He shook his head regretfully.
“Are there mages in Hytooth Palace with whom we could consult?”
“As far as I know, there aren’t any official mages in all of the Wollin. Magic is technically forbidden here, though the Hytooths do not prosecute anyone found using it.”
Bryn groaned as she leaned against the windowsill. Outside, a cool breeze rolled off the ocean. She hugged her arms and said worriedly, “Then we’ll have to wait for Illiana to arrive. If any magic caster knows how to break such a spell, it will be her.”
* * *
Hytooth Palace crackledwith tension the rest of the day and into the morning, though King Marthin and Queen Amelia appeared too distracted to notice it. Baron Marmose kept his dogs locked in his room and scowled at Bryn and Rangar every chance he got, who in turn, kept their distance and made sure to keep knives on their bodies.
More Hytooth cousins arrived early in the morning, making Declan and Phillipa nervous. Though everyone was outwardly cordial, it was clear the cousins were ready to fight tooth and nail amongst themselves to determine who would succeed Queen Amelia.
In the late afternoon, a servant came to Bryn and Rangar’s room. “Begging your pardon, my king and queen, but Declan asked me to inform you that the other royal families have begun to arrive.”
Bryn exchanged a knowing look with Rangar. They had already dressed in elegant finery for the occasion, including donning their crowns to make a powerful first impression.
Rangar peered out the window at the courtyard below. “It’s the Greys, judging by their carriage colors.”
Bryn joined him and watched as wizened old King Angus Grey of Dresel climbed out of his carriage with significant effort, followed by his scandalously young wife, Queen Hanna Grey, who couldn’t be more than sixteen years old. Their clothes were rich white fabrics draped around them like robes, in keeping with the arid style of the southern portion of their kingdom.
“Do you know them?” Rangar asked.
“Only by reputation,” Bryn answered. “They never came to the Mirien, but they sent Duke Dryden to court Elysander as a means of allying our two kingdoms. According to the duke, the Greys do not share our sentiments about a free magic society.”
“So, we cannot rely on them,” Rangar said regretfully. “I had hoped Duke Dryden had perhaps influenced them to our cause.”
“There’s a reason the duke turned to banditry to help the Dresel common folk. Dresel’s own monarchs won’t lift a finger to help them.”
As the Greys entered the palace, greeted by Phillipa, a sentry blew a trumpet to announce the arrival of another royal carriage. Bryn and Rangar waited until a crimson-painted carriage with iron bars on its windows pulled up.
“King Salvator Surin of Zaradona,” Rangar said distastefully. “He’s even more dogmatic in his hatred of magic than the Greys. He’s a widower, never remarried.”
A tall, thin man with dark hair, despite his advanced age, climbed gracefully out of the carriage and made the sign of prayer against his chest. Behind him, another man emerged. Dressed in a red robe, the second man wasn’t much older than Rangar, but he had a graveness that instantly set Bryn’s nerves on edge.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“High Priest Felisian Red. King Salvator travels everywhere with him. He insists he needs the priest’s heavenly blessings five times a day, but it’s no coincidence Felisian Red is a skilled warrior as well as a priest.”
Bryn raised her eyebrows. “A bodyguard, you mean.” She took a deep breath before grumbling, “I suppose we should greet the new arrivals.”
The Hytooths had arranged for all the royal delegations to meet in the library after settling in, and while the Greys took the time to bathe and change, King Salvator and High Priest Red did not change out of their dusty, rumpled travel clothes. Bryn was surprised to find them already in the library, standing stiffly by the fireplace with Baron Marmose.
They’d been whispering among one another but stopped when she and Rangar entered.
Sensing the tension, Declan immediately jumped up. “Ah, King Rangar and Queen Bryn. It’s my honor to introduce you to King Salvator Surin of Zaradona and—”
“Yes, we’re acquainted,” Rangar cut him off. “High Priest Red. We trained together as boys for a time in Vil-Kevi.”
The priest gave a slow nod, though a sour look crossed his face. “Ah, yes, I’d almost forgotten. My soldiering days are so far behind me.”
“Yes, I was surprised to hear you were now a devotee of the Saints. Back then, you certainly didn’t say no to wine and women—”
“Queen Bryn.” King Salvator interrupted Rangar and whatever incriminating information he was about to reveal. “What a pleasure to meet you. I knew your parents well. Devout servants of the Saints. May the Saints keep their souls.”
Bryn bristled. Only a fellow zealot would dare to compliment her despotic parents’ former reign. “May the Saints keep their souls,” she repeated tightly.
Tensions hung in the air until the doors swung open, and the Greys entered. Old King Angus leaned on his young wife’s arm, his eyes as cloudy with cataracts as Queen Amelia’s. Queen Hanna helped her elderly husband down to the sofa, then beamed in relief to see Bryn.
