“Now you can’t possibly believe that to be true. Not when you were cowering in his presence just moments before.”
The man laughed throatily. “Your Blayne is pretty, but cruel. The Caltothian prince is but a boy and spends his time picking his nose.” His lips curled up in disgust. “I seek your audience because you didn’t grow up in court, my dear. You haven’t learned how to lie. I can read every emotion on your face; I could tell how upset you were by the prince moments before, and I can see how nervous you are now. And that makes yours the most valuable opinion in this room.”
He took a step closer, the heels of his boots a rattle. “Now tell me why I should pick King Lucius’s son for my niece.”
“I—I…”
I never should have gone off on my own. The king gave me very specific orders not to embarrass the Crown; his threats had stressed the stakes of earning the Pythians’ favor. And now here the duke was, asking the one person whose face was, apparently, an open book. Because I was lowborn.
I struggled for a reply that would appear honest without putting Blayne in a negative light.
“The thing is … I don’t really know him.”
His lips twitched at the lie.
“Well enough,” I blurted. “I don’t know him well enough. I-I didn’t like Darren either, when we first met. I hated him.” Nice, Ryiah, make him hate the whole family. “B-but that was before I got to know Darren.” No point in lying since he could read the truth. “I am still getting to know Blayne…”
I started to get nervous:
“I-I can’t promise she would be h-happy… But if you choose Jerar you could save hundreds—thousands.” I swallowed. “If you choose Jerar there will never be a war. Caltoth would never dare to attack us with your brother’s support—”
“You disappoint me, Ryiah. Desperation and fear will never win you an ally.” The duke gave me a pitying smile. “Thanks for your time.”
Then he adjusted his cloak and left me standing there, clinging to the rail.
We were going to lose the war, I realized. The Pythians had already picked a side.
It wasn’t ours.
Chapter Eight
Negotiations were fruitless. Three days into the ambassador’s visit and it was clear the Pythians were not going to be swayed. There was nothing King Lucius’s advisors could offer that would match the Caltothian’s terms. And from the way the meetings had gone thus far, King Horrace had promised a lot.
I wasn’t present for said meetings, of course, but the worry lines creasing the non-heir’s forehead each dinner were enough. I had to watch Darren’s haggard face each time he stepped out of the Crown Chambers looking worse than before. Over dinner he would practice strained conversation with the Pythians while I picked at my food and pretended things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed. Even Blayne stopped trying to carry the pretense of self-assurance by that third night.
Duke Cassius was the only one enjoying himself, and he toasted his kinsmen every chance he got. Between his raucous laughter and that smug smile, it wasn’t hard to see he was making a mockery of our court. Like me, he had four days left to his visit—but his was a mere formality.
“A shame…” The duke started to say, and then stopped himself. He didn’t need to finish. The rest of his sentence was implied. A shame your kingdom will fall. A shame King Horrace offers King Joren the world. A shame you can’t offer the same.
King Lucius was faring the worst. While Darren and Blayne continued to plaster fake smiles and flourishing compliments, their father was silent to a fault. The king spent entire evenings staring daggers at the duke, and from the way he tore into his meat and let the bloody venison drip down his chin, I suspected he envisioned it as the Pythian’s flesh instead.
I lost all appetite after that.
The remainder of my time was spent in the practice courts—etiquette postponed in light of the Pythians’ arrival. There were no more lessons on courtly decorum; the scholars were too busy poring over records in the treasury, searching for a way to appease the Pythians’ demands.
I had just finished washing up from a particularly grueling session with some of the regiment knights when I heard Darren enter his chamber next door. From the way wood slammed against stone it was easy to assert the Crown had come no further in negotiations.
And then it slammed again. Two angry voices started on the other side.
Pressing a finger to my lips so Sofia and Gemma didn’t give our presence away, I tiptoed across to the wall and cupped my hand against the surface.
I knew it was wrong to listen in, but Darren had refused to tell me anything since the negotiations began, and I was desperate for news. He was so busy trying to pretend things weren’t as bad as they were, and if he wasn’t willing to reveal the truth to me just yet, then I would find out another way.
“Never should have sent you off to that school!”
“Blayne—”
“You were supposed to be here, Darren. With me. Not her. Me.”
“I’m here now.” There was a bit of silence, then much quieter: “Was he really that bad after I left?”