Barnabac grunts a laugh. “She would not be so foolish.”
“It won’t matter if she is or isn’t, Ministers, because her seal was sent in the box with her.”
That quiets the room. The Ministers keep their voices low, measured, without a hint of emotion. I know from history the seals of the Ministers are small items surgically implanted in an overlord when they are inaugurated as leader of a ward. The only way to get them out is to get inside their flesh.
So either Alacine Mortis is truly dead, or she’s having a very bad evening.
“Who will replace her?” Barnabac asks.
“Remains to be seen,” Aramastun answers. “I have called you here to combine our knowledge, see what we may discover.”
“Discover, dear?” Liolen chirps from Aramastun’s left.
“Who killed our overlady, Sesk.”
Liolen shifts positions on their chair, as if they’re uncomfortable sitting for too long. Their robe is a sea of gold on the floor around their seat. “What enemies did she have?”
Valenthia Yurlyth says, “Despite being my neighbor ward to the north, Alacine Mortis was no enemy of mine.”
“I suppose the better question,” Liolen murmurs, “is how was she killed, Aramastun? I can guess based on her ashy arrival to your quarters, dear, but I’d rather not assume.”
“A silver sword,” Aramastun replies. His viper-like eyes land on every Minister in turn.
“Those are forbidden in Olhav,” Valenthia points out, helping no one.
Leaning slightly forward, I speak to Barnabac, raising my voice loud enough to be heard. “Don’t you have a silver sword in your chamber, sire?”
Barnabac growls over his shoulder, “Quiet your impudent tongue, boy.”
I clear my throat and stand straight-backed, clasping my hands in front of me again, the very picture of a good bodyguard. Staring out from over Barnabac’s shoulder, I notice Aramastun’s imposing gaze has landed on me.
“What was that, fullblood?” he calls out.
Barnabac flaps a hand. “Never mind the lad, Wyvox. You know how my Red Spawn can be. He will be whipped and punished for—”
“No, I would like to hear what he said,” the Night Judge cuts in.
Glancing down, I see how the veins along Master Barnabac’s neck bulge when he tenses.
In a businesslike tone, I say, “Apologies for interrupting, my lord. I only meant to say, it’s curious my blood-lord houses a silver sword in the chamber of his tower at Castle Galfeld.”
Slowly, Barnabac glares at me over his shoulder. I know what hewantsto blurt out: That I gave him that sword. But doing so would put him in a precarious position, because the next question becomes, “Well how did your bloodthrall obtain such a sword, and why did he give it to you?”
Barnabac wisely stays quiet, his beady eyes narrowing threateningly on me.
From across the stage, Aramastun says, “Is that all you mean to say? Or did you mean to imply something else, as well?” When I begin to answer the overlord, he raises a hand, which has the effect of clamping my throat tightly shut. “What is your name, fullblood?”
My throat loosens and I inhale a sharp lungful of air. “Vallan Stellos, sire.”
Overliege Liolen sits up in their chair. “What I would like to know, dear Vallan, is how your blood-liege came to obtain silver. Because the only place would be frommymines.”
“The North MinesIprotect with my military!” my master barks. “Do not forget our arrangement, Liolen.”
Liolen snorts in a pretty way. “Yes, the arrangement where I own the silver mines with my bountiful coin, and you supposedly protect it from ne’er-do-wells.” They roll their red and blue eyes. “For the good of the Five Ministries.”
My brow furrows. I say to Barnabac, “When Alacine Mortis attacked the silver mine recently, my lord, surely the discussion between the Military and Commerce Wards was fruitful?”
Behind me, I feel the stern gazes of my Red Spawn brethren digging into my spine. Our entire side of the stage is tight and tense. Except for me.
