Brahm glares at us both.
“We will not,” I promise.
Eloise winces, her stare boring into the side of my head.
“Very well. Then we’ll consider this matter settled. Please sit. Dinner will be served shortly.” Brahm gestures across the enormous table at two empty seats. I pull one out for Eloise, and she sits, spending more time than necessary adjusting her skirts as if to draw attention to the beautiful fabric. My little dragon does not realize that she’s playing with fire. Or maybe she does. She has proven herself a complete failure at self-preservation.
The servants bring out the first course. It’s a pile of thin shavings of red stag, marinated in herbs and spices. After the villagers were so thankful for a simple meal, the dichotomy numbs my palate. Brahm and Nevina dig in, and I take a bite. It will be considered rude if I don’t. I wouldn’t be so concerned about inviting their wrath if I could guarantee Eloise’s safety from the consequences. I desperately want this meal to be over so we can talk.
Thankfully, Eloise seems to understand because she pops a slice into her mouth and chews. I take a sip of the wine, my shoulders softening in relief. By the gods, is it possible my little dragon has put her teeth away for the night?
“Aside from bending the knee, how many quill does Bolvet owe you?” Eloise asks.
I bristle, my eyes closing for half a second. Here we go.
The sound of silverware clinking against plates stops. Brahm and Nevina glare at her.
“It is quill, right? Am I saying the name of the currency correctly?”
I clear my throat. Brahm’s expression is livid. I nudge her with my knee. “It’s correct, but perhaps this isn’t the time?—”
My little dragon smiles as if she’s holding the topic in her teeth. “If you want Damien and me to encourage Bolvet to meet your requirements, we have to know what we’re asking for.”
A muscle in Nevina’s jaw twitches, and Brahm watches her with what I might mistake as fear, although why this should frighten him, I have no idea. “Damien…” he says with a note of warning and annoyance.
“This isn’t the right time, Eloise,” I say firmly. “The topic has been dismissed.”
She frowns at me and takes another bite of stag in what I can only suspect is her attempt to keep herself quiet.
“No,” Nevina says, lifting her chin and glaring at Eloise. Their gazes tangle in an unseen tug-of-war. “In this case, she’s right. We shouldn’t ask you to be our ambassador to the village without your knowing exactly what it will take to move Bolvet under the umbrella of our good graces.”
Eloise swallows, holding absolutely still under that icy gaze of the queen’s.
“Each citizen of Bolvet must appear before me and swear an oath on bended knee to accept me as their sovereign queen and serve me to their death. Afterward, I will receive the tax they owe, but it is not one they can pay in quill.”
“Then what is it?” Eloise asks. I say nothing, but I have a terrible feeling. If not quills, then it has to be blood. What else could she require of them?
The queen lifts her chin. “They must select one child from their community to become a servant of the palace.”
I swallow through a constricting throat. This is highly irregular. “A child?”
“For how long?” Eloise snaps. “What type of servant?”
The queen takes another bite, waving her fingers as if the entire conversation is tiresome to her. “We need shades to work the fields. If the villages want to enjoy the abundance of our land, be it crops or meat, they must make an offering of one citizen to work that land. Their service is for life.”
Eloise darts a glance in my direction. I know what she’s thinking. She saw the shades working the fields, the shades who looked like they were starving, the shades whose eyes were glazed as if they were barely alive. “For life? You don’t make them servants—you make them slaves!”
Nevina sniffs. “This has been the way of the elves of Willowgulch for centuries. We leave it up to the gods. A simple lottery, a name left to the will of fate, and it is done. It should be considered an honor to serve one’s kingdom.”
“An honor to work oneself to death like those shades I saw in the fields today? They looked half starved and completely hopeless.”
“Our servants are fed adequately,” Nevina says more sternly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand what is required to keep the peace in a kingdom such as this.”
Eloise’s chin drops, a disgusted scowl twisting her features.
My mate clearly believes the strategy is tyrannical, but Nevina settles back into her chair with a small smile as if she finds the policy ingenious.
I look to my brother, who has fallen conspicuously silent, but Brahm doesn’t lift his eyes from his meal. This is dark elf tradition. Such a thing was unheard of in Stygarde before the war.
