Page 60 of A Courage of the Chosen

He pauses, rummaging through my emotions as he tries to ferret out uncertainty. When he doesn’t find any, he retreats back along the bridge but leaves it open, and the delicate threads of it hang unseen in the air, filling me with everything I need right now.

“As you wish,” Lord Haddow dips his head. “I’ll need a few moments to gather the supplies, if I may take my leave to fetch them from my chambers?”

“Go ahead,” I agree.

He’s quick to disappear out the door, and the others move to the far end of the room, to the cart laden with fruit, cheese, bread, and drinks. Only Lady Calder remains in her seat.

She rises and approaches me. “May I?” She gestures to Hector’s now empty chair.

I nod, and lean forward with my forearms resting on the table.

“I want it to be known before you do this, that I believe you. Every word of it. I’ve been suspicious of Raghnall and Tavish for a long time, but had nothing substantial to bring to my fellow council members.”

Could’ve fooled me.

I wait her out, not saying anything as her eyes roam over my features. “What you did with Hume? Won’t be the last of him. He’s like a cockroach, that one.”

“I can believe that. But I don’t trust him, and I should trust my advisor.”

“You should. And my initial reaction was an objective one, and not a reflection of what I think of Reyne.”

“Is there a point to this conversation, Lady Calder?”

She grins at me. “There is.” Shuffling nearer, she lowers her voice. “Hume has friends on this council. Close ones. Be careful what you say, if what I suspect about him is true.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but her eyes hold steady as though she’s trying to communicate her meaning wordlessly. I remain neutral as I consider her. “Noted. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

What I don’t tell her is that plans have already been set in motion to catch anyone who might be ‘friends’ with Hume.

“I’ve met with Lord Sellar on a few occasions now,” she continues, referring to Callahan and Rach’s uncle. “What he’s accomplished right under our noses is impressive. No one had a clue about it.”

“He was very selective about who he involved. Only those he trusted completely, and he kept himself away from court enough not to raise suspicion,” Callahan says as he joins our conversation, handing me a glass of water as he stands next to me.

Lady Calder looks up at him, regarding him openly, and without confusion or hesitation or fear. “I can see that. Especially given his ties to you. He must’ve worked hard to prove that he wasn’t aligned to your cause. It’s fascinating to see what he’s done, and there’s a lot to learn from his efforts.”

She sounds impressed, and a light gleams in her brown eyes the more she speaks of him.

“He risked a lot, but it was necessary.” Anyone who didn’t know Callahan would think he’s indifferent toward Lord Sellar. I know that they both risked their lives regularly to make sure the rebellion survived, perhaps more than anyone else, and they formed a close relationship while keeping what was happening at Morven a secret.

“I’ll meet him tomorrow?” I direct the question at Callahan.

“Aye. You’ve summoned the whole court, my queen. He won’t ignore that.” His accent wraps around ‘my queen’ with affection, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end hearing him say it.

My brain can’t make the connection, but my body is on high alert. I drop my eyes from his in an attempt to hide my confusion. Not quickly enough, though, and I catch the small pinch that forms between Callahan’s brows.

Lord Haddow returns, and the council members all gather, standing at various points around the room. Callahan hovers next to me, a silent sentry ready to jump in and defend me.

Dropping to one knee on my left, Lord Haddow carries a dull gold blade that’s long and thin, a jar of pale-yellow seeds, and a vial containing an ominous black liquid.

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” he asks.

“Yes. I want to go into tomorrow giving you all the assurance that I’ve told you nothing but the truth.”

“Okay.” Haddow lays the items on the table. “I’ll need to carve into your palm, quite deeply. And then I’ll place the datura seeds into the wound to stop it healing before adding this.” He lifts the small bottle, the contents swirling like a vortex. “When this comes into contact with your blood, it will cause you immense pain.”

“What is it?”

“This is Dubh Fìrinn, or Black Truth. An incredibly rare potion that’s derived from the gallows thistle on the Isles of Stroma. It only grows once a century under a full moon, and each thistle only produces a few drops, but that’s enough for a Seelie to speak their truth. We’ll be able to ask you one question each, and you won’t be able to lie to us.”