My wife, who had the roving eye
Seven tears that woman cried
I laughed to see her deep despair
But ne’er did she apologize
My wife, who had the roving eye
I manage to shut out the words, focusing instead on studying the people in the crowd, committing their faces to memory so that I can later gauge how many of them come to the coronation.
Blessed relief finally comes when the lurid song ends and the gathered audience bursts into applause.
I stand up, ignoring the confused looks that morph into fearful glances as people recognize me and whispers start in my path.
“Whether or not they’re done playing, I’m done listening,” I growl, not bothering to keep my voice down. “We need to deliver our message and get back on the road.”
Noemi rolls her eyes but stands to follow me. We pick our way through the crowd toward where her father sits. He’s a reedy, thin man in his midfifties, with peppered gray hair. His face is blotchy and red from years of overindulging.
Seated next to him is his current lady—wife number eight, if I remember correctly. The first seven didn’t give him any sons, so he had them killed. The lady is about Noemi’s age, plump and blond. She somehow looks simultaneously bored and on edge.
I let Noemi push in front of me and take the lead.
“Ah, Noemi, we heard you were paying a visit,” Lord Eisenfall says distractedly when he finally acknowledges us. He doesn’t offer us a seat or any food. “Did you travel far?”
“No, my lord.” Noemi’s voice is impressively calm. “It was barely more than a day’s ride on wolfback.”
“I trust your wolves have been well cared for?” His concern for the direwolves seems to eclipse that for his own daughter. “How’s your mother, by the way?”
“Still dead,” says Noemi.
My fists get so tight that knuckles crack, and I swallow back words I might regret later. Disrespectful fuck.
Lord Eisenfall is steadfastly ignoring me, looking at his daughter and swishing his emberwine around in his glass.
“Yes, yes, of course. Well, to what do we owe this visit?”
“We need your confirmation that you’ll attend Queen Meryn Sturmfrost’s coronation,” Noemi says, voice still level.
“Well, I’m not so sure about that,” Lord Eisenfall says slowly, then purses his lips. “After all, the Eisenfalls have been loyal to the Valtieres for as long as anyone remembers.”
I stride forward. “Cyril Valtiere was beheaded for his crimes, and Killian Valtiere has fled. Queen Meryn Sturmfrost is the heir of the true, original royal line of Nocturna. Our country needs a leader, and we have one. She wears the true, ancient crownandwields awe-inspiring power.”
The young Lady Eisenfall stares at me, mouth open. Lord Eisenfall just shakes his head, taking his time cutting a bite of food and chewing before responding.
“I’ve received word from Rabenfrost that they’re sheltering King Killian from the usurper and they’re looking for others to join their cause. It’s a compelling argument.”
His words echo Killian’s proclamation made yesterday over the bonds. I hope more Bonded aren’t defecting to that spineless fuck…
With the Dire Blade still broken, though, the wolves seem to be in disarray, rudderless. My teeth grind together.
“You’d run to a Siphon pretender instead of supporting the true queen of Nocturna?”
Lord Eisenfall takes another bite of food, then pulls a piece of gristle from his mouth. Disgusting.
“Yes, I’ve heard the girl’s accusation about the rulers being secretly Siphons all this time,” he says, pulling apart a piece of bread and dunking it into gravy until it’s sopping wet. “A bit dramatic. But then women are so often prone to flights of fancy. What can your upstart queen offer me that Valtiere cannot?”
My hand flies to the hilt of my sword, but movement behind the lord makes me pause. A drunken, red-cheeked, weasel-faced young man comes stumbling over from his seat a dozen chairs down, his glassy stare directed at Noemi.
