The small, winged Orizian scoops out small cups of the steaming liquid and passes it around the group, serving me first. “Thank you,” I mumble as I accept the small stone cup with both hands.
Jarron is served second, and I only take a sip once he does. Just like the tonic Bea gave me, this warm liquid soothes the anxiety in my chest.
It helps foreigners acclimate to the atmosphere,Jarron explains,as well as simply calming the body so that the mind can be at full capacity.
One by one everyone at the meeting is served the tonic, and they sip it quietly.
The lead witch’s mouth moves, a quiet vibrating sound leaving her lips, but it’s quickly translated in my mind.Thank you for the welcome, despite the tension.Her eyes meet mine and remain steady.
A jolt of fear passes through me, but I don’t dare show it. I hold her stare until her grin spreads before her gaze passes along to the rest of the group sitting in a semicircle before the fire.
“Now, tell us the manner of this gathering,” another of the witches says.
Do they not already know? Or is this just formal proceedings?
“As I’m sure you suspected,” Jarron says, both in the strange tongue and inside my head clear as day, “I have gathered you here to present my chosen. The accusations scattered across the land are false.”
The room goes still.
“This is the first you’ve commented on the matter,” one of the witches says finally.
“Yes,” Jarron says. “I could not openly deny the girl Vandozer has claimed is mine without making my true chosen aware of her role. I needed to wait until she accepted me to refute the claims.”
“And she has?” One of the witches tilts her head at me.
I hesitate awkwardly as all of the predator eyes turn to me. “Y-yes,” I say in English. Stupid. I obviously know the word for “yes” in Orizian, but my brain will not function right now. Jarron gently lifts my wrist up. I follow suit with the second so that the room can see the twin marks on both arms.
“I see,” one of the witches says, her eyes lidded like she’s annoyed.
“We are not surprised to find a new claimant on the young prince’s arm,” one of the back witches says. “Disappointed, but not surprised.”
“What is to be disappointed in?” the queen asks, her voice low and raspy.
The witches do not give her an answer. Instead, a charged silence stretches.
“As you can see, the matter is settled. Our son, your future king, has earned his right to rule.”
“We see a claimant. We do not see a settled matter.”
The queen stands. “You call my son a liar?”
The fire beside me flares, and I flinch away from it. Jarron growls and pulls me in closer, away from the heat of the roaring flames.
“We claim not to know the character of your son and therefore cannot say one way or another. If you cannot control your temper, you will be asked to leave.”
The queen clenches her jaw.
I’d known that the tribunal of witches has a lot of influence in this world, but to see the queen reprimanded by them is something else entirely—and this is only a portion of it. Only oe of the three clans is here currently.
The queen slithers back into her seat, still clearly angry but willing to submit.
“Two conflicting claims of a royal mate has never happened before,” the witch says. “Since the beginning, it’s left a bad taste in our mouth, the way Vandozer has paraded the girl around the lakes as a trophy. And yet, if true—”
“It’s a serious transgression,” the queen says with a bow of her head. “We understand. But it is indeed a falsehood. The fact that a lie can cause this much havoc and harm to our society is concerning. These matters have always been managed privately. Trust has always been the undercurrent through which we govern.”
“It is indeed concerning.”
“Trust is a foundational element of your rule,” another witch states. “And the fact that so many are ready to rise up against you is proof that you have not earned enough of it. Therefore, one marked female and the claim that she is the prince’s chosen is not enough.”
