“And why is that?” Rangar growled from the other end of the table. “You haven’t spoken to my wife since our arrival in the Wollin.”
“Queen Bryn offers an interesting perspective,” the high priest continued, still infuriatingly slow, as though he was utterly unconcerned about the time. “She was raised to abhor magic as a sin in the same way we see it in Zaradona. Now, as queen of the Baersladen, she has embraced magic and even advocates for its use. And yet I wonder, if she were here, what she would say about the wolf attacks. Village after village in her precious new homeland has been attacked. Men, women, and even children were slaughtered. We all know dark magic is behind it—so why would she push for something killing her people? I might say that attitude more in line with her parents’ ways.”
Both Mars and Rangar shot to their feet, ready to defend Bryn.
“You speak of my sister,” Mars said hotly. “May I remind you that she had nothing to do with our parents’ reign. Bryn knew nothing of their actions.”
Rangar pressed his fists against the table, a deep scowl on his face as he took in the high priest like a wolf stalking its prey. “My wife would risk her life any day for just one of her subjects. You dare to suggest she carelessly allows these murders?”
“Lords,” King Marthin scolded, pounding on the table. “Recall the rules! This is not currently a debate!”
It began to dawn on Bryn why High Priest Felisian Red had chosen such a provocative and unusual subject for his opening statement: one king at the table was her brother, and another was her husband. Both men would do anything to defend her honor, as they had all just witnessed.
The high priest isn’t trying to make a logical argument, she realized.He’s trying to rattle Mars and Rangar. He wants them distracted when it’s time to make their own arguments—so they’ll use their time refuting him instead of laying out a good case.
As though Illiana had come to the same conclusion, she gripped Mars by the sleeve and tugged him back down into his seat. “Sit,” she hissed. “And ignore the words of fools.”
The hourglass ran out, and High Priest Felisian Red gave Rangar a cold, satisfied stare. Bryn wondered if this was why King Salvator had ceded his time to the priest; so that he, as a king, wouldn’t have to slander another royal.
Slowly, Rangar sank back into his chair. One hand remained curled into a fist on the table. His attention was fixed on his wine glass, almost as though he was working hardnotto look at Bryn. But his aura reached out bands of light toward her, wanting to protect her.
Tension snapped even sharper in the room now. Queen Hanna of Dresel shifted uneasily in her seat. King Hans of Vil-Rossengard downed his wine in one long swallow and then signaled to the servants for more.
King Marthin rolled the die again. “King Rangar Barendur of the Baersladen.”
Bryn held in a tight breath. Rangar was no fool—he had to know that the priest had been trying to shake him. Still, which would win out—his temper or his reason?
“King Rangar,” she said in Amelia’s voice. “Please, stand. We would very much like to hear yourmeasuredopinion.”
He met her eyes across the table. The anger in his shoulders seemed to ease as though her words had reminded him why they were here—and it wasn’t to punch High Priest Felisian Red in the jaw.
Slowly, he stood. His eyes flickered to the hourglass, but when he spoke, it wasn’t rushed. “If my wife were here, I would cede my time to her, as she is a far better speaker than me—not to mention prettier to look at.”
Prince Anter good naturally tapped his fist on the table in agreement.
“But in her stead, I shall share her reasons for changing her mind about magic, as you pointed out, High Priest Red. Bryn Lindane was raised in a kingdom where the monarchs had absolute power. Their military controlled every village and road. Their tax collectors heavily regulated what crops could be grown, which harvest could be kept, and which had to be sold. We do not have to debate here whether this was good for the Mir people—the Mir people already answered that question when they rose up and slaughtered King Deothanial and Queen Helena.”
He paused for a moment of silence as he let the others consider the inherent threat in his words: If they acted as King Deothanial and Queen Helena had, their heads might end up on the gallows, too.
He continued, “When Bryn came to the Baersladen, she could not speak our language. My aunt gave her that ability through a hexmark. She became a beloved figure in our kingdom, working alongside shepherds. She saw how magic in the hands of our people gave power that the common folk of her homeland lacked. The Baer people, through magic, do not need our military to oversee them, do not need us to tell them what to grow. We are there to guide and to set strategy for the good of the kingdom, not to control every aspect of their lives. My wife saw this. She embraced it. She even became an apprentice with hexes of her own.”
Throughout the speech, his eyes never left Bryn’s across the table. His words might be for the benefit of everyone else, but his love was all for her.
The hourglass was running out, so Rangar leaned on the table and gave a final word of warning. “If you value your own necks, my advice is this: give your people magic or wait for them to slit your throats. If you value your people’s well-being, give them the ability to help themselves. Either way, magic is the answer.”
He sat as the final sand ran out.
Baron Marmose, pacing by the bookshelves, threw searching looks toward Bryn in Queen Amelia’s body to see how she was reacting to these various speeches. Since he needed to believe she was still under his influence spell, Bryn tried to keep her face carefully neutral, perhaps even with a shadow of doubt for Rangar’s words.
Next to speak was King Angus of Dresel, who made the case that the wolf attacks showed that for all the good magic could do, its potential for great evil was too dangerous to let loose without restrictions. Following him was King Hans of Vil-Rossengard, who argued that his ancestors hadn’t fought and joined with the other Eyrie kingdoms just to have their basic strength—magic—stripped from them, and that if anything could save them from the berserkir wolves, it was even stronger magic. When Mars spoke, he pointed out that the wolf attacks were not so different from an enemy siege: magic was simply a tool like cannons or warships, and magic shouldn’t be banned unless the delegates were prepared to ban all other tools of warfare.
They broke for a recess at midday, with only the delegates from Ruma and the Wollin left to give their arguments. Servants brought in platters of braised mackerel and lemon tarts and more wine, and the various delegates divided into groups to eat around the library, whispering among themselves about the morning’s events.
Sitting on the settee with King Marthin, Bryn couldn’t help but look longingly toward Rangar by the far windows, eating alone. She would give anything to be able to swap a few whispered words with him, but she didn’t dare approach him. She nibbled her mackerel and only nodded distractedly as King Marthin blathered about the weather.
Her napkin slipped off her lap, and before she could pick it up, Baron Marmose was suddenly by her side.
“Allow me, my queen.” He returned the napkin to her with a flourish, a smug smile on his face. “It’s been an interesting morning, has it not?”
