“We will need to withdraw so we can write up a list of the victims and the damages done to them,” one of the other nobles said cautiously.
“My lady,” Lord Renflaw protested, looking alarmed, “while I am sure many will applaud you for this grand gesture, matters of finance like this really must be run by the council—”
Dareena held up a hand to shut him off. “There is no need,” she said, “as I will not be levying taxes against our citizens to pay for this expense.” Lord Renflaw sputtered, but she ignored him, turning back to the elves. “Please draw up your list of damages and present them tomorrow. Prince Drystan will be back, and we shall go over it together.” Regent or not, she still wanted to consult with at least one of her mates before she signed off on this rather than blindside them. “In the meantime, the steward will show you to your rooms for the evening.”
The elves thanked Dareena and left, their tone much more respectful than it had been upon entering. When the door shut behind them, Dareena turned in her seat to face Lord Renflaw, whose jaw was still clenched with anger.
“If you ever question me like that in front of others again,” she said in a soft voice, “I will have you punished.”
Lord Renflaw’s cheeks reddened. “I was only trying to counsel you against making a promise you cannot keep,” he said, sounding highly offended. “You should have spoken with me in private before saying such things to the elves. Getting their hopes up only to let them down later will only make them distrust us.”
Dareena considered that for a moment. “Perhaps I should have,” she said, “but seeing as how there is nowhere else safe for us to speak in private, I did the best I could under the circumstances. You are a good man, Renflaw,” she went on before he could argue with her. “I do not doubt your intentions. But I will not allow you to make me appear weak in front of others.”
Renflaw bowed his head, looking slightly mollified. “Very well, my lady.”
Dareena allowed Renflaw to escort her back to her rooms. The moment the doors closed behind them, her ladies, who had not been permitted to speak during the meeting, erupted in a flurry of excitement.
“I cannot believe you offered to give the elves reparations,” Soldian said. “Lord Renflaw should not have questioned you in front of the others, but I can’t say I’m surprised at his reaction.”
“You were right to stand up to him,” Lyria said, “but those elves do not deserve a single copper from the treasury. They have suffered losses, yes, but so have we. If anyone should be paying reparations, it’s those bloody warlocks.”
“I think you did a good thing today,” Rantissa said, surprising Dareena. “The others may not see it, but your gesture will go a long way toward easing the anger that the elven population harbors toward dragons. They will remember this, my lady,” she said with an encouraging smile.
“That is my hope,” Dareena said, curling up on the couch again. She reached for the book she had left on the table. “Now, who is going to bring me a fresh cup of tea?”
16
The first week of training turned out to be both informative and grueling. Lucyan and the others spent their mornings on physical training—running, fighting, weapons training, and honing various agility skills—but in the afternoons, the recruits attended lectures and practical demonstrations on how all their warlock gadgets worked. Each recruit was given a spyglass that worked over great distances, a strange cylinder that could be used to communicate with any other spy within a five-mile radius, several different amulets and charms to protect against certain attacks and provide disguises, and a few other things Lucyan was still trying to figure out. He resolved to take these devices with him when he returned to Dragonfell, and he would procure multiples if he could. Shadley would be delighted to have extra gadgets for their own spies to use.
On the third day, all the recruits had been made to strip naked and do laps across the small lake on the grounds. It was under the grounds of testing their swimming abilities, but Lucyan knew the warlocks were secretly checking for disguise amulets. He was very glad he’d thought to hide the disguise ring in his leg—no one noticed the small lump on his inner thigh.
On the fourth day, the recruits were marched into the great hall to be presented to Prince Mordan. Lucyan smoothed a blank expression over his face to hide his distaste as he studied the prince. He was wiry, with a hooked nose and hunched shoulders, his greasy black hair slicked back from a face so pale Lucyan wondered if he were in fact dead, all the lifeblood sucked out of him. His dark eyes glittered as he surveyed the recruits, lingering overlong on the few women present. Lucyan felt a surge of anger as he imagined the prince raking Princess Basilla with that lascivious glare. He didn’t blame Ryolas for wanting to kill Prince Mordan—if it wasn’t such a great risk, Lucyan might have tried to do it himself.
“These are some fine specimens you’ve got here, Lord Byrule,” Mordan drawled as he inspected the recruits like they were mere beasts. “There are fewer here than expected, however. Is it really so hard to find good men and women?” He lifted an eyebrow.
Lord Byrule smiled apologetically. “Quite a few more than this showed up for the tryouts,” he said, “but many were disqualified. It is difficult to find mercenaries who are educated and unattached,” he added.
Mordan sneered. “I suppose it’s too much to expect commoners to pick up a book,” he said. He turned back to the recruits, a smirk on his face. “The group of you are, believe it or not, the elite. You will do your best for the glory of our country, won’t you?” he asked in a silky voice.
“Yes, my prince!” they shouted as one. Lucyan wanted to ram Mordan’s pompous words down his throat. As if the average commoner could even afford books! Was the prince so out of touch with his people? Lucyan would gladly have killed Mordan if he could, even if just to spare the people from his stupidity. The idea that Terragaard would have to contend with a rat like him if the warlocks won was almost more than he could bear.
Prince Mordan continued his pompous little speech for another few minutes, and then the recruits were dismissed to enjoy a free half-day. Lucyan was relieved to finally escape the confines of the castle grounds—he was looking forward to meeting up with Ryolas again. With any luck, he’d have found Basilla by now, or at least gotten a solid lead on her location.