On the table, Dietan’s fist tightens, as if holding back the urge to use the Whisting on his granduncle.
Namreth leans back in his chair again, swirling his goblet casually. “The Rings of Fate are my birthright, and they were taken from me. So, I left, abandoned the home I wanted to protect, and sought power from the one place my brother would never turn to: Penrith.”
Dietan scoffs. “We know you went to the Usurper. My father and grandfather kept track of you. Did you think you were free all this time because we didn’t know where you were?”
Namreth looks a bit discomfited by that.
Touché, I think, proud of Dietan.
“So why are you here?” Namreth asks. Exactly what I want to know. I only know what Dietan’s told me. He’s surprised me many times on this journey by knowing of Veteria’s existence, Katharine’s name, and now Osian’s true identity.
Who is Dietan of Loegria, really?
“If you’re so smart, why don’t you already know?” Dietan chides. “I’ve come to destroy you, obviously.”
“Destroy me?” Namreth chuckles. “And how will you do that?”
Dietan shrugs.
“You think you’re my doom, are you?”
Dietan sighs. “Okay, I’ll admit I had other reasons for coming here at first. I thought you could be an ally. Even though you left Alarice behind to forge your own path, maybe you would see the value in joining us to protect your new kingdom and the people of Old Estyrion against the Usurper. I thought there might be good in you still. My mother said that growing up, you were the bravest of the Vindar knights, the shining hero of Alarice. Fighting men flocked to your banner, and the people threw flowers at your feet. I wanted to see for myself how you’d changed, whether you are that Vindar knight still. My father said it was a lost cause. My grandfather agreed. But I will be king someday, and I need everyone’s help in this coming war against the Usurper. I thought I should at least try to get you on our side.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, nephew,” says Namreth, not looking disappointed at all. “But I am loyal to those who are loyal to me.”
“The Usurper of Penrith,” says Dietan. “You would turn your back on your family to serve him?”
Namreth nods as he swirls the water in his goblet lazily. “I’ve chosen strength over weakness. You should, too.”
“Loegria and Alarice are not weak, and our kings serve no one but their subjects.”
Namreth looks thoughtful. If he’s angered by Dietan’s jab, he doesn’t show it. “Aren’t they, though? Our spies tell us that Loegria and Alariceareweakened. The treasure of the kingdoms, the Rings of Fate, are missing.”
If Dietan is shocked to find his secret so plainly revealed, he doesn’t show it. “Missing?” he asks with an eyebrow raised.
“Penrith has openly attacked the borders of Loegria, yet the king does nothing. Alarice is undefended; bandits and marauders control the Bandai Bridge. Both Donnel and Elgar appear in good health and of sound mind, so there can only be one explanation: your father no longer has the Rings of Fate.
“I know Donnel. He would never let his people suffer. If he hasn’t used the Whisting by now, he doesn’t have it,” he continues.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, but Dietan appears unrattled.
“The Rings are not to be used lightly—my father taught me that. The armies of Loegria and Alarice are more than capable of handling a few bandits and raiders. We were taken by surprise, it’s true, but our kingdoms are mobilizing for the defense of our borders against the Usurper. You can depend upon that.” Dietan radiates princely confidence, but I can’t help wondering: Where are these promised armies? Why isn’t King Elgar calling upon our farm boys and tradesmen’s sons to serve?
“Your armies may have stopped him when he first took the throne, but thedisorderin your border villages suggests they aren’t ready this time. And Donnel would never permit such loss of life if he had the means to prevent it,” Namreth says, echoing my uneasy train of thought.
“Then why hasn’t the Usurper launched his attack?”
“Oh, we will, in good time. An army will rise from the desert and another from the ocean. Together, we will take all of Albion.”
Dietan frowns. “But you can’t—and you won’t. Not until you know for sure that my father doesn’t have the Rings. He can destroy you with a wave of his hand. Your power is nothing compared to the Great Rings of the Anemoi, forged by Skiron herself. You can raise a sandstorm but not a hurricane.”
Namreth scowls, and I wonder if Dietan has gone too far in provoking him. “My scouts tell me there is a massive hole in the bridge between Loegria and Estyrion. Such destruction can only be caused by one who wields the Rings.” He swirls the water in his goblet and gives Dietan a crafty smile. “And here you are, dear nephew.”
“Here I am.” Dietan’s voice is calm and level, but he’s gripping his knees under the table.
“Come to destroy me, have you?” Namreth chuckles again.
“Since you will not be an ally, you are my enemy and an enemy of Albion. I don’t see that I have any other choice.” Dietan shrugs as if he is merely observing the weather.
