand still stroking between Rebel’s ears as the animal watched the council members with keen, sleuthing observation gifted by the God of Mythical Beasts.
“Now, tell me what you see,” Barrett said after an intentional, lengthy pause.
“I do not understand,” Nassik retorted, exasperation clear.
“Tell me what you see in this room.” Barrett planted both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Better yet, when you walk the halls of this palace—myhome—what do you hear?”
“Hear?” Nassik scoffed.
“What do the staff say?”
“The staff is gone.”
Barrett let that confession hang in the air. “Precisely, Nassik.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” the man continued to argue.
But it was Mila who cut in. “Barrett, you were a guest of Revered Alabath for quite some time, correct?”
“An honored one,” Barrett answered quickly. Tension between the council members thickened, but Barrett didn’t flinch.
“I understand Mystiques have never been your ally,” Mila said, “but I think we can all agree on one thing: Ophelia Alabath nurtured a warm culture in that palace upon her ascent to the Revered’s seat, did she not?”
“She absolutely did,” Barrett said.
Lyria continued her friend’s argument. “The Revered opened the doors. She let the people know her.”
“We cannot open the doors!” Nassik argued.
“I have to agree with him on that,” Pelvira finally spoke, her long ash-blonde hair slipping around her pale shoulders, browneyes alert in her narrow face. “We cannot expose the palace in that way.”
“Confidential business is conducted here,” Elvek added, nodding his plump head. All three of the council members’ faces were stony.
