“Turns out we have a pigeon house,” Xyrath held the paper so she could read it.
“Coop, your majesty,” the thin man corrected.
“Whatever,” Xyrath said. “Hundreds of pigeons, and this man cares for them.”
Caris tried to hold her breath against the foul smell.
“The teeny-tiny handwriting,” Xyrath marveled. “Orval certainly knows how to say quite a bit in a few words.”
“Orval?”
Caris didn’t need to hear the distaste in Satia’s voice. The cold ice of the Bond was more than enough.
“Oh yes, all good,” Xyrath said. “He’s established himself and his family in the Keep, if you can believe it, with the help of the locals.”
“Did he,” Satia said flatly.
Caris glanced at Tarwain. His face was bland, but his eyes were dark.
Xyrath continued, oblivious. “Also says they are searching for the best, pure white marble for our project, still needs to be quarried, mind you. Asks for credit against taxes and tithes.” Xyrath let the paper roll back up. “Smart man, my cousin.”
“Yes,” Satia said darkly.
“I asked the pigeon keeper here if we could send the pigeon back, with a note, but apparently it doesn’t work like that.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” the man squeaked. “The birds need to be trained, and then—”
“Yes, yes,” Xyrath grimaced. “Best we can do is get a messenger off, or even better, send Master Sculptor whats-his-name with our message, so he can supervise.” Xyrath puffed up a bit. “He’s already made fine sketches. He’s including a sword, a shield, and a few skulls of my enemies at my feet.”
Satia took a very long breath.
Xyrath frowned at the slip of paper. “Takes forever for messages to travel. Maybe we should have the Mage Guildmaster do another portal or two, it would save months of travel time.”
“The cost,” Satia said through a clenched smile.
Xyrath nodded. “You are right, dearest.” He raised her hand for another kiss. “Another thing to discuss at council, I will see you there.” He bowed and headed off.
“Come, lads,” he called. “Let’s go see the Master Sculptor. He will be thrilled. And you, pigeon keeper. Walk with me and explain how we can whip these birds into shape.”
There was an odd silence as the King departed. Satia watched him go with narrowed eyes.
Lord Marshal Tarwain lingered behind and broke the silence with a bow. “Could I escort you to the gardens, Your Majesty?”
“My thanks,” Satia extended her hand. “Perhaps you could stay and talk for a while?”
“Alas, I cannot,” Lord Tarwain said as they began to walk. “The council meets before the formal session to discuss how to approach your majesties concerning the issue of taxes. I thought I might sound out some of the councilmembers, see how they feel about the cost of the army, the fact that the treasury must be maintained.”
Caris and the others followed silently.
“You will support us?” Satia asked.
Lord Tarwain made a noncommittal humming sound that grated on Caris’s nerves. “It now appears that I will not be the Lord High Baron of the Black Hills,” Tarwain said.
“I am sure it’s a temporary—”
He interrupted the Queen. “My daughter is still taking the lessons with that mage.”
“Who I am still paying for,” Satia responded, nettled. “With no luck searching for the key.”
