The Silk sat rigid in their chairs as Tuck and I walked in like we owned the place. I couldn’t force my will onto the royalty in the realms. The Fates had seen to that ages ago. But I couldsmash the rest of these mortals like bugs now that I wasn’t trying to hold the damn veil in place.
Archer was right. I was a fucking asshole for holding the veil during that fight. But he was also wrong. Because those men that killed Harlow weren’t ordinary mortals. They were Ezra’s Unmade. His Guardians, bound to him. Had I not been using the threadbare tendrils of my own power to twist their minds, that fight would’ve ended differently. We would have lost more than one. Still the power was imbalanced, broken even, and almost every god blamed Paesha.
Tuck cleared his throat, staring at me wide-eyed. He glanced between the king and I once, expecting me to bow or something. I didn’t. Instead, I pulled out a seat and plopped down, folding my hands on the table as I took in the faces of his council.
They hated me. I hated them. Solid way to start. Though to them, I was a noble, here to shame them for the way they’d abandoned their fucking king when he’d gone missing. At least they were right about one half of that.
I had to hide my surprise when I noticed a familiar face at the table. Minerva sat primly in her mortal guise. Her wrinkled face was a masterpiece of deception, every line and crease carefully crafted to portray a frail, elderly woman. But her eyes betrayed her true nature–sharp, piercing, and filled with the knowledge of millennia.
Her silver hair was pulled back into a severe bun, not a single strand out of place. As always, she wore a simple gray dress. Its high collar and long sleeves, a stark contrast to the silks and jewels adorning the other council members. Her gnarled hands were folded neatly on the table, the skin so thin I could see the blue veins beneath, pulsing with immortal blood.
What the hell was she doing here? Minerva hadn’t meddled in mortal affairs for centuries, preferring to remain in her libraries when she wasn’t pestering me about shit she thought Icould have done differently. She was the closest thing I had to a mother figure, but she was ruthless when she wanted to be. Her presence here, in this mundane council chamber, set my teeth on edge. But unlike the rest of these fuckers, she knew her place. She knew when to push and when to back the hell off.
Aldus rose from his chair at the head of the table, the mortal king’s weathered face creased with worry lines that hadn’t been there before his imprisonment. The crown sat heavy on his brow. He cleared his throat, and the sound echoed in the suddenly silent chamber.
“My lords and ladies, I welcome you all to this council meeting. We face trying times, and I am grateful for your presence and counsel.” His eyes swept across the room, lingering for a moment on Tuck and me. “As you can see, we have some unexpected guests with us today. I trust you will extend them the same courtesy and respect you would show to any member of this council.”
The council members shifted in their privileged seats, exchanging glances filled with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. I could practically taste their unease, a sour note in the air.
Lord Bartholomew, a portly man with a face as red as his silk robes, was the first to break the tense silence. He leaned forward, his multiple chins quivering as he spoke.
“Your Majesty,” he began, his voice dripping with false politeness, “while we are, of course, honored by any guests you choose to bring into these hallowed chambers, perhaps you could explainwhywe have so many.”
“Why should our king have to explain any of his choices to you?” Tuck asked.
“The Salt have no say in the way we run this kingdom,” Bartholomew sneered.
“We?” I asked, tapping my boot to keep myself grounded.
“Did I stutter, Lord Thorne Noctus?”
I locked eyes with old Barty, my gaze as much of a weapon as any blade to his fucking throat, and that little bob in his throat proved it. I dove ruthlessly into the depths of his mind, tearing through his memories like a savage beast. The council chamber faded away as I plunged into the murky waters of his past.
Flashes of decadence and debauchery swirled around me, lavish parties, illicit affairs, backroom deals made in smoky taverns. But I pushed deeper, searching for that one crucial moment. And there it was, glimmering like a poisoned jewel in the muck of his consciousness.
Barty hunched over a desk, quill scratching furiously as he penned a letter. His face was illuminated by candlelight, sweat beading on his brow as he sealed the parchment with trembling hands. The memory crystallized, and I could see every detail with perfect clarity, the way his eyes darted nervously to the door, the slight tremor in his pudgy fingers as he pressed his signet ring into the hot wax.
The letter was addressed to a northern king, detailing Aldus’s planned trade routes and the exact numbers of his army. Vital information that could cripple the kingdom if it fell into the wrong hands. And there was Bartholomew, practically gift wrapping it for the enemy.
I pulled back from his mind with a vicious wrench, leaving Bartholomew pale and shaking in his seat. I stood slowly, my chair scraping against the stone floor with an ominous screech. The room fell silent as I circled the table. Lord Bartholomew’s face had gone from ruddy to ashen. Tuck cleared his throat. A warning to remember we were in a room full of mortals, no doubt. It wouldn’t do to fucking terrify them. But I knew that already. Still, even their king sat quietly as I moved.
I held my voice low and measured. “I really didn’t want to have to do this in front of everyone, but it seems, Your Majesty, that we have a traitor in our midst.
The council members shifted uneasily in their seats, eyes darting between me and Barty. I could smell their fear, sharp and acrid and fucking delicious.
“Not long ago, I had the misfortune of intercepting a rather interesting letter,” I continued, pausing behind Bartholomew’s chair. I placed my hands on his shoulders, feeling him flinch beneath my touch. “A letter penned by none other than our esteemed Lord Bartholomew here.”
The portly lord began to sputter, but I squeezed his shoulders, silencing him.
“This letter was addressed to King Rhovan Caltheris. In this letter, our dear friend drew your enemy a fucking map with every planned stop on the trade routes.” I resumed my circuit around the table. “Now, why would he need that?”
I’d planned to sit and observe this meeting, but I guess a little meddling in Aldus’s affairs was due. The Fates kept us from controlling royalty, but there were always gray areas for truth and lies. The council chamber erupted into chaos. Lords and ladies leapt to their feet, shouting accusations and denials. Bartholomew’s face had gone from ashen to purple, his jowls quivering as he stammered out weak protests.
“Lies! All lies! This… this scoundrel has no proof! He seeks only to discredit me, Your Majesty!”
Aldus raised a hand, silencing the room with a gesture. His eyes, once warm and trusting, had turned to chips of ice as he regarded Bartholomew. “Is this true? Have you betrayed me? Betrayed our kingdom?”
Barty’s eyes darted wildly around the room, seeking an ally, an escape. Finding none, he slumped in his chair, defeated. “Any of you would have done the same. Securing an alliancewas necessary for protection.” He turned to Aldus. “You’ve been sitting in this castle for years letting your son and his army poison this kingdom while you mourned a lost love. You call yourself a king? Where’ve you been Aldus? While we suffered?”
