I want to push him back, but my pulse is racing and loud, drowning out rational thought.
Kaidren ducks. Warm breath skates over the shell of my ear as he whispers, “If you want to give it back, you’ll have to come find me. I look forward to our next meeting, Remira Kyler.”
He’s turned on his heel and disappeared into the snow before I can uncover my mouth and reply.
CHAPTER TEN
BEHIND ENEMY LINES
The walls in the entryway of Widow’s Hall are crafted from tshira. It’s good, in the sense that I can use magic to watch Petruvia’s arrival from an adjoining room. Bad, in the sense that I can make out each anxious bead of sweat dripping down Luc’s forehead.
I don’t fare much better. My stomach’s been a churning mess of apprehension since I opened my eyes this morning. Once the Petruvians are here, I’ll have to begin the performance of a lifetime to keep Luc afloat and myself alive.
Although Virdei defeated Petruvia in their battle for control of the mountain, the true loser wasn’t Petruvia—it was Ophera, caught in the middle of a war between two more powerful enemies.
The fragile peace between Virdei and Petruvia depends on the ever-changing treaty. With each revision, they slice control of Ophera differently. Some years, Virdei comes out with more; other years, it’s Petruvia.
Ophera never wins much of anything.
It feels as if all of Widow’s Hall is holding its breath, waiting, when at long last, the front doors open. A member of the decurio enters, guiding a procession of underdressed Petruvians. They wear indigo cloaks of an expensive-looking velvet, but no sweaters, overdresses, or sjaals. They’ve only just arrived, and already their teeth are chattering.
“Honored Praeceptor.” The decurio leading their group bows. “May I present the Petruvian court.”
Luc smiles warmly as the first guest comes forward. He is tall, shaped like a barrel, and shakes Luc’s hand with a stiff smile. “I’m Taelon Night, adviser to King Pendrix. This is my wife.” He gestures to a spindly-looking woman standing just behind him. “Lorwen.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” Luc says.
Taelon’s smile sharpens into a smirk. “Yes. How nice to finally meet the new Praeceptor of Virdei.”
Luc’s pleasant expression slips slightly with his confusion. “New? This is my fifth year on the throne.”
“I’ve been King Pendrix’s adviser for over twenty years, and I’ve never seen you before,” says Taelon snidely. “Sounds new to me.”
The decurio all stiffen at the blatant disrespect.
None of the Petruvians react. They’re practically icicles in our court—cold, sharp, and pointed, and they each sport nearly identical smirks.
Luc bristles and draws his hand back. “There wasn’t a Tournament of Thrones when I took over.”
“So we’ve heard. Unsurprising to hear a Virdeian feels entitled to something they never earned.” Taelon wraps an arm around his wife’s waist, and together they stride farther into the entry hall, dismissing Luc altogether.
Luc is visibly shaken. A few decurio reach for their swords, but no one draws.
After a long silence, Luc puts on a strained smile and greets the next Petruvian, a short woman in a long, dark wig. “Amber Sansem, sir. Cousin to His Majesty King Pendrix.”
As each person introduces themselves, I write down their name and title. In addition to the ambassador and the King’scousin, there’s a commander in the Petruvian army responsible for transporting correspondence between Virdei and Petruvia; a noble who owns a large plot of land that produces most of Petruvia’s crops; and an adviser to the youngest Petruvian prince, Prince Raevin.
When the introductions are finished, Luc frowns. “I was under the impression we would be receiving a member of the royal family? Will they be arriving later?”
They’re all smirking again. It makes my skin crawl.
“Unfortunately, none of the princes could attend this year. Nor the princess. Nor any royal,” Taelon says smugly. “Perhaps they’ll attend the next Tournament, if your successor invites them.”
Successor?
Taelon is implying either that Luc will lose this Tournament or that Petruvia won’t send one of their own until he’s no longer Praeceptor.
It’s a clear slap in the face. Both Taelon’s words and the absence of any member of their royal family. The Tournament ends with treaty negotiations—at least one of the royals should be here to facilitate that. It’s not as if Petruvia doesn’t have plenty to choose from. Four princes and a princess, and not a single one is here.
