“Yes, Strella, we’re fine.”
It took effort to move Amelia’s body down the long hallway, not because of the possession hex but simply because Bryn wasn’t used to the aches and creaky joints of an elderly woman. She felt immense sympathy for the old queen as well as a large dose of reverence—Queen Amelia hadn’t once complained about the chronic pain in her bones.
I hope I should be so tough in my old age, Bryn thought.
It also made her flush with anger to think of Baron Marmose using his influence spell on the queen. It rankled Bryn to know the baron’s machinations had addled such a formidable woman’s mind.
“Amelia,” Marthin whispered low. “Did you think more about what we discussed last night?”
Lords and ladies, Bryn thought in a panic. What had they discussed? She possessed the queen’s body but not her memories—there was no way to know what Marthin referred to.
She cleared her throat. “I have given it thought, husband, but first I should like to know your own mind.”
Marthin blinked a few times in pleasant surprise as though he wasn’t often asked his opinion, and Bryn hoped he’d take it as flattery instead of a cause for suspicion. Fortunately, Marthin’s weak-mindedness didn’t appear to be an act. He readily said, “I still believe we should hear out the northern kingdoms before immediately siding with Ruma. I know you said that you felt strongly for that baron’s argument to banish magic, but I have yet to hear preciselywhy. . .”
Ah, Bryn realized. Poor, sweet, weak-minded Marthin couldn’t understand why his normally headstrong wife had decided to back the anti-magic coalition. Of course, Marthin didn’t know about Baron Marmose’s influence spell. But it was clear now that Marthin and Amelia had already discussed this at length, and Marthin was trying to change her mind back to support the side of magic.
Bryn felt a flutter of tenderness for the old king.
She rested Amelia’s hand on his arm. “Perhaps you have a point, Marthin. I will hear all arguments and make my decision then. I mean, then you can makeyourdecision.”
He looked less distressed as he nodded. “Good. That’s good, Amelia.” He paused before they entered the library and raised her wrinkled hand to his lips. “Tell me how to vote at recess, and I shall do it.”
“You’re a good man, Marthin.”
He gave a genuine smile—it seemed the old king wasn’t used to compliments, either.
As soon as they entered the library, all chatter fell away, and all eyes turned to them. King Cedric Cheron and Queen Yves Cheron of Ruma had arrived so that all eight delegations were present. The Cheron family, along with Baron Marmose, stood by the bookshelves along with the royals from Zaradona and Dresel, while the monarchs from the Mirien, the Baersladen, Vil-Kevi, and Vil-Rossengard waited on the opposite side by the windows.
Tension snapped in the air. Bryn could almost taste it, like the afterburn of fresh-struck lightning.
Baron Marmose immediately swept over, his little dog yapping at his heels. “Queen Amelia. King Marthin. We are honored to have our hosts join us.”
Bryn couldn’t help but give Baron Marmose a sour look. This pandering, scheming man had put her in her current situation, possessing an elderly woman. There was a chance she might not ever get out of the queen’s body. But as much as she wanted to insult him and play it off as an old woman’s confusion, she reminded herself she had to act above suspicion.
“Yes, thank you, Marmose. Welcome, everyone. I trust you’ve all slept well in preparation for a long day of talks . . .” Her eyes drifted around the room and stalled on Rangar, standing by himself by the fireplace.
Bryn’s chest clenched to see him through another woman’s eyes. Even with the queen’s blurry vision, Rangar still looked like a god among men, dark and brooding and devastatingly handsome. By the Saints, how had she gotten so lucky? Her heart tightened like a fist with the sudden urge to run to him and never let go, but she stood her ground.
“King Rangar Barendur of the Baersladen,” she asked carefully, “where is your queen?”
Rangar folded his arms. His sizzling eyes fixed on her meaningfully. “Queen Bryn isn’t feeling well, your highness. I’ve left her to rest in our chamber with a healer. She will join us if her health improves.”
Baron Marmose stiffened at this news, then scurried over to King Cedric and Queen Yves of Ruma. A few whispers were bandied about.
“Unfortunate,” Bryn said, “but perhaps not unexpected. I was told this morning that several of the servants took ill as well. It might have been a batch of the evening’s oysters.” Bryn clasped her hands together as she’d seen Amelia do. “Well then, my lords and ladies, let the grand parlay begin. Marthin, will you be so good as to outline the rules?”
“Of course,” the old king said, clearing his throat, looking comforted by the idea of recitation instead of having to speak impromptu. “Rules of the grand parlay are thus. Number one: All delegates shall have five minutes to deliver their opening points. This hourglass is calibrated for that exact time period. Number two: Subsequent debate must remain civil. Any member who threatens violence shall be removed by our palace guards. Number three: a decision must be reached by the day’s end. When the sun sets, this proclamation—” he rested his hand on a scroll laid out on the table, “—will be ratified as the law of the land.”
“And if there is no agreement reached in time?” Illiana asked. As a new queen, she wasn’t familiar with the archaic laws.
Marthin tapped the parchment once more, firmly. “Then the guards lock the doors. No one eats, sleeps, or leaves until it’s done.”
Bryn’s legs were starting to ache. She faltered, catching herself on a chair back. Rangar hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and at the first sign of weakness, he was by her side in a moment.
“Here, Queen Amelia. Let me help you to a chair.”
“Thank you . . . young man,” Bryn said as Rangar guided her into one of the settees. His hand lingered an extra moment on her back. Their eyes met. Bryn felt a sharp tug in her chest—not Amelia’s—and knew that her spirit wanted nothing more than to be back in her own body, in Rangar’s arms. Even now, his aura pulsed with that protective blue energy that meant he’d sacrifice anything for her.
