Bram gatheredthe papers into a neat stack, striking them against the desk until the edges fell in perfect line. Once satisfied, he set them aside and looked at me, a seriousness settling over his features.
“Your presence is required in the farming village,” he said. “Some of the locals have been requesting an audience with His Majesty for weeks, but the king simply hasn’t the time, not when his every breath is spent making peace between the three states. I suggested to the other chancellors that we send a magister instead. Helps soothe minds when the people see the robes.” He gestured to my own, the deep blue fabric cinched at the waist with a dark brown leather belt.
I could hardly contain the small smile that crept over my lips. To be out in the fields, away from the stone walls and the endlesstangles of court politics, away from Kael, for a time. Even in the rain, the open air would clear my head. The sound of it alone, steady and soft, would hush my thoughts better than any empty council chamber ever could.
“You seem delighted!” Bram’s eyes twinkled, catching the shift in me.
I smiled, clearing my throat. “You know how I relish conversing with farmers.” I attempted a wink—poorly, as always.
He chuckled, the sound booming through the office like a gong. “There’s a goat-herder down there by the name of Tomas Brack. Hard to miss him, his farm is the one that’s eaten half the hillside with fences. Talk to him first.”
I nodded, committing the name to memory. “Anything else I should know?”
“Apparently he and a few others claim the goats are acting strange.” His lips twitched, and I could see the jest forming before he spoke it. “And since you’re the goat-whisperer…”
“Bram…” I groaned, dragging out his name.
He caught my look and lifted his hands in surrender. “I mean it nicely!”
My expression didn’t change. But the truth was, I was grateful for him. With Bram I didn’t need to guard every flicker of my face, didn’t need to pretend at courtly perfection. He let me roll my eyes, glare when his jokes went too far, and he laughed for both of us.
And laugh he did, rich and loud, filling the room. “Use youroolalah”—that was how he referred to magic—“to question them. Find out what has them spooked.”
Part of me wanted to ask if there wasn’t more pressing business than questioning farmers about skittish goats. But then I remembered, we were the Council of Farming. This was our work. And I was more than content—thrilled, even—that I wasn’t tangled in the cutthroat politics the other councils waded through daily. I wouldn’t survive that world. And no one in their right mind would want me, Evie Corvo, anywhere near such responsibility.
I tilted my head, fighting a smile. “You send the kingdom’s youngest magister to chase after goats. Truly, Bram, history will sing of our achievements.”
“Sing, yes, though more like a cow bellowing out of key,” he said with a wink. “But you know this, Evie. Animals sense what we don’t. A restless herd can mean sickness, storms, even stranger things on the land. And if there’s another plague about, it is our responsibility to find out.”
“Better me than you, then,” I muttered. “Because I speak goat.”
“Exactly!” Bram exclaimed, pleased. “You’ll have them bleating every worry they’ve had since spring. You’ve got the look of someone who actually listens.”
I ducked my head, hiding the flicker of heat in my cheeks after his compliment. “Listening is easy when goats do most of the talking.”
Bram chuckled and was still laughing when he waved his quill like a baton, dismissing me toward the door.
“Off with you, Magister Corvo. Go read the omens in goat eyes and bring me back something useful.”
I gave him a mock bow, my robe brushing the flagstones as I turned away. The smile lingered on my lips longer than I’d meant it to. I had something to do, almost as if I could finally find a greater purpose in this court.
Almost.
I leftBram’s office with a spring in my step, excitement warming me as I passed down the corridor of stone and tapestries. White lilies bloomed across the deep blue fabric, stitched in endless repetition. The emblem of Befest, the three-petaled lily for the three states bound together. Three old clans that had unified under the Crown in a treaty of peace and harmony. That unity, once inked in promise, now curled and cracked like old parchment. Anger and despair gnawed at its edges since the plague. Bretannia especially, their nobility forever claiming they would have done better, saved morelives, had they held the throne. Perhaps they believed it. No one, especially not a seerling, could know for certain.
I walked briskly, letting the embroidered lilies blur as I moved toward the grand staircase. I was still thinking of rain, of fresh air and goats, when a voice drifted from up ahead.
Kael Forloren.
He strode in unison with Selena Hart toward the Council of the Crown’s chambers, their voices low, serious. My heart stuttered. From behind, he seemed taller still, a shadow carved into the shape of a man, a statue built to inspire dread. They didn’t notice me. Good.
I slowed my steps, cursing myself for always walking too quickly. If I trailed far enough behind, I might reach the staircase unseen and slip down to freedom.
But all my plans unraveled when Kael glanced over his shoulder.
His eyes, ice-cold, locked with mine.
And just like that, I was a deer frozen mid-step, snared in the unblinking gaze of the predator who had already marked the kill.
