Larylis ignored him, running histories, fictions, and fantasies through his mind. How had General Bralish stolen the hostages back from the Allerton Horde? His words came out slow. Careful. “We’ll go to the meeting and figure out where they’re keeping Teryn. He’ll be somewhere in King Dimetreus’ camp.”
Verdian narrowed his eyes. “How are you so certain? They could keep him at Ridine Castle.”
“They’ll expect us to demand to see Teryn alive and unharmed before we consider surrender.”
“What then?” Arlous asked, his skeptical tone in contrast with the hope in his eyes.
“Once we know where Teryn is being kept, we’ll send in a covert force to break him free. Until then, we will draw out negotiations.”
“Stealing a hostage is akin to a declaration of war,” Kevan said.
Larylis gave him a pointed look. “Which we’ve already resigned ourselves to in refusing to surrender. We will plan for war, but first we rescue Teryn.”
“How do you expect to free our prince without the sorcerer taking notice?” asked one of Arlous’ councilmen. From the look on his face, he was taking Larylis seriously. “We can’t simply march in and search from tent to tent.”
“I have an idea of how to locate him before we send in any of our men.” He didn’t elaborate, knowing it would take some work to convince them to put their faith in a falcon. But Larylis knew if anyone could find Teryn in an enemy camp it was Berol.
“It’s reckless,” Verdian said, running his hands over the ruffled collar beneath his royal white and gold coat. “But if we’re already set on war, we might as well attempt to free the crown prince.”
“You can't seriously consider this,” Kevan said. “Larylis Seralla has no place on this council. He’s a bastard?—”
“Enough with that word.” Arlous’ voice came out hard. “LarylisAlanteis my son and heir.”
Verdian’s eyes went wide. “That’s taking things a little far, Arlous. Naming your illegitimate son your heir?”
Larylis couldn’t argue with that. He wasn’t even sure his father had meant what he’d said. He’d called Larylis…an Alante. The king’s royal name. A name Larylis had been forbidden to take due to his illegitimate birth. Arlous’ last attempt to legitimize him had nearly ended in war. If the queen found out, it very well could come again?—
No. The threat of war was already here. It just wasn’t coming from the same place it had before.
Lord Kevan scoffed. “Have you given up on getting Prince Teryn back so soon?”
Arlous held back a smug grin. “If we are to hide our plans at rescuing Teryn, we need the mage to think we’ve fully given up on getting the prince back when we refuse to surrender. Larylis will stand at my side during negotiations as my new heir. We won’t officially refuse the king until we’ve received a sign that Teryn is safe.”
“Dimetreus will never believe you’ve made your bastard your heir,” Kevan said.
“Why?” Arlous met the man’s gaze without any hint of shame. “I almost succeeded before.”
Larylis felt sick. He’d hated how it had felt to be pitted against his brother when the scandal erupted. He didn’t like it any better now, even if it was only an act. But if it got Teryn back…
“Well, PrinceLarylis,” Kevan said, voice mocking, “since you seem to have everything all figured out, will you be the one to organize the prince’s rescue force?”
Larylis took a deep breath, forcing far more confidence than he felt. There was no use backing down now. No use revealing just how terrified and intimidated he felt. Instead, he imagined he was General Bralish, undaunted in the face of an enemy horde. Lifting his chin, he met Lord Kevan’s taunting stare. “Yes, I will.”
46
Mareleau Harvallis ignored the soft flutter inside her chest. It was a traitorous thing, the way her heart refused to recall that Larylis Seralla was no longer her beloved. Still, she had to admit he looked…brilliant. Brave. Standing up to her father and her uncles, coming up with a plan to save his brother.
She pushed the door open a crack wider, then resumed winding her fingers through the braid she’d been nervously plaiting for the last several minutes.
“We shouldn’t be spying,” Lurel whispered from behind her. They were in the drawing room that stood between the library and council room. It was mostly used by servants to stage food and libations during formal events or much larger meetings. This meeting, however, was private. Not even servants were allowed to be present. Neither was Mareleau but she didn’t need her cousin to remind her that. Seven gods, the girl was annoying. Always so prim and proper.
Lurel tugged the sleeve of Mareleau’s gown. “Our fathers wouldn’t want us listening in. It’s men’s business.”
Mareleau clenched her teeth.Men’s business. So far, nothing that she’d heard had seemed particularly masculine. Why were women thought to be too soft for matters of war? Did breasts somehow make her unable to consider death and bloodshed? She had to deal with blood every month, which was more than any of the men in that room could say.
Lurel tried to pull her away again, but Mareleau elbowed the girl before she could. Doing so jostled the door, drawing the peering eyes of Uncle Ulrich. Mareleau darted away from the gap in the door. She held her breath as footsteps slapped across the floor. A second later, the door was shut the rest of the way with an exaggerated slam.
Damn her uncle.
