Are they different kinds? Ash wondered. Or is it just that Strangward is more powerful than the others?
The emissary wasn’t as tall as Ash, but looked to be about the same age. He was wiry more than muscular, and of a more slender build. He wore a loose linen shirt under a close-fitting leather jerkin that buckled up the front. His roomy breeches were tucked into soft knee-high boots. His swordbelt was cinched around his waist, the scabbard empty. He was less decorated than the others, save a gold earring in one ear and his amulet, boldly displayed on the outside of his clothing. The fact that his nose had been broken at least once saved him from being too pretty, with his glittering fair hair, feral green eyes, and finely planed face.
“I’ll bet he’s someone the girls like to look at,” Lila murmured.
I’ll bet they do more than look, Ash thought.
Ash had never been to the Northern Islands, and yet there was something familiar about the emissary’s voice and features. Perhaps he’d met some wizard who was a throwback to an earlier time.
Montaigne was studying the emissary with a faintly bemused expression, but whether it had to do with Strangward’s youth or his manner of dress, Ash didn’t know.
Fosnaught continued with the introductions. “May I introduce His Majesty, Gerard Montaigne, by the grace of the Maker King of Arden and Tamron, and ruler of the New Empire of the Seven Realms.”
“Your Majesty.” Strangward inclined his head enough to be polite, though probably not as much as protocol demanded in a meeting between an emissary and a king. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. We have looked forward to engaging with Arden, and with the rest of the Seven Realms. This is such a pretty, green place.” There was something hungry about the way he said it that raised the hair on the back of Ash’s neck.
The emissary spoke Common well, though with an unfamiliar accent. Which made sense, since as far as he knew, Ash had never met anyone from the Northern Islands.
“Welcome to Arden, Lord Strangward,” Montaigne said. “I trust you had a fair weather crossing.”
“Yes,” Strangward said, lips twitching, as if at some private joke. “I nearly always do.”
Fosnaught gestured toward the others. “This is Lord Botetort, speaker of the Thane Council, and Lieutenant Destin Karn, who is with the King’s Guard.”
Strangward’s gaze flicked over each person as they were named. Then he turned to look at Lila and Ash, who stood off to one side. “You left out these two,” he said, pointing.
“Those two are . . . ah . . .” It was clear that Fosnaught had no idea how to describe their role in this meeting.
Destin Karn came to the rescue. “This is Lila Barrowhill, an expert in weaponry and logistics. Adam Freeman is a member of our Royal Guild of Healers.”
“Do you anticipate that there will be a need for a healer?” the emissary asked, looking around, as if to spot the afflicted. “Or do you always keep one standing by?”
“Freeman is here to answer any questions that might come up about the health of the girl,” Karn said.
The emissary cocked his head, studying Karn. “You are a mage,” he said. “Aren’t you?”
Karn seemed unusually skittish for some reason. He looked to the king for guidance, received none, then said, “Yes, Lord Strangward, I am.”
“And so are you,” Strangward said to Ash. “How curious.” He turned back to Montaigne. “I had not expected to see mages made so welcome at court. You see, I had heard that you burn the gifted in Arden. I am so relieved to learn that I was misled.”
For a long moment, nobody had anything to say. Ash bit his lip to prevent amusement from crawling onto his face.
Finally, Father Fosnaught cleared his throat. “We are people of faith, Lord Strangward, and well aware of the dangers of demonic influence. In certain situations, in which certain mages violate the tenets of the church, they are examined by the Hand. If found to be corrupted, they are cleansed by the flame.”
“Cleansed?” Strangward raised an eyebrow.
“Cleansed,” Fosnaught repeated. When Strangward kept looking at him, as if puzzled, he snapped, “We burn them.”
“And so then they are dead?”
“But cleansed. And, therefore, saved.”
“Fascinating,” Strangward said, rubbing his chin.
Fosnaught fondled the keys to the kingdom that hung at his belt. “What religion do you practice in the Northern Islands, if I may ask?”