“Thank you,” he said, meaning it in earnest.
He almost claimed her hand to bring her fingers to his lips but decided it didn’t sit right with him after he so recently performed the gesture for Iona. It would make it seem disingenuous if he were to go around kissing fingers left and right.
He turned to see Sir Patrick leaning in to say something into Iona’s ear. Iona was smiling politely but seemed to lean away for every inch Sir Patrick was closing between them. Malcolm didn’t need more encouragement and soon he was by Iona’s side again, a hand firmly clasping her upper arm, telling the knight that the prince was claiming the lady as his table mate.
“Excellent form, Patrick. See you at the revels later,” Malcolm said.
As it was his one and only comment it offered very little excuse for how he then simply ushered Iona away from whatever conversation the knight was trying to start.
“What did he want?” Malcolm asked, letting his grasp on her arm go and clasping her hand in his instead, holding it up in an ushering fashion and telling himself that he had not wanted to feel the comfort of her fingers in his.
“He wanted to prove you wrong,” Iona replied. “And I think he managed it.”
“What are you talking about?” Malcolm asked.
“Well, I told you I would not be dancing, and you told me you would be the one to get me on the dance floor, but I believe Sir Patrick just claimed my first dance for the evening,” she said.
“He did not,” Malcolm gasped in mock outrage, though he also felt soft discontent at this news, trying to hide it as he widened his eyes to underline how upset he wasn’t.
“Why am I not joining the others in the dining hall?” she changed the topic.
“Because if you are to be on my council, I want you present for the talks we’re about to have,” he replied.
“Talks?” she frowned up at him.
“Yes,” he said. “There are wicked things afoot, and we mean to put an end to them once and for all.”
Chapter 6 - Iona
Malcolm hadn’t let go of her hand. She had thought that he would so that she might slide it back to where it had been resting on his lower arm, but his fingers were still grasping hers. It made her think that he was the one who wanted to hold onto her all evening and not the other way around.
“It will be all right,” she murmured, giving him a smile to tell him that she was only teasing. He returned it with ease, but his hold on her hand remained.
They entered the private dining hall, which was six times smaller than the one hosting those gathered from the courts of all four kingdoms but was still large enough to fit the throne room twice over. A table that seated thirty had been set with the castle’s most beautiful plates and silverware, while delicate glasses gleamed in the dim light, handblown in the furnaces erected in the most remote parts of the silver sands.
Iona had only been in the room once before. It had been with her mother as they raked out the two enormous fireplaces flanking the table. Iona remembered it had taken them half a day to get them clean, but once they were done, they had looked good as new. Strange to be in this room for such a different purpose.
As it was too hot at the moment, both fireplaces had been left cold, and the light in the room came from blue-flame candles alone. They spread a colder glow than their yellow-flame counterparts, but the light had a calming effect. It was much like swimming under water, everything filtered and somehow sharper thanks to it.
Malcolm walked them to the head of the table, claiming the chair to the right of the head of it, where his father was already seated—and directing Iona into the chair next to him. Around the table were the crowned heads of the four kingdoms and their closest aides and dignitaries. Iona recognized them all, though she knew Prince Ewan and his aide Leon most intimately due to the prince’s close friendship with Malcolm.
Leon gave her a smile and a nod. She returned it, feeling more misplaced in the quiet of this room than she had in the clamor of the great hall.
She barely dared look at the king. As far as she knew, he had yet to agree to her being part of Malcolm’s council. Then again, he didn’t seem against her joining his court and the leap between the two wasn’t greater than the leap between maid and courtier. She glanced at him, but he was speaking with King Hugh, who was seated to his right.
King Hugh’s queen Blair sat across from Iona. Their aide, of whom Iona did not know the name, sat next to Blair. Going around the table, there was Queen Maize and King Greer with the king’s aide, Irvine. There were emissaries and ambassadors from all four kingdoms. Those who would travel back and forth on account of the crown when the rulers could not attend meetings in person, along with making certain that trade deals and border controls were upheld. To Iona’s right sat Leon and, next to him, Prince Ewan, which meant that the crowned heads had all gathered by the hosting king and could more easily hear what he had to say. Especially in case he wanted to speak in lowered tones to them alone.
For now, he addressed the entire table and spoke in that booming tone of his, saying, “Before we bring in the food, I should like to make absolutely clear why we are here.”
The room quieted as everyone turned their eyes on him. King Morton let his eyes wander down the table, looking at each in turn, his face grim.
“There are those among us who do not agree with how things are run,” he said. “It’s impossible to say how long this rot has been taking hold, but for a good long while, it has been there, festering. Discontent has turned into fanatical malice. These people, those who oppose the natural order to things granted us through the elements themselves, they tell themselves—and others—that the rot is the magic itself.
“They say the bloodlines are power hungry, clinging to a system of government long since outdated. They say that the magic should be released back where it belongs, into the ‘fabric of nature’ as they put it. Make no mistake, dear friends—these people, these fanatics, are the power-hungry ones. They do not wish for renewed balance, as they claim. They wish to promote imbalance, to sow confusion and fear and, through that, to become the ones with all the control. They wish to oppress and to possess. Some of us have had the misfortune to see this firsthand.”
King Hugh exchanged a glance with his queen, then said:
“My closest and oldest friend tried to drain the firemagic from me. Lady Quinn had never shown any sign of her duplicitous nature before the moment of transference drew near.”
