My jaw drops. I can't believe what I'm hearing.
Seriously? We're at the brink of a war and he didn't even think to tell me?
“An attack of that magnitude is improbable,” a beauty in deep purple says. “Our castles are well guarded, often by demis. The rebels must realize that would be suicide.”
The delicate woman so inclined to criticize my kind sneers. “And yet they’ve brazenly struck blow after blow at us the last few years. They might dare start a civil war throughout Xhera. We’ll crush them, though.”
“Will you? Don’t get me wrong, you might end up victorious in the long term. But if every common rebel of Xhera were to focus on six points all at once, and you’re unprepared?” The woman in black seems amused. “I’d say heads are going to roll. Not that it has anything to do with us. I don’t see the Darklands targeted.”
I surmise who she is now. Valina Frejr, the leader of the Darklands, and head of the greatest clan of witches in Xhera. No wonder she's unruffled.
Zale doesn't seem impressed by her.“If we fall, who do you suggest might be the target of the new regime?”
“I can handle common soldiers," the witch replies.
No one respects my kind at all here, and we don't have a single voice.
A young man, crowned and serene, who until then was silent, smiles pleasantly at her.“The might of five countries against you? I’d pay to see you fall.”
“You already did. Twice. I’m still here." Little as I like any of them, I have to admire the witch's confidence. “Let’s vote, as the boy says. All those in favor for reinforcing the capitals and Magnapolis?”
Zale’s hand shoots up, but no one else's joins his around the table.
Seeing movement around me, I look around, noticing that in the boxes around mine, some of the men and women are also taking part in the vote.
I remember what Zale told me earlier: I don't have a voice here.
Not yet.
I will next time. I'll see to it.
The holy man stands toannounce, “Five hundred and thirty-three votes. The motion is dismissed.”
* * *
The woman studying me with her unflinching stare looks much younger than me, and carries herself with the kind of nonchalant confidence I've only seen in people like us—those at the top of the food chain.
"What makes you think I remember a party some fifteen years ago?"
That's how she's going to play it? "I don't know…maybe because there was a massacre in the middle of the night after you left."
"That's fair,"Valina Frejr admits. "Well, your father wanted my help, and he kept bothering my sons and daughters, so I went to tell him in no uncertain terms that I wasn't interested. I didn't remain long, and saw almost no one."
I sigh, frustrated. She could be lying, but I doubt it. She has too much power to bother with subterfuge. "What did he want from you?"
"Protection." She has the decency to make a face. "Clearly, he needed it.I'm sorry for what happened to your family, Devar. You children didn't deserve it."
I note how she talks of my siblings and me, but doesn't say a word of my predecessor. "What did he need protection from?"
"He didn't say," she states. "And if you want my advice, I wouldn't waste my energy on revenge. I'm sure nostalgia has colored your perception, but your father was…"
"Cruel, cold, and selfish," I finish for her. "What of my sister, the other children? What of my mother, and the other women whose only sin was ambition?"
The witch sighs. "He didn't say," she repeats. "But I know many threats were made against him because of his decision to reestablish indentured service."
That's the first I hear of that. "We've not had indentures for centuries."
"And had your father had his way, you wouldn’t be saying that now. The motion was buried with him. See, retaining control of both of the islands, and pleasing himself as well as all his women was growing expensive. Claiming slaves in all but name for the debts of their families seemed like a good way to replenish the royal coffers, I suppose. That's the last in a long list of egocentric decisions that marked his rule."