With his own final token resting in front of him, King Marthin stood and addressed the delegates. “My lords and ladies. Honored guests. It falls to me to cast the final vote, and I do not take this duty lightly. Queen Amelia, our Woll advisors, and our valued nieces and nephews have all weighed in on this decision. We do what we believe is in the best interest of the common folk and royals alike throughout the Eyrie.”
He picked up the seashell token, smoothing his wrinkled thumb over its polished surface. Though his chin was held high, his rapid blinks betrayed his uncertainty.
Bryn’s heart went out to the old king, and she felt a tenderness coming from the real Queen Amelia, too. All around the table, the delegates remained hushed. Their bodies inclined forward, poised in anticipation, except for Baron Marmose, who sat reclined in the chair off to the side, foot tapping confidently.
From her brief conversation with Marthin earlier that morning, Bryn knew that the real Queen Amelia and King Marthin had already decided before the day’s events began that they would vote against magic. Bryn had no idea how Queen Amelia truly felt, though Phillipa and Declan had suggested her mind was open to the free use of magic. But Baron Marmose and his insidious hex had gotten to her first, bending her to his will. And whatever Queen Amelia said, King Marthin would do whether he agreed with her decision or not.
King Marthin held his hand out over the chalices and said, “The Wollin votes for—”
Baron Marmose practically licked his lips while waiting for the words he’d orchestrated.
“Wait.” Bryn pushed to her feet, standing at the old queen’s full height. The baron’s face immediately fell. The other delegates leaned forward even more, shifting uncomfortably in their seats.
Bryn rested the old queen’s hand on her husband’s arm. Looking him in the eye, she announced, “The Wollin votes for the free use of magic.”
She nudged Marthin’s hand toward the chalice on the right. His eyebrows shot up, but after a second’s pause, he opened his hand.
The token fell into the right chalice.
Chapter 38
THE GRAND PARLAY...outrages...spells against spells...a clever baron...a library full of magic
What is the meaning of this?” King Cheron shouted, shoving to his feet. His face had turned bright red and wrinkled like an old tomato. He jabbed an accusing finger at Bryn. “A queen has no say in the vote! It is only King Marthin’s words that matter!”
“My husband was the one who cast the token,” Bryn said evenly, refusing to be intimidated. “And he’ll repeat my words about the vote, if you so require it. Marthin?”
Blinking rapidly, Marthin blathered, “Yes, yes, it is as Queen Amelia said. The Wollin votes for the free use of magic.”
His voice had taken on more excitement since this surprising turn of events.
Now, King Salvator of Zaradona shot to his feet. “That isn’t what you were going to say. We all saw it clear as day; you were about to cast your token in the left chalice!”
“You dare to question your host’s vote?” Bryn hissed, resting her hands on the table.
Rangar rose as well, towering over King Salvator. “The votes are cast. Everything was done according to the rules of the grand parlay. You might not like the decision, but you are bound to abide by it.”
“This is an outrage!” King Angus of Dresel cried, twisting around in his chair toward Baron Marmose. He threw an accusing scowl. “Dosomething, Marmose!”
Baron Marmose seemed frozen in his seat. As soon as King Marthin had cast his vote for the free use of magic, he’d gone strangely still except for his eyes, which had shot to Queen Amelia and locked there as though trying to pick apart why his influence spell hadn’t worked.
Because you influenced her, you ass, Bryn thought viciously.Not me.
Rangar immediately whirled on King Angus. “What exactly do you want the baron to do, my king? What did healreadydo?”
King Angus’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t dare admit to their plan with Ruma and Zaradona to cast a spell on Queen Amelia. Baron Marmose’s eyes darted from Rangar to Queen Amelia as his lips pursed in an attempt to figure out what had gone wrong.
“The vote is cast!” Prince Anter announced, his sharp voice cutting through the chatter. “There is no room for further debate. The sun sets as we speak. As King Marthin said, you are bound by the rules of the grand parlay to sign the final decree.”
He snatched up the right-hand parchment and unfurled it before his father, King Otto. The room went still again as everyone watched the burly forest king grab a quill and ink. He stabbed the quill into the bottle and then proudly wrote his name across the parchment’s bottom.
“Jarkkinen,” he barked, passing the document to the king of Vil-Rossengard, who signed his name on one of the eight marks, then passed quill and scroll to Rangar.
Rangar splayed the scroll on the table with one hand while signing his name with the other, glaring at the southern monarchs all the while, daring them to say something. Once he’d signed, he passed the scroll to Illiana. “For King Mars.”
As Mars signed his name and handed the scroll to King Grey, the remaining southern rulers began to pace and grunt their displeasure. Queen Yves of Ruma and High Priest Felisian Red rushed off to a corner to speak adamantly with Baron Marmose. Their voices rose and fell in sharp argument.
“I’m not signing that!” King Grey blustered. “I didn’t agree to it. Magic will infect our borders!”
