“We have had banishments. Executions. Imprisonments as well, Lord Gaul. Many of them. In fact, I grow weary each week meting out punishment. There is not one week that goes by that some Jeruvian isn’t attempting to steal or harm or violate. And so far, none of them have been Gifted, though many of them are quite skilled. I am far more worried about those people who are actively committing offense than I am about rooting out the Gifted with swords and accusations and punishing them for things they might do. Someday. Possibly.”
“How would you know what they have done? They could be spinning gold and selling it on the streets under your very nose. They could be healing citizens and claiming it is skill instead of sorcery. They could be transforming into wolves and attacking another man’s sheep, or changing fates with a mere word!”
“Animals who attack other animals are killed. Changers who do such a thing will receive their just punishments. So far we’ve not killed a single animal who was a Changer in disguise.”
“You are clearly resistant to enforcing the laws your father and the council put in place.”
Tiras looked from one representative to the next, his expression bland but his eyes glittering.
“Tell me, why are you all here? It is not yet time for our bi-annual assembly. And I did not invite you . . . though I am happy to entertain you.” The king’s tone was so dry he had the entire delegation clearing their throats and chugging their wine to ease the drought. No one answered the king’s question.
After several seconds of heavy drinking, Lord Gaul began to speak once more. Tiras cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“I’ve heard your opinions already, Lord Gaul.”
Lord Bilwick, the ambassador from the province east of Corvyn, a close confidant of my father’s and a man I’d known all my life, seemed eager to change the subject. He was jovial and corpulent, but his merry eyes didn’t quite contain his quick temper. I’d seen him slap his wife when he lost at cards. His daughters cowered in the corners—not unlike me in that regard—and his oldest son was as bad as his father. My father had hoped for a betrothal between us. Thankfully, the son had laughed in his face. He considered me broken, and I was incredibly grateful for all my jagged pieces that kept him away.
“How do we fare in the battle against the Volgar, Highness?” Lord Bilwick asked with a burp and a self-deprecating smile. “That is the only reason I am here. And to offer my demand that you return Lord Corvyn’s daughter.” He took a giant bite from an apple he’d selected, and looked so much like the roasted pig laid out before him that I almost missed what he said. My father spoke up immediately, taking the opening.
“I have put men on the border, just as you requested, Your Majesty. I would like to bring my daughter home.”
Tiras met my father’s gaze, and there was speculation on his face. I could feel him considering, feel his questions and his distrust of my father. My father squirmed and looked away, and something cold slithered down the center of my back, and wrapped its tentacles around my waist. It contracted, and I felt sick. Odd. Breathless. My father was exuding a word that scared me, a word that was stronger than it had been before. Death. He was exuding death.
“I want her to stay,” Tiras said suddenly.
The table grew oddly hushed and the tentacles tightened as everyone strained to look at me. I took little breaths, sipping the air, and locked down every emotion, every expression. I was ice. No one would know the havoc being waged under my skin.
My father’s brow rose, and his face flushed, and Lord Gaul regarded me with raised brows. Lord Bilwick laughed out loud.
I commanded the apple in his hand to slam into his gaping mouth. It obeyed with ferocity, and the fat lord choked and pawed at the glistening red globe wedged between his horsey teeth. His wife gasped and began pounding at his back. The apple came free with a wash of spittle, and the lords and ladies around him turned away with disdain.
The king turned on me with narrowed eyes, but my father rose from his chair with regal affront.
“I have done as you demanded, Majesty. I have put all able men from Corvyn on the border, while the harvest ripens in the fields with only the women and children to see to it. I expect you to be true to your word.”
“If you recall, I said your daughter would be returned when the Volgar had been destroyed. Not before. Plus, your daughter is a Jeruvian lady of noble birth. She is of age. She could be queen.”
Kjell cursed, a low hiss that found its way to my ears and wormed into the ice I’d created around myself. I dared not look his way. I dared not look at my father. I dared not come out of my ice fortress at all, but I trembled behind the façade, my heart pounding, my blood thick and hot, threatening to melt my glacial control.
“But . . . she is . . . a mute!” my father stammered, clearly as stunned as I.
“Yes, she is.” The king smiled around the words, and his tone was wry and laced with humor. “A wonderful quality in a woman. She will keep all my secrets.”
The assembled lords and ladies laughed uncomfortably, and goblets were once again drained. The king reached for his newly re-filled glass as well, but didn’t partake.
I do not want to be queen.
He turned his head, giving me a scant sweep of his black eyes as his lips barely moved over hushed words.
“You lie.”
I want to go home.
“Another lie.”
You can’t hold me prisoner forever.
He looked me full in the face, and his eyes held mine as he murmured, “Your father’s prison holds no books. No words. No conversation.”