Skyre scowled. Such things were long settled. They had been for a generation. He would ride south and tell Ûvain what he had told his men—the Vaich would not accept a rival. If the east and the south were getting loud, he would go and silence them.
“As I said, we’ll begin in the south—”
“It will be too long,” said Nacht from the shadow.
Skyre squinted at him. “Dinnae slink about, Aard Nacht. You’re an honored member of my Féin. Now, come here and say what is the matter.”
Nacht’s expression was unmoving. “His Majesty must begin in the north; it will be a swifter ride to Annath. The east is unchecked. The border untamed. You should not waste time. I told you—”
“Yes, yes… I’ll send your boys back east tonight.”
“If the Béig Úil says it is precarious, then you ought to take it seriously,” said Jor. “The Dúnan Toor are restless. We shall see to them.”
Skyre snapped. “With what authority do you speak?”
“You named me advisor,” Jor reminded him. “Thus, I’ll advise. Unless of course, you are all word and bluster?”
“My word could not be more honest,” said Skyre.
But it was the word of another who had set that path.
“Good,” said Jor. “I have already drafted your proclamation.”
“On whose command?” he growled. “I appointed you advisor, not proxy.”
“I only wish to make your work short.” Jor placed the parchment on the table. “Aard Rask and I have spoken at length, and with Aard Nacht we both agree—this is the route we should take. Allyouneed do is sign it.”
“You—” Skyre stilled himself, watching their expectant gazes. If he bit out now, the council would think him petty. It was but a route, a road to take. Yet, to be gone over on so small a thing…
Every speck of his control was being buffed away, till all that was left was a polished mirror, reflecting his cracking face.
Six stony eyes watched him.
“A simple matter,” he grumbled.
“Indeed,” said Jor. “No objections, I presume?”
“Of course not.”
Rask cleared his throat. “Then let us get on with it. We’ll prepare for the Mût.”
“Aye,” said Skyre. “We will.”
When the war chamber had emptied, Greyv turned to him and said, “It’s no matter. Just political humdrum.”
“Right,” said Skyre as his friend hooked an arm over his shoulder.
“It’s done with. Let’s head back to the party.”
But Skyre didn’t feel like partying anymore. He said, “It’s late and my queen will need supper.”
Greyv scrunched his nose. “Throw him a bone and be done with it. We’ll have something brought up to the hall.”
“That won’t do and you ken it.”
“Do I?” Greyv’s solitary laugh was filled with contempt. “He’s beneath you, Skyre. Your place is here. You’re a king, not a house husband.”
Not three months ago he would have agreed. Being Vaich meant a life of revelry… or that’s what he’d thought.
