“Why is he saying no to some?” Theresa whispered. “Those people need help.”
Meredith kept her voice soft. “Some are testing him, hoping to get favors they don’t need. This one, for example, says he needs shipments of grain, but the land he controls around Hawes has plenty of unused fields. They’re not starving, and they’re certainly not affected by the wraith.”
“Ah. So if he wants more grain, he should plant it, rather than take it from areas that actually need it.”
“Right. And His Majesty knows that. He studied with his father for years to gain this kind of knowledge.”
Theresa nodded toward the next petitioner. “What about this one?”
They continued on for a while, Theresa asking questions and Meredith giving opinions on why Tobiah made certain decisions. I listened, but found myself studying the others in attendance. Most were leaning toward one another in conversation, while a few looked ready to sneak out.
And who could blame them? None of the petitioners were particularly interesting, but everyone stayed because this was the first audience, and no one wanted to be remembered for leaving early.
The audience continued for three hours. Everyone wanted to see the new king, it seemed. But at last Tobiah said no more, and those closest to the doors began to slink out. But before the exodus could begin, a man crashed into the chamber, not waiting to be announced.
“Your Majesty—” He bent over his knees to catch his breath. Damp, too-long curls covered his face, and torn, ragged clothes hung off his wiry frame. Through the layers of mud and smears of grass, hints of indigo shone: he was a soldier in the Indigo Army.
Tobiah either knew the man or recognized the tattered uniform, because he surged up from his throne and met the man in the aisle. The crowd pushed close around them, held back by the Indigo Order. “What is it?”
My heart pounded. It had to be the wraith. Another town had fallen. It was happening again.
The man coughed and cleared his throat. “Aecor,” he said. “I’ve just ridden from Aecor.”
The throne room was silent.
“What about it?” The new king’s voice was firm and gentle as he helped the man stand upright. “What about Aecor?” I could almost feel the effort it took for him to not look for me in the crowd. Several others did, though. Theresa, too.
“Patrick Lien has taken the Aecorian city of Northland.”
More eyes darted toward me.
“When did this happen?” asked Tobiah.
“Yesterday. The Red Militia is only a small army, but they were devious and the city—they fought with him. It had been quiet for so long, but they knew he was coming. We were overwhelmed within hours. My captain sent me to warn you immediately. I rode all night. All day.”
Tobiah’s jaw clenched. “I see.” He motioned for one of the servants standing by. “Prepare a room and meal for him.” He made his voice soft as he spoke to the soldier again. “Rest. I’ll speak with you further this evening.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The man bowed and left, and Tobiah stood in the aisle, arms hanging at his sides, his head dipped in thought.
Everyone just waited.
Tobiah’s chest expanded with a sigh. “General Goldberg. Is he here?”
“No, Sire.” Captain Chuter stepped forward. “But what can I do?”
“Alert the forces in Aecor. Send food and supplies. We need to move swiftly, before Lien’s control moves south to Aecor City.”
“And reinforcements?”
“I’ll do what I can.”
My breath came in shallow gasps as horror tore through me. Oh, Patrick. Paige. Ronald and Oscar. Melanie.
It was too soon. Why hadn’t Melanie stopped this?
After another long pause, Tobiah said, “I regret to inform the court that we are now at war.”
EIGHTEEN
I SPENT THE evening pacing in my suite, mind whirling with the thought of war. My kingdom. Tobiah’s kingdom. At arms.
For almost ten years, Patrick and I had been working toward war. And now . . .
Dinner arrived. I ate. And when night fell, I busied myself with my writing desk, arranging papers and pens and other tools, only to find myself unsatisfied and rearrange everything again.
At last, I pulled on my leather and silk, and just as I strapped my sword to my back, a tap came on the balcony door. I pushed aside the curtain.
Black Knife watched me, his head tilted, one gloved palm pressed to the glass. Heart pounding, I lifted a hand and laid it flat against his. Only the cool glass stood between us, and the faint light of my bedroom made me cast a reflection over him.
We stood there a moment, Black Knife and me, and then he touched the door handle, his movements like a question.
Cold wind gusted when I opened the door and stepped outside.
“I thought you’d like to take a walk.” He strode to the edge of the balcony, looking over the woods.