I LONGED TO RUN FROM THE THRONE room, to get as far away as fast as I could, but I was conscious of the guards in the hallway. Instead, I pinched my earlobe and gave myself a stern lecture. Get ahold of yourself, Ruby. You can’t go tearing around the castle like a wild boar.
I needed Brother Thistle. With his knowledge of history and myth, he might have some theory of the vision’s meaning. As Arcus’s closest confidant ever since their time together at Forwind Abbey, he often dined with the king and court. I straightened my spine and made my way to the dining hall on unsteady legs, taking a moment to smooth my features into a placid mask before entering.
A carnival of torches glowed from black metal sheaths, tilting away from the ice-covered walls. Candles winked like lightning bugs atop icicles that dripped from a massive chandelier. The scent of roasted meat clashed with the ladies’ flowery perfumes.
Arcus sat at the head of the table, at ease in a midnight-blue doublet, his mahogany hair adorned with the plain silver band that he wore as a crown during formal occasions. I scanned the table for Brother Thistle and felt a swoop of disappointment when I realized he wasn’t among tonight’s guests. No doubt he’d found some excuse to remain perched over books in the castle library like a broody hen roosting among her eggs. I half turned to the door, but Arcus noticed me and stood.
I was trapped. I couldn’t leave now without appearing rude.
The rest of the men stood as well, some of them readily, like Lord Manus and Lord Pell, new additions to court. However, they didn’t hold the lands and resources that others did, like Lord Blanding and Lord Regier, bastions of King Rasmus’s old guard. Arcus needed them on his side to maintain the kingdom’s strength and unity.
These older noblemen rose more slowly and reluctantly at my arrival.
Arcus motioned to a chair of carved ice covered in a white fox pelt at his right. A chill slid up my back as I moved forward and sat in the familiar chair. The seat at the king’s right was a place of honor, but it was also where King Rasmus had forced me to dine with him—a tradition for champions who had won in his arena. I’d had the dubious honor of being the first Fireblood to win against his Frostblood champions, something that had drawn his attention in ways I’d rather forget. The memory of the former king hung in the air like smoke in a windowless room.
The noblemen rustled back into their seats, the rotund Lord Blanding with a satisfied groan. Lady Blanding patted her elaborately piled gray hair and sniffed loudly before turning to Lady Regier. “I always fancy I smell singed meat when the Fireblood girl is near,” she said in a booming whisper.
The lovely Marella, who sat on the other side of the table, caught my eye and tilted her head to indicate Lady Blanding. “I always fancy I smell mothballs when the old crow dines with us.”
Lord Manus snorted, then covered the sound with a cough.
“Marella,” I whispered, sending her a stern look. The last thing I wanted was for her to draw attention to me.
The aquamarine feather on her headband curved delicately over her braided wheat-gold hair as she leaned toward me. “Don’t worry. She can’t hear a thing unless you’re shouting in her ear. I could tell her to jump off the eastern cliffs and she’d just compliment my gown.”
Her less-than-innocent grin drew an answering smile from Lady Blanding, who said, “You look absolutely divine tonight, Lady Marella. Your seamstress has outdone herself. And how jaunty that feather is.”
“Thank you, Lady Blanding,” said Marella with a dip of her chin. “Your hair looks like a wasp’s nest.”
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Lady Blanding smiled warmly and sipped her wine.
Lord Ustathius, who sat at the king’s left hand, glared at his daughter. “You insult one of the king’s court, and by association, the king himself.”
“She can’t hear me,” Marella replied calmly, nodding as a footman piled her plate with slices of thinly shaved roast beef.
“The rest of us can,” he replied. “You owe the king an apology.”
She arched a brow at Arcus. “Shall I grovel on my knees, Your Majesty, or would hand-wringing suffice?”
Arcus’s lips were slightly compressed, as if he held in a smile. “To be honest, I see no reason for you to apologize, as you were defending one guest from another. But if you’re desperate to atone…”
“I am. Aren’t I, Father?”
Lord Ustathius’s brow lowered ominously.
“Then you must grant me a favor,” Arcus continued. “I’ve invited several ambassadors and heads of state to a ball to help seal our tentative peace accords. I would like your help planning the details of the affair.”
I tried to stifle the feeling of envy at Arcus turning to Marella for help and not me. It wasn’t Marella’s fault that she was raised to be the perfect lady. It was logical for Arcus to ask her. But it was one more reason that Lord Ustathius was right—his daughter was far more suited to stand at Arcus’s side than I was.
“Tentative peace accords, indeed,” said Lord Regier, the proud angle of his chin providing an unwelcome view up his generous nostrils. “We have received only the vaguest of agreements from the kingdom of Safra, despite the fact that we know they can’t hold out much longer. Rumor has it that eastern commerce suffers greatly from lack of trade with us. And our southern provinces, which should be offering allegiance to the new king, are still insisting that they reject Frostblood rule! Never mind that the traitors live on Tempesian land that we generously allow them to cultivate. And to add to their insults, they have offered rewards to anyone who produces the king’s head on a pike!”
“They have every reason for defiance,” said Lord Pell, conviction in his blue-gray eyes. “The southern provinces have always welcomed immigration from Sudesia. As a result, most of the Firebloods—and the raids against them—were concentrated in the south. You can’t blame the provinces for hating King Rasmus. But their dignitary will certainly feel differently about the new king.”
“There’s nothing certain about it,” Lord Regier replied. “I might remind you that they harbored the very Fireblood rebels responsible for the death of His Majesty’s own mother and for the horrendous attack that resulted in our king’s scars.”
Silence fell.
Even if he wasn’t bothered by the insensitive remark about his scars, I ached for what Arcus must be feeling, having his mother’s death brought up so casually, and by such a buffoon. His mother had been killed by Fireblood rebels during the time when Arcus’s father, King Akur, had taken land away from the southern provinces. The southerners had naturally rebelled, including a significant number of Firebloods. Not only was his mother killed by these southern rebels, an assassination attempt had also been made on Arcus.
“That’s all in the distant past,” said Arcus tightly. “It’s time to establish a dialogue with the provinces. We’ve sent a messenger to invite their dignitary to the ball.”
Lady Regier chuckled. “You’d have some illiterate farmer dusting up the great hall?” She shuddered theatrically.
Arcus stared at her until her smile faded. “I will welcome an important leader whom I hope will become a valued ally.” He paused before adding, “I’ve also sent an invitation to the queen of Sudesia.”
My breath caught as gasps reverberated around the table. The Fireblood queen.
“You’ve invited our greatest enemy to our capital?” Lord Blanding stood, dropping his napkin onto the table. Though his words were directed at Arcus, he glared at me. “Have you forgotten that Sudesia supported the southern rebellion?”