Seconds ticked by on the large clock on the king’s desk, and the prince gazed downward, studying his father. I urged myself to sink deeper into the Julianna Whitman persona. I’d been over her stories. I’d practiced her mannerisms. Wilhelmina Korte’s feelings didn’t matter right now.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about your journey here?” King Terrell’s voice was weak. Raspy. “An account of the state of the wraithland would be useful in our own efforts to mitigate its effects.”
I tore my gaze from the prince and focused on his father. Both men were tall and slender, with dark hair and eyes, but the similarities ended there.
The king’s face was sunken in, and dark hollows had carved permanent places around his eyes. He was too young to have such wrinkles.
King Terrell was sick, probably had been sick for some time. And he wasn’t getting better.
The prince stayed close to his father’s side, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked . . . resigned.
This man—this king who’d stolen not just my land, but my parents and childhood as well—was dying. Emotions thundered up inside of me: anger and disgust and a faint sort of satisfaction. He had destroyed everything I loved. Now, he was finally getting what he deserved.
Melanie touched my arm. A subtle reminder that still looked as though she was comforting me.
“I understand how important your wraith mitigation efforts are.” As I began my tale, a pair of servants moved a small table next to me and poured glasses of pale wine. A plate of crackers and cheeses appeared, as well, and at the king’s encouraging nod, we ate. “At first it seemed like the barrier might work. There’d been testing, of course, and we were told that there were pockets of unaffected land in the wraithland, thanks to smaller experimental barriers. When the wraith reached Liadia, it seemed the barrier was going to work.”
“I remember the announcement,” said King Terrell.
“It was almost a year before the barrier fell. Half the kingdom was flooded with wraith overnight. The beasts attacked. The air was—it was—” I drew a shuddering breath and slumped, allowing the Pierces to witness a moment of unguarded weakness.
Melanie reached for my hands. Everyone’s expressions softened.
“Forgive me,” I whispered, dropping my gaze to my knees. “Everything happened so quickly. So many people were killed. Even our own guards. If not for the help of two men from the kennels, we’d have perished as well.” I lowered my eyes, letting my expression fall still and grave. It was easy to show grief; all I had to do was think of my parents slaughtered in a courtyard.
“The air glowed in some places,” Melanie said. “It was difficult to breathe. Every night we heard howling, and other noises. Trees had been turned upside down, and buildings were filled with something solid; everything inside was trapped, like insects in amber. People trapped inside—” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s too awful.”
“Father.” Tobiah’s hand rested on his father’s shoulder, and he spoke with a note of tenderness. “These ladies come to us in need of aid. We must provide.”
King Terrell reached around and patted Tobiah’s hand, and the difference between them was striking. One was strong and whole, while the other was only a wasted memory of a hand, with veins and tendons protruding. “You’re right, son. Lady Julianna, Lady Melanie, you’re both welcome in Skyvale Palace for as long as you’d like to stay. Our home is your home.”
I permitted myself the tiniest of smiles, disguised as relief and gratitude. This was it: the beginning of victory.