The image of the High Lord flares to life. I startle, but Rythar merely waits.
He was expecting this.
“Your vassal performs poorly,” the High Lord says.
“The era of his kind’s rule is long ended.” Rythar says. “They were engineered only for war and destruction. It is against the stability for which Xytheos was designed. He is not a ruler by my choice.”
“No. By the Stone’s.” The High Lord frowns. “Old code is not discarded while it still runs, Warlord. The Stone set Vorak where the strongest of you could contain him.”
“You know what he is.” Rythar’s voice stays level. “I cannot prove it, but he released the serpent-panther into my Reach. Hewants what is mine, and he will do anything to get it. Even spend his own bride.”
“He wants. That is all Vorak has ever done. It is why he was never fit to rule a biome. It is also why he is useful where he is. His type is predictable.”
“Waspredictable. Now he has a bride of his own, and he has already made two accusations against my bride. What if he has harmed his Starfallen?”
“Then he is no longer running,” the High Lord says. “He is malfunctioning. Malfunctions are ended.” The words are mild, but I shiver.
“He already malfunctions,” growls Rythar.
“Bring me proof, not grievance,” the High Lord says. “You have wanted Vorak’s death for four hundred years, and the Concord Council knows it. Your word alone convicts you, not him.”
Rythar inclines his head a fraction. His head snaps up at the High Lord’s next words.
“I request permission to speak with your bride, Warlord Rythar. As a personal matter.”
Rythar’s eyes narrow, but he nods once. “Permission granted,” he says. He does not move from in front of me.
Then the projection’s attention shifts to me, even as Rythar keeps me under his arm. It’s the moment before lightning again as the High Lord’s blue eyes fix on mine.
“Starfallen,” he says. “I am certain Rythar provides you with excellent care. However, Xytheos is a new world for humans. How is your health?”
“I’m healthy,” I say carefully. “Why?”
He doesn’t answer why. His eyes flick to Rythar.
“She testifies carefully, your mate,” he says to Rythar. “The Council values care. So do I.” The light of his projection beginsto thin. “Keep her out of reach, Warlord. Vorak counts what you have. He is not the only one counting.”
The image disappears. I shiver again.
Rythar pulls me into his arms. I sink into the warmth.
“You did well,” he murmurs.
“Why did he ask if I’m healthy?”
Rythar inhales deeply, then lets it out. “You are worried enough about Sophia. I do not want to give you more to carry. You are here with me. You are safe,” he says.
I push out of his arms. “Don’t do that. Don’t keep things from me. He had to have a reason to worry about my health. What is it? He took Maya as his bride. I felt him drawn to her in a dream. Is she sick?”
He frowns. “Possibly. There are indications.”
“Whatindications?” I demand.
“Jarrett’s biome is the Astral Spire. The biome relies on shipments of food and supplies to survive. These shipments have remained stable for many years. Jarrett has requested unusual shipments into the Astral Spire.”
“That could be anything. Maybe he’s trying to give Maya gifts or something,” I say.
“Possibly. But there is more. His official work is documented. He is frequently absent from his usual scheduled appearances. I had thought perhaps he was simply spending personal time with his bride. But it seems the personal time may be focused on Maya’s health.”
