Somewhere between the shop door and the carriage there is a shift in the mood of my party. The general opens the door for Awri and, by default of my presence behind her, for me as well. Though the male does not so much as acknowledge my thanks as I slip into the seat beside her.
The carriage is in motion the moment the general shuts the door. A wide range of emotions play across the face of the female beside me. Anger. Speculation. Curiosity. When her turbulent features finally settle, she is clearly annoyed, waiting patiently for the general to meet her eyes.
When he does, it is only the tilt of her head and raise of her brows that beg an unasked question.
“Three weeks ago,” he begins, “Yshka approached the king, proposing an alliance of houses.”
Her brows pinch together. “And he declined,” she says with a fierce certainty, a thoughtful look passing over her features before she adds, “And then he left A’kori.”
The general nods in confirmation, Awri’s brow unfurrowing as she sighs the tension from her shoulders, her gaze growing pensive the next second.
“Yshka is Ishara’s mother,” she says to me, “Long ago, her grandsire was nearly crowned king of the feyn, and though her family has never expressly spoken out against the king, they remain a great power with a great deal of sway in the kingdom.”
“It sounds like a perfect match,” I admit.
The general’s mood notably sours and Awri chuckles as she says, “If the king wanted to wed a viper, it would be.”
“If they are dangerous, why would the king allow them to remain here?” I ask, immediately regretting the question when the general levels mewith his disdainful glower.
“Spoken like a true La’tarian,” he says, “Wedo not simply murder anyone that doesn’t fall in line.”
It takes everything I have to school my features and bite my tongue. Leave it to the male across from me to take a simple question and turn it into the most horrific assertion.
As if to alleviate the growing tension in the carriage Awri places a hand on my arm, drawing my attention and asking, “You don’t mind if we make one more stop while we are in town, do you, Shivaria?”
“Not at all.” I force a smile. How can I tell her if I do?
Thankfully, the general seems content to glower out the carriage window for the duration of our journey. A blissful, if not somewhat tense, silence falls over us. Awri is clearly lost in thought, and in this moment, I am happy to remain forgotten. My own thoughts attempt to unravel all that I have learned today.
I tuck away the knowledge that there are feyn families who would like to see the king dethroned. While I learned many years ago that the enemy of my enemy is not always my friend, there are certainly ways to leverage such animosities. If I play my hand well, I might be able to end the king without lifting a finger.
I lose track of time as we journey toward the outskirts of town, stopping outside a tall building nestled in a large, wooded grove full of playful children. We are greeted by a tall man in a navy waistcoat waiting outside the front door.
“I’ll wait here,” the general says, handing Awri a large sack before leaning back in his seat.
I half expect the male to demand that I remain with him, but he does nothing more than give me a cursory glance as I follow her.
Awri is quick to introduce me to Lias, the old man in the waistcoat. He has a thick mat of grey hair and a heavily wrinkled face.
“Boys are waiting just inside. Have been all morning.”
“I’m sorry to have kept them waiting,” Awri answers sweetly.
“Bah,” he balks, “Don’t you dare tell ’em that. They’re like to wait there every week if they think it’ll bring ya sooner. Ought to be out backplaying with the others.”
Awri chuckles. “I think I may have the solution to your problem.”
She hoists the bag off the ground and Lias smiles, tipping his head toward the door. Awri glances back to see that I’m following before letting herself inside.
Three young boys chase after one another in a large room littered with all manner of toys, the walls lined with a colorful display of children’s artwork. Their heads whip toward the door in succession, the boys beaming toothy grins when they see Awri enter. Two call her name excitedly and rush to her side. The fond smile on her face as she looks down at them is pure and genuine, adding a heightened beauty to the female that seems altogether obscene.
“Thom, Fandry.” She greets them each with a dip of her head and gestures to the thin feyn boy standing behind them. “Who is this?”
“Elian. He’s new,” says Thom, a young boy with a thick mane of dark brown hair and dark eyes. “He wants to meet the king.”
“Does he?” Awri asks, crouching down, closer to the boy’s height. “I’m afraid the king had business to attend elsewhere and doesn’t plan to return for more than a fortnight.”
The boys visibly slacken, their faces crumpling.
