“No, princess. I don’t.”
“Indeed,” an older voice that reminded me of crackling leaves inserted. The sound of it made me stop chewing and pay closer attention to the man seated on the other side of Chasan. “He does not. Nor do any of us know you. Sire,” he called out, the chair creaking as he leaned forward, “how can you be certain this girl is the heir to Relhok? For all we know, a fraud sits at your table.”
I forgot my unease with Chasan and all those other hard-eyed gazes, asking the prince, “Who is that?”
“Bishop Frand,” the prince answered, sounding smug.
“Even if the girl had not admitted it, I would know,” King Tebald insisted in lofty tones as he stuffed something into his mouth. He chewed for a moment, lips smacking before adding, “I spent many hours in the company of Lady Avelot. Her portrait hangs in my gallery. Take a look for yourself.”
My head snapped in the king’s direction. “You have a portrait of my mother?”
“Yes; I shall be happy to show it to you, my dear. Would you like that?”
I nodded dumbly, because what else could I say? Of course a daughter would want to see a portrait of the mother she never knew. If only I could see. But I couldn’t. I would never see my mother. Never hear her voice. Never know her. But this man did, and it struck me as wholly unfair. It made me stuff food into my mouth faster, as though that would somehow fill the hollowness inside of me.
“Yes, perhaps we should all inspect this portrait and make a comparison,” the bishop agreed, his voice snide in a way that made my shoulders tighten.
“Bishop Frand, I can’t imagine why you need to weigh in on the matter at all.” The king’s voice lashed like a whip, a firm reminder that he alone was king here and the one to decide anything, most notably whether I was the heir to Relhok. Admittedly, it comforted me. For now, he was on my side. If we were at odds, it would be a different matter, but I didn’t need to think about that right now. Not yet. Hopefully, I would be gone from here before I ever had to worry about that.
“I am certain you may wish to reflect on this more, Your Majesty. You’re never one for hasty decisions.” The bishop adopted a conciliatory tone, but his voice was no less grating. “The king of Relhok will not recognize this girl’s claim to the throne. It throws his and his son’s claim into jeopardy. And where will that leave your daughter, who is betrothed to King Cullan’s son?”
With those words I knew the peril in which I’d just landed. Anyone here who did not want Cullan’s claim to the throne contested would not tolerate me. Suddenly, standing Outside surrounded by dwellers felt safer than this.
“Should we really discuss such affairs right now?” the prince asked, his smooth voice sounding bored . . . and yet a tension emanated from him that belied the tone of his voice.
The king slammed his goblet down on the table with a heavy clang. “I care not what might offend Cullan. He’s kept his son from me for two years, stringing me along, never revealing that he in fact was gone. Prince Fowler and Maris should have already wed. I am quite finished playing puppet to Cullan’s whims.”
Still the bishop talked. “If you insist that she’s the late king’s daughter, consider what this means for our alliance, for our kingdom.” He did not know when to stop. Even I knew Tebald’s temper was high and he didn’t need to be pushed further.
“Bishop Frand,” the king cut in. “I was not aware that you were appointed to the role of advisor. Nor are you so insightful that you can call yourself an oracle. No, we have not been fortunate enough to have an oracle in over twenty years. An oracle would be someone useful. We are left instead with you and your unbearably long sermons.”
A taut silence fell over the hall. The king’s displeasure became thick, palpable as the steam that rose from the platters of freshly roasted meat that servers had just deposited on the tables.
“Perhaps you need to take leave of us this evening and drop to your knees in prayer, Frand. After deep and thoughtful reflection, your insights might become something more valuable, something that I may require in the future.” The dismissal was clear.
A heavy, awkward pause followed before the bishop pushed back his chair. The legs scraped over the stone floor, discordant and jarring in the silence. I felt his gaze scour me before his tread signaled his departure, his heavy receding steps indicating a man of great girth. In a world where people were starving and eating bats that led them to madness, he was corpulent.
After he left, the hall gradually revived with conversation and the sounds of eating.
Chasan leaned into my side again. “Already making friends.”
I hesitated in tearing a piece of flaky bread that was seasoned with herbs and a flavorful oil that I had never tasted before. “That’s not my purpose here.”