Sir Gowon shuffles behind and waits until Draewulf is settled in the king’s center chair before leaning down to place a set of documents in front of him.
Draewulf twitches an idle hand to cue Gowon to get on with it, and in a loud voice the old man introduces each guest at our table to the larger Assembly.
“Cashlin’s esteemed princess, Her Royal Highness Rasha. Faelen’s Lord Myles, who is both lord protectorate and King Sedric’s cousin. Faelen’s Lord Wellimton, Lord Percival, Lady Gwen, and the delegate Nymia. Bron officially recognizes and welcomes each of you to our kingdom and our Assembly. We pray these upcoming negotiations will find favor and benefit the entire Hidden Lands realm.”
I’m watching the room as he’s speaking, and it’s a small relief to realize not everyone here seems as put off by us as it appeared last night. Out of the hundred or so faces, I count a good twenty that are smiling in what might be approval.
“Well, that’s something,” Gwen whispers.
I nod my agreement and catch the snarls of some of the boys who are dressed sharp in black suits with silver material sewn around the neck to look like sea-dragon teeth. Something about it is unnerving and I go back to listening as the elderly Sir Gowon opens the floor for negotiations.
“First issue on the agenda,” he states, “is the treaty that King Eogan signed with Faelen’s King Sedric on behalf of Bron. You all were presented with a written copy upon leaving this Hall last evening.”
He nods to Eogan who looks over the room and displays the slightest hint of teeth, which, if I didn’t know better, I’d say was a show. Because his underlying expression is humored, as if something is a jest and he’s merely biding his time. “Begin,” he says.
A general at his table stands. The stitched color rank on the shoulder of his black suit suggests one of the highest positions. He looks Eogan’s age of twenty-two years but with a long nose and hair dyed silver. “Forgive me, but I can’t help pointing out that according to our statutes, the entire treaty should be considered void since the Assembly was not part of its signing in Faelen.”
A much older, more wrinkled counterpart beside him nods. “How can we negotiate under the terms of something we had no part of—let alone trust the country King Eogan signed it with?”
“A better question is how we can negotiate while Faelen’s Elemental weapon is sitting in the same room as us?” A gentleman from the Assembly stands and waves a hand my direction. “Why is she here? To insult us? Are we to discuss a treaty when the cause of Bron’s loss hovers in our very midst?”
The Assembly members turn their gazes on me.
I keep my head up and stare back at them. And ignore the shiver in my blood as the vortex and ice push further into my bones, boring into me. Even as I tell myself I did what I had to for Faelen.
I will always do what I have to.
“Lord Myles, King Sedric’s cousin, brought her as an act of goodwill,” Lord Wellimton says, even as he flicks me a dramatic glance of suspicious disapproval.
“Or perhaps to force us into accepting the treaty as valid,” another Assembly member argues. “Because she’s certainly not here to be used as a weapon on our behalf—especially as I noticed no mention in the treaty for the recompense of funds by Faelen to Bron. Most of which, I’ll remind us, was lost due to her.”
There are uncomfortable seat adjustments among the Faelen delegates as Lady Gwen and Lord Percival seem to distance themselves from my chair.
“Recompense of funds?” Wellimton sputters and his face turns red. “Your Majesty, may I ask for a more thorough explanation of such an accus—?”
“I think the greater question is whether we can even trust His Majesty to have signed such a treaty,” the silver-haired general interrupts. “King Ezeoha, you left us four years ago in the hands of your brother. Then you allowed your own people to believe you dead until you appeared and killed Odion on Faelen’s behalf.”
Eogan-who-is-Draewulf smiles. “On Faelen’s behalf? Is it not your governing belief to let the strongest survive and claim what’s theirs? The circumstances surrounding how I chose to survive or gain rulership are not for you to question. Or do you challenge my wisdom and loyalty, General Cronin?”
The silver-haired general ignores him and looks around the room. “King Odion led us into battle just like his father, but he . . .” Cronin points accusingly toward Eogan. “He fought against us at Faelen’s Keep. He has sold us out to the very country we should now own.”
That dull, drumming cold in my bones is spreading up my spine. I shift in my seat toward Rasha. “Why are they discussing this in front of us? Wouldn’t it be better handled privately?”