Bryn broke eye contact before anyone might suspect something. She cleared her throat. “Now that we all understand the rules, let us discuss what is at stake. For nearly five hundred years, we have had peace throughout the Eyrie. There have been attacks from foreign lands at the Eyrie’s borders. There have been minor skirmishes between our kingdoms, but no full declaration of war. Now, with wolf attacks striking the most vulnerable citizens of many of our lands, and rumors of dark magic, we must decide once and for all what the fate of magic shall be within the Eyrie.”
She steadied her gaze on each of the royals in the room. King Grey and his much younger wife from Dresel. Mars and Illiana of the Mirien. King Cedric and Queen Yves of Ruma. Prince Anter and his father from Vil-Kevi, along with the Viklunds from Vil-Rossengard, and King Salvator of Zaradona with High Priest Red.
And, finally, Rangar.
She motioned to the library table, which would serve as their negotiation table. “Let the grand parlay begin. Take your seats, please, my guests.”
Chapter 36
A ROLL OF THE DICE . . . eight emblems . . . opening arguments . . . sands of the hourglass
Fifteen delegates from the eight kingdoms of the Eyrie sat around the library table—with one missing seat for Bryn. Baron Marmose, as an unofficial attendee with no voting power, hung back by the library windows, pacing anxiously with his three yapping dogs at his heels.
Seated at the head of the table, Bryn tried to maintain the expression she’d so often seen on Queen Amelia’s face: strong, stoic, but with the wandering gaze of a fading mind. Once everyone had taken their places, and the servants had brought wine to facilitate the negotiations, King Marthin rolled an eight-sided die with each of the kingdom’s emblems carved on the faces:
The woodland dragon for Vil-Rossengard.
The sea cliff castle of the Baersladen.
The blooming flowers of the Mirien.
The bluebird of Ruma.
The giant lion of Zaradona.
The sparrow of Dresel.
The crashing waves of the Wollin.
The antlers of Vil-Kevi.
It rolled to a halt with Vil-Kevi’s antlers emblem facing up. Bryn folded her hands as she announced, “King Otto Jarkkinen of Vil-Kevi. The gods have chosen you to speak first.”
She nodded to Marthin, who turned the hourglass timer.
King Otto stood gruffly and pushed his chair back. Though his wild, curly hair and beard had been combed, dark circles hung beneath his eyes. He hadn’t gotten much sleep after their amplifier spell. He glanced briefly at Bryn—at Queen Amelia—as though not entirely certain who inhabited the body.
“There are those present who will argue magic is not a right of the Eyrie people, and I would agree with them. It isn’t aright. A right must be agreed upon and granted by old fools in crowns such as us. Magic needs no agreement. It’s a force of nature as sure as the air we breathe, the water flowing in our rivers. You can no sooner deny people magic than you can deny them that very air and water.”
There were murmurs of agreement from King Hans Viklund and Queen Karin Viklund.
“Here, here,” said Anter, rapping a fist on the table.
Marthin raised a finger. “No debate yet, young prince, and that also goes for voicing support. Each speaks for their allotted time, and the others remain silent.”
King Otto finished his speech with an anecdote about how their farmers, plunged in the shade of the forest, couldn’t grow crops without magic to amplify sunlight. When the timer ended, Marthin rolled the die again.
“Zaradona,” he said when the giant lion emblem came up. “King Salvator Surin, you may speak.”
The gray-clad, severe king stood to his full height and said, “I would like to cede my time to High Priest Felisian Red, who may speak on my behalf.”
Marthin nodded. “Granted.”
As King Salvator took his seat, the priest stood. Ever since his arrival, Felisian Red had given off a dangerously quiet energy that Bryn needed no aura vision to detect. Now, the priest’s eyes cut sharply around the table as the hourglass sands fell, seemingly unconcerned about his dwindling time. Bryn’s stomach roiled as his eyes glided over her, suddenly afraid he could see through her disguise in Queen Amelia’s body and straight into her spirit.
“It is indeed a shame Queen Bryn cannot join us,” he said pointedly, and Bryn’s eyes shot open wide before she could carefully pull her mask back on.
Did he know who she was? Did he have the ability to see auras?
