Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1)

The wizard patted her down thoroughly. He found nothing, of course. Lila had brought no weapons, knowing they’d only be taken away from her.

Gripping Lila’s wrists, he sent a tendril of power in. “Tell the truth,” he said softly. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to meet with the king,” Lila said. “We have business.”

“Do you intend harm to His Majesty or any close to him?”

“No,” Lila said, “I do not.” Not today, anyway.

“Are you carrying any weapons or poisons that I did not discover?”

“No,” Lila said, her fingers going numb from the pressure of the mage’s hands. The talisman at her neck sizzled against her skin. Protection against magic.

DeJardin turned to Fleury. “Is there anything else?” he asked.

Fleury shook his head, and DeJardin released her. Fleury gestured to Greenberry, the chamberlain, who disappeared inside. A moment later, he returned, saying, “The king will see you now.” He shoved open the door, and Lila proceeded into the king’s apartments.

A map of the kingdom and surrounding territories covered one wall. Large, arched windows at either end of the room were designed to catch any breeze during the stifling heat of the southern summer. It had been a warm day for the time of year, and the shutters stood open, admitting the failing light.

The room was furnished sparingly. A small conference table was set up next to the fireplace, with three men ranged around it, bottles and glasses in front of them, though it was just mid-morning. There were no servants in evidence, only the usual flock of blackbirds by the door. It was to be a very small meeting, then.

One of the men at the table was Michel Botetort, a thane Lila had worked with in the past. A thane whose unflinching loyalty to the king had won him lands and titles at the expense of less pliant nobles. The other, a stocky, middle-aged man, must be Marin Karn—the Butcher, as he was affectionately known. The third man was Gerard Montaigne, King of Arden.

Lila crossed to within twenty feet, then assumed the position. The king waved her to her feet. “Please,” he said. “Let’s keep it informal. Be at ease.”

As if that were possible in the presence of this king.

This morning the king wore an elegant pearl-gray doublet over a shirt and charcoal trousers. His hands were manicured, the nails buffed to a soft shine. The heavy gold chain around his neck bore his device of office.

It would be a mistake to think of the king as an easy mark. An ornate blade leaned against the wall behind him, and even at a distance, Lila could tell that it had seen heavy use. She’d heard from reliable sources that the king was a deadly swordsman and he rarely went unarmed. Which, considering his history, was no doubt a good idea.

Next to the elegant king, Marin Karn was a stocky plug of a man with snuff-colored eyes. His uniform was a poor fit, straining across his back and shoulders. Perhaps he was getting fleshy in his middle age, but Lila guessed it was mostly muscle. He’d still be deadly in a fight, especially since he wore the glow that said he was gifted.

She couldn’t help comparing him with Destin. The only resemblance Lila could see between father and son was that they shared the same tawny brown hair color. At least she guessed they did: the general’s was clipped so short that it might have been a stain on the top of his head.

Destin had the lithe strength of an acrobat or dancer. He reminded Lila of the clan runners who could cover miles without stopping. Put him in students’ robes, and he would look bookish. Dress him in finery, and he would break hearts at court. In peasant garb, he would blend into any crowd.

You have no idea who he is, Lila thought. He’s a role-player, just like you. Never forget that. With some effort, Lila forced herself to focus on the Karn in front of her, Marin.

That Karn had been taking his own long look at Lila, and it seemed he was not impressed. “This is your smuggler, Botetort?” Lila noticed that he directed his skepticism to the thane rather than to his king.

“I’ve been working with Lila for three years,” Botetort said, “and she’s never disappointed me.”

“Really?” Karn said, snorting. “Women disappoint me all the time.”

“Perhaps the fault isn’t in the women, but in you, General,” Lila thought. But somehow it came out of her mouth.

They all froze, staring at her. Several of the blackbirds put their hands on the hilts of their swords, their eyes sliding to Karn to see what he would do.

Karn moved fast, for a large man. Erupting from his chair, he gripped the front of Lila’s blues and yanked her close, so they were nose to nose. “What did you say?”

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