Caius stood as the male approached. “Speak, lad.”
“A letter arrived from Glynmor, Your Highness. The Chieftains sent me straight back to bring it to you.”
Caius accepted the folded paper with a nod and pulled the twine from around it.
“Did you just say Glynmor?” Brand breathed.
“Aye.” Caius tossed the string, clearly only half listening as he read the letter’s contents. “What of it?”
Another silent look passed between Brand and Lyriat, another nod from the king.
“Baldrir was tasked by his assailant with delivering a message. Someone named Glynmor was mentioned therein.”
Magnus snorted. “Glynmor isn’t a person. It’s a place.”
Lyriat snapped his fingers. “I knew I’d heard it. Just a sentence or two in a correspondence with the Chieftains some while back.”
“Aye. A newer village on the southern border, only a couple years old. Bit too close to the Thodelemaia Dread Chasm for my taste, but the fertility of the land there is unparalleled.”
“My thanks for the agricultural aside, Mag.” Brand rolled his eyes. “If it’s a place, then why would it be referred to asshe?”
“While you’re at it, perhaps all of you Wolflords can explain how this happened in Thodelebor, with one of its villages mentioned in the aftermath, and I’m still meant to believe the Westrealm is innocent of wrongdoing.”
“Fiery arse.” Caius rolled his eyes at the Demon King, tsk’ing. “You’re young, so I’ll forgive your thick skull. Take a moment and then try to tell me which Realm Ruler is actually stupid enough to make it this easy to figure out.”
Lyriat stared at him, his nostrils flaring. “You think someone is setting you up.”
“Aye. It’s been a long time, but it sure as shite isn’t the first time.”
“It makes sense,” Brand said. “Especially if it isn’t one of the realms, but one of the anti-Imperialist factions. What better way to distract us than pitting us against one another while they make their moves?”
The king sighed. “And I’m sitting here falling for it.”
“Perhaps,” Caius said. “Perhaps not. It’s wise to be wary until you figure it out. That’s what makes you a good king.”
There was a moment’s quiet, finally broken by Magnus. “This is lovely and all, but I don’t suppose you’d care to share this message? Might help in the helping, aye?”
The others all leaned in as Brand recited,“‘Glynmor thinks she’s safe and well, tucked tight in her field of green. But what do you and her flesh have in common? I know what I hope it will be.’”
Lunara’s gut churned at hearing it again. Those puzzling words that said both something and absolutely nothing, all at once. The cadence just like a certain?—
Oh my shitting stars. The Voice.
She forced her features into a blank mask, refusing to let any of the chaotic emotions bolting through her to show.
How in the realms could you have forgotten that it spoke to you just last night? Extensively!
What if it was the same being? Though, Baldrir had leaned towards his captor being male, and hervisitorwas decidedly not. Still, it would mean that it was real. Not the creation of a slipping mind, but?—
No. Lunara couldn’t think about it. Couldn’t stomach it. She could only slow her breathing into something resembling normal and try not to lose her breakfast all over Lyriat’s polished floor.
Realm matters, politics, factions—none of it had anything to do with her. She didn’t owe them one of her most closely held secrets on the off chance it was related.
“Well that’s fucking uncanny.” Caius slapped the note onto the tabletop and pointed at it. “Because this is a letter asking for my influence in securing your services there.”
“What?”
“Read it for yourself, lad.”
