“Are you all right?” I whisper.
Without replying, she turns her back to me and faces Lord Wellimton and the other delegates. “Lord Wellimton and I have just been discussing the discovery of three of Nym’s Faelen bodyguards murdered last night.”
I freeze. What?
“Oh my!” Lady Gwen says.
“When? How?” Lord Percival asks.
“While we were at the banquet,” Lord Wellimton says. “Which is why Princess Rasha was called away.”
“Some Bron soldiers stumbled across them.” Rasha’s voice shudders in spite of her stiff stance. “One of my Cashlin guards insisted they come get me.”
Bile rises into my mouth. “Why didn’t they come get me?”
“Perhaps because by the time my men spoke with me and I’d sent them looking for you, they couldn’t find you,” she says coolly.
My gut turns.
“Where were they found?” Lord Percival asks. “Are you certain they were only Nym’s guards?”
“Yes, and they were found in a private section of the palace. We’re not sure how they got there other than it appears they were dragged part of the way.”
That cold is seeping around my bones again. “How?” I ask. Sir Gowon’s warning from last night slips through my mind. “There’s a black-market price on your girl’s head worth more than Faelen.”
What have I done?
“Their throats were slit and their bodies . . . torn.”
“In pieces?” Lady Gwen squeaks.
Lord Wellimton nods.
“Who did it?” Myles is staring hard at Rasha but tips his head toward Eogan’s empty seat.
The disgust for him in her expression is as clear as the slight shake of her head, no. “We’re not sure. But . . .” She pauses and shifts to glance around the room in clear indication that it’s why she came here early today. To study the faces of people as they walked in.
I peek back at the host of guards. There are more of them than yesterday.
“We’ve been assured, though, that the Bron military are doing everything in their power to look into it,” Rasha says.
Something in her tone doesn’t ring right. I grab her arm and turn her toward me, lowering my voice. “Rasha, what—?”
She winces and pulls away. “Nym, your fingers are ice!”
“Sorry.” I step back before reclaiming my hands to the warmth of my cloak. “I just . . . what can I do to help?”
She rubs her wrist. “I think you’ve already done enough.”
Lord Wellimton’s voice grows loud. “Lord Myles, in light of these circumstances, I’d appreciate you allowing me to do most of the negotiating. Since I’m certain we can agree it’s for the best. I know you’re the king’s cousin, but as a senior member of Faelen’s High Council, I must insist that I’m better prepared for this discussion. In whatever direction it takes us.”
Myles gives a soft snort, but Wellimton simply nods at the two Bron generals and takes a seat before they move off to the king’s table. Rasha slips in next to him, in the same order we were last night. The set of double doors we’re facing down the long aisle abruptly opens and the other three Bron members who ate at Draewulf’s table last night file in. Following them is Sir Gowon.
My mouth goes stale. I wonder if he’s thought any more about the Elegy, or the Draewulf accusation I made last night. If he’s even considered it.
Before I can think on it further, Draewulf’s Mortisfaire daughter, Lady Isobel, enters, head high, black hair swept behind her, wearing a skin-suit with porcupine quills woven to feather out over her chest and shoulders. I may not be into fashion, but even I would wear a suit like that. She looks compelling. Powerful.
Potent.
The already noisy room grows even louder as Assembly members talk over each other and some stand to get a better view of her.
Eogan-who-is-Draewulf strides in last and the whole group proceeds down the aisle in what feels like an awkward parade because half the crowd is frowning and arguing and the other half is nodding and yelling support. Draewulf looks amused.
He stops in front of the table we’re sitting at, and I’m tempted to try out my new ability right here, right now. To punish him. To try to release Eogan while there’s still time. “What is the blood of kings, Draewulf?” I want to whisper.
But I don’t. I don’t even move. Because something tells me this new ability’s not ready, and if Draewulf finds out too soon . . .
He’s two feet away and lifting his hand. He murmurs some type of foreign word as he casts a glance at the noisy Assembly. Abruptly they fall silent.
He drops his hand and walks up to the king’s table to take his chair.
That’s what will happen.
I look around, but if anyone other than Rasha at our table notices, I can’t tell. Perhaps they thought the Assembly simply obeyed his raised hand for silence. Except those in the crowd look confused.