A smile tugged at my lips at the memory of her flushed face as I’d kissed her goodbye before this meeting.
“Does something amuse you about the northern province’s wheat shortage, Your Majesty?”
I blinked, forcing my attention back to the lady’s pinched expression. Several of my advisors were frowning at me, particularly Lord Rathley, whose lips had pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
“Not at all.” I straightened in my chair. “Please continue.”
She cleared her throat, looking vaguely insulted. “As I was saying, with proper redistribution from the southern?—”
The chamber doors swung open, cutting her off mid-sentence as Captain Brishon strode in. My head of security looked grim, the scar across his cheek more prominent against his paler-than-usual complexion.
“Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but there’s been another incident.”
I gestured for him to approach. “What happened?”
“Two more servants were found unconscious in the east wing,” he said, his voice low enough that only those at the council table could hear. “Same gray markings as the others.”
A chill skated across my skin. Three in a matter of days, all discovered with the same gray marks on their skin and their life energy drained. Not blood, though that would have been alarming enough, but something more fundamental. Their magic.
Something terrible was going on here, and we needed to discover what it was and stop it permanently.
“And the joy enchantments?” I asked.
“Failing throughout that section of the castle. The lanterns Lady Cyrene placed in the guest corridors have gone dark.”
I nodded, processing this information. When Cyrene had created those lanterns three days ago, they’d burned with so much light that servants had reported feeling happy just by walking past them. Now they were lifeless husks.
“This is disturbing,” Lord Broadworthy said. The lines on his face deepened with concern. “First the joy witch’s projects fail, then servants falling ill. There’s a pattern emerging, and I don’t like it one bit.”
I studied the faces around the table. Broadworthy looked genuinely worried. Lady Aragorn seemed irritated at having her report interrupted. Lord Rathley’s expression remained carefully neutral.
“Indeed there is,” I said. “Someone is systematically targeting joy magic in my castle. And someone else—or the same person—are attacking people under my protection. I want to know who is doing this and why.”
“I can’t speak for who is attacking our people.” Lady Aragorn leaned forward, her silver-streaked hair falling elegantly around her shoulders. “But as for the other matter, perhaps this is less about targeting joy magic, and more about targeting your bride, Your Majesty.”
“Explain.”
“It’s no secret that some members of the court question your hasty marriage.” Her voice came out silky, reasonable even. “Her presence has created…disruptions. These incidents began after her arrival.”
“You suggest my wife is responsible?” My voice cooled several degrees.
“Not responsible,” she said quickly. “A catalyst. Perhaps her magic is simply incompatible with vampire territory. It’s been known to happen when certain magical types cross boundaries.”
I recognized the rhetoric. The same arguments had been used to justify exclusionary policies generations ago, before my father’s reforms.
“My wife’s magic worked perfectly until someone deliberately sabotaged it,” I said. “We found blood runes in her workshop designed to corrupt joy magic.” I mentioned what Cyrene and I had discovered on purpose.
“Blood runes?” Broadworthy’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “That’s forbidden magic. Who’d dare such a thing?”
“Precisely.” I leaned back, studying their reactions. Most looked appropriately shocked, Lady Aragorn only frowned. “Someone in this castle knows blood magic and has been using it against my wife and, by extension, against me.”
Silence fell over the table as the implication settled. Then everyone started speaking at once.
“We must increase security?—”
“The old families should be questioned?—”
“Perhaps it’s time to consider?—”
