I dare steal a glance. Lord Danthrin’s normally olive skin tone is sallow.
“Your Highness, if I may …” An older, regal-looking man steps forward from the first row of seats. “Regardless of what may or may not have transpired in Freywich, Princess Romeria of Ybaris unlawfully claimed this lord’s valuable property and, given she is a traitor to the crown and an enemy of the people, all that she has done should be undone. That property should be returned to its rightful owner.” He caps that off with a dramatic flourish of his arms, as if his declaration is straight from the fates’ mouths.
Who is this lord who speaks out of turn and contradicts the king in his own throne room? For my sake, I hope he doesn’t hold the influence he thinks he does.
The king’s jaw tenses before relaxing. “Did you collect payment for this exchange, Lord Danthrin?”
“Yes, Your Highness, but it was forced on me. I would gladly return—”
“That payment was made with the crown’s funds, and therefore legitimate, regardless of who within the royal house claimed these mortals. Your request is denied. The baker and her children will remain in my household and I, their keeper.”
My knees buckle under the weight of relief from his declaration.
The king is suddenly there, his hands gripping my waist, his arms beneath mine, holding both me and my baby upright.
Gasps fill the room.
“I wasn’t going to drop her,” I mumble as another wave of shock washes over me.
“I didn’t think you would.” But he remains where he is, his hands lingering on me, his imposing form too close for my comfort.
I keep my eyes on the embroidered collar of his tunic as my cheeks flush, unsure what else to do or say except, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“How old?” he asks softly.
The unexpected question throws me off. “Only a few days,” I stammer, adding a breathy, “Your Highness.”
“Her name?”
I calm my nerves as best I can. “Suri.”
He hums, and I feel it deep inside. “That’s a beautiful name.” After another beat, his hands slip away. He steps back. “You and your children may return to your quarters.”
I find the courage to meet his gaze again. “Thank you for showing us your mercy.”
He offers an almost imperceptible nod, but his expression is somber. “I hope when the time comes, you will show me yours.” With that, he spins on his heels and strolls away, heading swiftly for a door in the back as if he can’t get out of here fast enough.
“What did I tell you, a show of power.” Corrin sidles up to me, Lilou in her arms.
“He asked for her name,” I whisper.
“And which did you give him?” A hint of panic touches her tone.
I peer down at the tiny, innocent face in my arms, relaxed in slumber once again. “The one we agreed to.”
Not the one I anointed her with in the wee hours, moments after her birth.
A traitor’s name.
CHAPTER SIX
ZANDER
“You are surprised by the witch’s betrayal?” Abarrane’s tone carries its typical scorn. I can always count on my Legion commander to mock me the first private moment she finds. In this case, Elisaf’s presence doesn’t stay her sharp tongue.
“Nothing surprises me anymore when it comes to these casters and the lengths they will reach to ensure prophecy fulfills itself. That does not mean I cannot be furious.”
Our voices echo through the tunnel in the mountain wall that separates Ulysede from the outside world. The first time we walked through here, these fifty paces felt like five hundred. But already the distance between the two portcullises is narrowing, the sense of the waiting danger beyond growing every hour since Romeria informed me of Gesine’s secret message to Mordain.
An hourglass has been flipped, and it is spilling sand. How quickly? How long before Mordain’s guild knows all there is to know about Romeria? Gesine could not say. But she freely admitted to securing paper, ink, and seal from Bellcross’s sanctum when they retrieved Ianca and tasking one of Freywich’s mortals with delivering a note to the priestess upon their arrival in Bellcross with Lord Rengard. From there, the priestess who kept Ianca hidden would know what to do.
“If it’s any consolation, that is an impossible journey. Maybe the bird died over the rift,” Elisaf offers.
“As impossible as Stonekeep lending itself to prophecy and giving us this?” I wave a hand around us. When Gesine had suggested there was more to this mountain than a sheer rock wall of ancient nymph writing, I laughed in her face. I will never make that mistake again. “She spelled the message for travel and is confident it will land in the right hands. She has proven more than capable of achieving her goals, so we must assume her scribes will soon know where to look for us.”