His smile broadens and my skin tightens. “The images feed on fear.”
A knock on the door interrupts. He steps back. “Enter.”
It’s the Faelen guard from earlier. He’s hesitant, peering around the door before pushing it farther open. He exhales when he sees us, relief softening his features. “Pardon, miss, but . . .” He indicates the hall with his eyes. “I thought you might want to be informed the other delegates will emerge from their rooms shortly. In case you preferred to be there instead of . . .” His gaze flashes to Myles and the hint is clear.
“Thank you.” Flexing my gimpy hand, I slide off the desk and head for the hallway, looking back at Myles. “Let’s resume later.”
His response is a nod, but I barely catch it because just as I reach the hall, I notice the chill shored up inside me is no longer consuming me.
And my spine has stopped shaking.
CHAPTER 21
THE BRON AND FAELEN SOLDIERS ARE STILL IN THE hall, stones gone. They eye me as I walk by the row of them. One, three, five of them purse their lips and I’m acutely aware of something rippling beneath all their stiffness. I peer closer. One of the Faelen guards shifts his gaze toward Myles’s door.
I frown. “Is Princess Rasha in her room?”
“She and Lord Wellimton are already in the Negotiation Hall. The rest of you will be taken there momentarily,” a Bron guard says as, simultaneously, Lord Percival’s and Myles’s doors open.
“Good morning,” the lord protectorate oaf says a bit too loud and cheery for this time of day. He shoots me a broad, suggestive grin that is clearly meant to entertain the guards.
I pull my cloak tighter around my warming face and mentally stab him to a thousand deaths. I’m just begging Lady Gwen to hurry up, when a moment later she steps out to join us.
The Faelen and Bron guards, including the angry-looking large one who wanted to rip my head off last night, proceed to escort us to the Hall. I refuse to look at Myles as we walk, but he sidles up to me anyway.
“What did you tell them?” I growl, indicating the soldiers. My face is still hot.
“Funny thing there . . .” He tilts his mouth so only I can hear. “The truth is you dropped out cold once we returned to the base level of the Castle last night. I had to carry you back, which was not an easy accomplishment while trying to fool the nightwatch, if you know what I mean.” He rubs his arms as if they’re sore. “Ssso when we reached your room, well . . .” He chuckles. “I dumped you outside your room to a host of ogling bodyguardsss. I should warn you, they were absolutely taken aback at your recklessss behavior.” He sniffs. “They thanked me quite profusely for rescuing you and promptly dropped you in bed. At least I assume they did.”
I go back to refusing to look at him and feel the chill itch at my insides again. “What’d you tell them I’d been doing?”
“Merely that you’d managed to slip out and find a batch of unseemly friendsss and Bron ale. By the time I came across the poor Elemental girl, she was drunker than a common-house owner.” He shakes his head. “Ssso unbecoming of a delegate.”
“So you didn’t lead them to believe you and I were . . .” I clear my throat. It’s so repulsive I can’t even bring myself to say it.
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he purrs. “Although, believe me, I was tempted to hint at it, if only to see how infuriated you’d be.”
He’s saved from having his tongue sliced out by the fact that we’ve stopped in front of the doors leading into the same hall we were in last night. The only difference this time is that it’s already full of people when we walk in. Some of the faces I recognize from the banquet. Others are part of the general blur. I sift through them for Kel’s, although just as before, I know he won’t be there.
“Have you heard how the young boy’s doing? The one from last night?” I whisper to Myles.
He shakes his head as my gaze homes in on the room’s center, to the blood spatters I expect there, but all traces of violence—and food—have been washed away and the space is back to looking sterile and foreboding with its war maps.
“I heard he would be all right. Apparently they have decent healers here.” Lady Gwen points to Rasha, who’s over at the same table we sat at during the banquet. Beside her, Lord Wellimton beckons us to join them as they stand talking with two of the men who were seated with Draewulf last night. The rest, including the shape-shifter, are noticeably absent.
“Good morning,” Rasha says in a tight voice when we reach her. She swipes a look at me with red, puffy eyes and narrows in on my dress. “I see you’re wearing my nightgown.”
“I assumed it was your knitting clothes,” I admit.
“So of course you chose to wear it.” She attempts a smirk but it doesn’t match the panic and exhaustion in her expression.