Truce watched him go and smirked. “Well you are in no danger of being pretty, Lord Jexon,” he mumbled quietly, taking another sip from his brandy. Jexon was intimidating. That was the best description Truce could think of. He dressed like a guard, he walked like a warrior, and he had the attitude of a bear. There was nothing pretty about him.
Gazing over the other guests, Truce shook his head slightly. He did not want to be in this room. He would have given half his fortune to simply be allowed to return home to his wife and son. There was no help for it though. His father expected him to be here and Sovaesh had given him duties as well. Lifting the glass for a final time, he finished off his brandy and lifted the tray of wine glasses before heading over to the table where they were now seated.
“Now, as far as the council goes tomorrow, I think it is obvious to everyone present in this room that the Merrodin line is dead,” Myth Morcaillo was saying as Truce approached.
“Quite, and any suggestion otherwise is simply ridiculous,” Lady Nerathane chimed in, her eyes settling on him as he approached. Truce nodded his head and smiled faintly as he carefully set a glass down in front of her and wished she would take her eyes from him. Up close they were unsettling, with their lack of white and slit pupils.
“I personally don’t see what I have to gain either way with a vote, or why I should even bother going,” Lord Jexon said drawing all attention to him.
“I personally don’t see what anyone has to gain by condemning a girl to death,” Truce said quietly.
“You believe some peasant girl who claims to be more deserves a seat on the council for telling a good lie?” his Father demanded, eyes locked on him.
“I don’t believe she is a peasant girl father. I’ve seen her up close, she is Elder Blood,” Truce said calmly as he finished passing out the wine glasses.
“Done with magic, I’m sure. The women in the city of Sanctuary have all kinds of magics cast on them to improve their looks,” Lady Nerathane sniffed indignantly, as if it were a major crime to alter ones appearance.
Truce fought down the urge to point out if she hadn’t altered herself to look human right now she would be a two hundred foot long winged lizard. “I truly don’t think she could afford something like that. I believe it’s natural,” he said quietly and took a seat further down the table.
“Ahh, but whoever is pulling her strings could. She is nothing more than a Fionaveir puppet,” Myth said, smoothly drawing the conversation back around to the outlaws once more.
Truce watched them all and tried to determine a strategy to sway his Father and wondered if it was even going to be possible. If it was, it was going to take a lot of work to do. Leaning back in his chair, he listened to the conversation and watched the guests with interest. If he was going to be forced to sit here all night he might as well gain all of the insight he could.
Chapter 12
Sanctuary
Predawn light flickered in through the windows as the sound of the door opening drew Jala back from her thoughts. She hadn’t bothered trying to sleep, knowing it would be pointless. So she had focused herself instead on the Goswin curse. So far she had not come up with any brilliant means of breaking it.
The sound of the door opening had roused her from her thoughts. Drowsily, she watched the figure in armor cross the room toward her cell and wondered why neither Victory nor Havoc had spoken a challenge yet. When dinner had arrived the evening before, Havoc had stopped the man at the door and brought the food over himself.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain a time stop in a room filled with Barllen?” Hemlock’s voice came from the shadows.
“Can’t say that I do,” Jala replied, standing slowly.
“Very draining,” Hemlock informed her as he leaned against the bars and folded his arms once more. “It’s going to be a very close trial today,” he said conversationally and looked her over. “You probably should have slept. You look a bit rough.” His gaze slowly rose again to meet her eyes and he shook his head slightly. “Bloodshot violet is not a pretty look.”
“I’m sorry you don’t approve. When I decide to impress you, I’ll try to look better,” she returned, too tired to care.
“Grumpy when we are sleepy, aren’t we?” he observed and shook his head again. “And here I went through all of this trouble just to speak with you.”
“You do seem to enjoy our conversations far more than I do,” she said with a sigh.
“I’ve come to offer you a deal. See, Cassia offered me an obscene amount of money to kill Finn in the unlikely event that he won the duel. He did win, and well Finn doesn’t have the same advantage as you of being a good person so I’ve come to offer you the chance to outbid Cassia. It’s a rare opportunity.” His tone was pleasant, almost friendly as he spoke.
Jala chuckled bitterly and shook her head slightly. “You know I can’t outbid an Avanti with gold. Why would you even bother coming here? Just to torment me?”
Raising an eyebrow, Hemlock stared at her and sighed. “While it is quite entertaining to torment you, no. Simply put, you have gold that is infinitely more valuable than anything the Avanti own, Jala,” he said quietly.
Confused, Jala shook her head slowly at him. “I have limited gold,” she objected hesitantly.
Hemlock sighed again with a bit of irritation and produced a vial from his cloak. He offered it out to her and smirked. “Does this help you understand?” he asked.
Eyeing the empty vial, Jala looked up from it slowly and met his gaze. “You want my blood?” she asked slowly.
“Along with just about everyone else,” he replied with a chuckle. “Do we have a deal, Jala? One vial of blood for your husband’s life?” he asked.
Mentally, Jala tallied all of the ways the blood could be used against her from what Neph and Sovann had taught her so far. It could be used to trace her or kill her or any number of other things. “How do I know you won’t kill him anyway, after I give you the blood?” she asked quietly.