I had no answer to that, and gazed back at him helplessly, wishing I could read his thoughts like I was learning to read his books, that I could examine the words he didn’t say, piece by piece, until they made sense. Instead, I felt only his indecision, a blank question behind his eyes.
I don’t understand you.
“That makes us even, then,” he said, reaching for his goblet. He seemed to reconsider his wine and took my goblet instead. He sipped it carefully then downed it as if his gullet was on fire. His hand shook as he released it, and he gripped the edge of the table to steady himself. My heart began to pound in my ears.
Are you ill?
“I want you to go back to your room. Now,” he commanded harshly, and he stood, dismissing me, addressing the assembly with complete control. “Please excuse me for a moment. Continue to enjoy your meal.”
My eyes swung to Kjell, who was once again staring at the beautiful ambassador.
Kjell! His head snapped to me and his eyes widened in outrage as if my voice was a violation of his privacy.
The king is not well.
Tiras had already turned away from the table, and Kjell was immediately at his side holding his arm and speaking urgently into his ear, as if something of utmost import had just arisen, and the king was needed elsewhere. Tiras walked swiftly, straight and tall, his head bowed toward Kjell. The assembly watched momentarily then relaxed back into their conversations and their drink, unconcerned.
The king collapsed in the doorway.
Kjell dragged Tiras from sight, and no one even raised their eyes from the feast in front of them. I was all but invisible, and suddenly I was grateful for the scant attention I was generally paid. I stood and stepped away from the table, moving sedately away from the banquet, my eyes fixed on the arched doorway where I’d last seen the king, but suddenly my father was there, halting my progress. He wrapped his hand around my elbow and tugged me in the opposite direction.
“Lark. Come with me, daughter.”
I panicked briefly, resisting and digging in my heels. My father had grown gaunt over the years, but he towered above me, and there was desperation in his grasp and fear in his face. I could only stumble along beside him.
Let me go, Father.
I pushed words into his head, forming them carefully, trusting that his sense of self-preservation would force him to guard my abilities, but he didn’t react at all. He didn’t look around in confusion, trying to ascertain who was speaking. He simply walked, and he pulled me along with him.
Let go of me, Father. The words wailed in my thoughts, but I was the only one who winced. He didn’t hear me. Like Pia, he was completely impervious.
He headed toward the archway at the far end of the hall, pulling me along with him as I pushed furious words against the concrete wall of his mind. I’d been rendered mute once more.
Two footmen from Corvyn stood at the base of the broad staircase that led to the guest quarters on the farthest wing of the castle. They straightened and greeted my father as he approached.
“Lock my daughter in my quarters. Prepare to depart, just as we planned. We leave within the hour. There are rumors of Volgar movement, and we are needed at home. I’ve been away too long,” my father instructed smoothly.
I yanked my arm from his grasp, but as always, I was utterly ignored, completely dismissed, and I could do nothing to free myself from those who could easily subdue me.
Yet.
The thought gave me comfort, and I walked agreeably with the two footmen, my hands folded demurely, my eyes straight ahead, making a plan.
When the door to my father’s quarters was shut behind me, I waited, listening for the scrape of the key and the retreat of the two footmen. But they stayed, talking quietly among themselves, guarding the door. I paced uneasily, and worry clawed in my chest. I told myself Tiras meant little to me, that his suffering was not my concern. He’d become an odd savior of sorts, opening my mind even as he kept me locked away. He’d become a friend, though I would never admit that to him. To anyone. But I was afraid, and my mother’s prophecy rang in my head. Kjell held me accountable. I held myself accountable. My mother had been slaughtered by Tiras’s father. But my mother had died because of me. I did not want to be the cause of Tiras’s death. Impatient, I ran to the window and commanded it to open, flinging the words out desperately.
The window shattered, spraying glass in every direction.
I covered my face and fell to the ground as the door burst open behind me, the footmen crying out that we must be under some sort of attack. They ran to the jagged opening to peer up into the sky, cautiously navigating the broken glass. When they could see nothing that would cause further alarm, they helped me to my feet. I was covered with glass but mostly uninjured, and I shook myself gingerly, sprinkling shards from my dress and my hair, and surveyed my clumsy attempt at escape. I started fires and broke glass. I needed a great deal more practice or I was going to hurt myself.
They left once more and carefully locked the door behind them again, murmuring about what could have caused the window to shatter in such a way. This time they didn’t remain, but hurried off down the corridor, leaving a trail of mumbled words in their wake. I sighed in relief and calmly, purposefully asked the lock to disengage.
It did so with an audible click, and I sent up a grateful prayer to the God of Words.
I eased the door open and peeked down the hall. It had grown dark, and sconces had been lit on every floor. I would have to be certain to avoid the staff who were all aware that I should not be roaming the palace unattended. I’d never been in this wing, never negotiated these halls, and I didn’t know how I would reach the king without being seen. My father would be returning as well, and I didn’t want to attempt another command that could completely backfire.