A smug smile returned to the king’s face and the druid’s stomach rebelled at the sight of it.
“I shall restore the riders to their roost. But to you—the fearsome Beast of the Bridge, I name you Aard; a proud soldier of my retinue.”
The druid sighed, but it was lost amongst rowdy cheers. Nacht said nothing in response. He nodded stiffly, and the druid felt an ache blossoming inside his chest.
Mercifully, the ceremony came to an end. Some were happy, others jilted, but most were somewhere in between. There was little change, from what it seemed. The Cearnatháns retained their standing, as did most of the noble houses. The druid supposed there was sense in it—to change too much was to create unsteady ground, and no one could build anew upon tremors.
After, there was a feast, and the guests allowed to mingle. It was then the druid was beset by vultures.
“You learn quickly of your Mistress.” Came Medhin’s acidic voice. The Sun Matron bore down on him like a storm; her dark eyes unflinching and heavy. The taunting of old was gone, replaced by sheer loathing. “How well you levy your words.”
She cornered him in the shadows of the colonnade, but they were hardly free from prying eyes. People looked over, speculating behind their palms.
The druid dropped his voice low. “I was only trying to help—”
“Help? Don’t be coy. I will not allow you his mind to poison; your milk-words upon his ears. You’re just like them.”
It wasn’t the druids that she spoke of, but another sort entirely. A sort he could not keep himself from being woven to.
Nytherí.
Uncomfortable, the druid made to leave but her words snared him in place.
“Poison seems rather befitting your kind. I hear whispering from the Augeri of thisdivine intervention. It is a wonder—the Oracle’s delirium. Just as strange and inexplicable as you.”
“I know not of what you speak. I have heard no word, nor orchestrated anything, much less murder.”
She scoffed. “Othrik was right—you are a foul witch. Your fingers full of enchantments!”
“If you feared the king’s take to persuasion, then perhaps one ought not to have warmed him till pliant.”
The priestess’ gaze grew lethal. “Who do you think you are to speak to me like this?”
“I am what you have made me.” The druid raked his teeth along his tongue. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, theQueenshould keep appearances.”
He maneuvered himself away and was swept up within the current of unfamiliar faces.
But her words hung in his head.
The Oracle poisoned?
How like the An’Atherin to explain away whatever truths proved inconvenient.
The druid stopped, his body frozen in place.
Such a thought… he had heard it before. And now the words were his.
You’re just like them.
His mind crawled back into that crypt beneath the Augeri. He remembered Nythis’ marble facade and shuddered.
“Your Majesty?”
He looked up, seeing a gaggle of noblewomen before him. They seemed something between puzzled and suspicious, but quickly corrected their faces as he glanced between them.
“Yes?” he muttered.
Their lips pulled into beaming smiles. “We thought it only proper to make introductions!”
