Yes, yes, here I am. Didn’t expect that, did you?
The entire Selvan delegation was focused on me now. Somebody would notice this. They were painfully obvious about it.
I glanced at Solentine. He started moving to his right, the shortest path around the room and to me.
Okay then, time to impersonate Homer and the hedge and fade into the background. I took a careful step back.
A taller woman walked into me. She stopped at the last moment, so she didn’t quite knock me over, but we did bump into each other.
Blond hair, piercing blue eyes, rose, teal, and white crest. Eliarde. Arvel’s second cousin and the Butcher’s would-be victim #3. Crap.
She glared at me. And she was pissed off. Awesome.
“Who are you?”
“Excuse me, my lady.” I took a small step back toward the wall, clearing her path. She preferred to be addressed as dame, but in the formal setting the noble title took precedence.
“I asked you a question,” she ground out.
The two women following her stared at me. The one on the left, in a blue dress, sighed. “Let her be, Elie.”
“No, I want to know what makes her think she can stand in the front row.”
I saved your life, you ungrateful cow.
“I don’t recognize these colors.” Eliarde took a step toward me.
No surprise there. Izarn Demarr was a border commander, who visited Kair Toren once in a blue moon, while Eliarde was a Silver Eagle, part of the royal garrison. The only way she would ever see the Trihorn would be if Sauven personally went there. But recognizing the colors or no, I was a woman with a crest in an expensive dress who was allowed to enter the joedurar. Most people would’ve taken that into account.
Eliarde was not most people. I could tell by the set of her jaw that common sense had left the station. Something had irritated her, and she was looking for a lightning rod to scorch. She’d done it multiple times in the books. When something annoyed her, any target was a good target.
“Why are you here?” she demanded.
“Because I was invited,” I told her.
“By whom?”
“By His Majesty, Sauven Savaric.” Chew on that.
“Isn’t it blindingly obvious?” another female voice said.
I glanced to my left. A stunning woman with light brown skin and a wealth of curly hair braided into a gorgeous arrangement bore down on us. The bodice of her dress, a beautiful gray, resembled armor, and her skirt was like a gush of arterial blood. Two women accompanied her, waiting a step behind.
Lady Ilandra Bors.
Great. Just great. The two candidates for the deadliest female knight in the kingdom who hated each other with the passion of a thousand suns and me, the gnat stuck between them.
“She is here because she was invited,” Lady Bors repeated.
“By the king,” a taller woman on her left added. “Imagine that.”
“Isn’t that why all of us are here?” the shorter woman asked. “Unless Lady Eliarde somehow snuck in? Could it be that you didn’t receive an invitation?”
“This doesn’t concern you, Magrefondretta,” Eliarde snarled.
Hurry up, Solentine.
“Why can’t we take an interest? It is so amusing to watch,” Lady Bors said. “I can’t wait to see how you will embarrass yourself further. Perhaps you should throw her to the ground to vent your ire.”
