What’s ancient history to me is mere memory to him.
I reassure myself by focusing on the subtle press of the dagger against my thigh.
Before I can respond, Stark steps in front of me, angling his body as though he’s preparing to block a weapon’s blow.
“Stand up and greet her properly, then.” His tone is cutting.
Lucien’s attention shifts lazily to Stark, a sharp grin spreading across his face. “Ahh, yes, and as usual, the queen has brought a protector.”
There’s a brief pause during which he spins the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass. Then he stands.
The way he unfolds his tall frame and moves through his bow is deliberate. It’s practiced. Careful. But it’s also slow and shallow.
Once again, I can’t tell if I’m being disrespected.
As he rises to his full height, something glints on his crown. I narrow my eyes.
Cradled in the center is an opal similar to the one in my mother’s necklace and my own crown, and in the Mother Priestess’s ring.
Another Goddess Tear?
My heart starts to pound in my ears. What does it mean that another Tear is here in Astreona?
Lucien’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Or even the entirety of his lips. His features aren’t very yielding. “Why don’t you come sit at my side so that we can speak properly?”
“Take the opposite end of the table,” Stark advises over our bond.“Mark yourself clearly as his equal.”
I could. But then, I’m here to find out what Lucien wants. Hear what he has to say.
It’s going to be difficult enough sharing private words with him with the way the sound bounces back down from the vaulted ceilings. I don’t want to have to yell at him about how our kingdoms have been trying to murder each other for centuries andpretty please won’t you stop that?
I touch my hand to Stark’s arm, then take the seat next to Lucien. Lucien looks pleased.
His many earrings flash as he sits, and his robes fan out around his lithe body. Stark immediately thuds a little ungracefully into the chair on my other side, placing himself between me and the rest of the Siphon court.
Once Venna and Noemi are distributed along the table, Lucien subtly signalshis servants, and they open a door down at the end of the hall, allowing two armor-clad figures to enter.
Starks leaps out of his chair, ready to protect me.
“Just some light predinner entertainment,” Lucien says to us, his tone somehow both mocking and soothing. “A tradition here at my court. Don’t be alarmed.”
Their armor does look more ceremonial than practical. Golden breastplates, tinkling silver mail sleeves that end at the elbow, shining helms. The warriors—both women—draw their swords to salute their king, who claps politely. The rest of the court follows suit, so I put my hands together once before letting them fall in my lap.
Neither of the women is wearing a helmet. My eyes narrow as I study the shorter one.
I gasp. It’s the human from the Siphon town, the one we tried to save. She catches me gawking and blushes, ducking her head.
“What are you playing at?” I snap at Lucien, gesturing to her.
He blinks slowly at me. “A Siphon died. It was her fault. She neglected to make a payment, and then she resisted when her landlord came to collect. His blood is on her hands.”
Stark slams his fist on the dinner table, and a delicate glass tips over, clanking against a plate. “His blood is onmyhands. I’m the one who killed him.”
Lucien lightly shrugs a shoulder. “Alas, you are a diplomatic representative of a foreign nation. She is one of my citizens, who was raised with our laws. If she had not broken them repeatedly, it stands to reason that the Siphon would still be alive.”
My mouth tastes like ash. If we hadn’t intervened, she wouldn’t be here. But… how could we see what was happening to her andnottry to stop it?
“So you’re going to have them, what, fight to the death to whet our appetites?”
