Page 65 of The Heir's Bargain

Graeson, however, did not care if his words hurt the young woman, for he pressed on, "Your visions have provided us with nothing of use. We know as much as we did when my mother sat in that same seat over two decades?—"

"Graeson," my mother hissed.

The council shifted in their seats, unsure what to do as Graeson's burning gaze turned as bright as steel.

Graeson was not a cruel man, but he was not a kind man either. He knew what he wanted and did not care if someone got hurt in the process. He didn't enjoy the games of politics nor appreciated the need to ask for more information. Many advisors questioned his presence in these meetings—at least, they did so within the safety of their minds.

When Graeson was younger, he lacked control over his gift. Even to this day, he struggled to keep ahold of it. But he was like a son to my mother and a brother to Terin and me. His place was here, no matter who questioned it.

But being here seemed to be the last thing Graeson wanted to do.

The muscles in his jaw flexed, and a sea of emotion swam in his gray eyes, a storm of anger, incredulity, and hunger.

I sympathized with his anger. His mother was the best seer to have graced Pontian lands, and she, like my father, had been taken from the world too soon. From what my mother told us, Lysanthia's visions were clear, precise, and nearly always accurate.

What I did not sympathize with, however, was him taking his anger out on the young seer. Any chance Graeson could get, he questioned Yelsania.

No matter his reasons, she did not deserve his wrath.

I peered at Graeson with his hands rolled into little balls and his tan knuckles blanching. I knocked on the doors of his mind, and his gaze met mine instantly.

After a tense moment, his fists uncurled.

"Our island, once impenetrable, is changing." My mother folded her hands in her lap as she rolled her shoulders back. "Captain Squires and his crews have relayed that they have seen the kraken less and less on the Red Sea each passing year. It is only a matter of time before our enemy decides to try their luck and venture north."

Graeson pounded a fist on the table, shaking the goblets filled with water. "Then we must?—"

My mother lifted a hand. "In time, son."

Graeson sat back with a sneer, his anger seeping into the air. His gaze met mine, and I merely arched a brow.

Since he came of age, Graeson had been begging to take revenge on the kingdom that attacked us. How could I blame him, though? We had all lost something that night.

One day, they would pay.

Unfortunately, today was not that day.

Nor was it a month ago.

Or two years ago.

Or fifteen years ago when the enemy kingdom first attacked.

At first, I was angry like Graeson. I still was. Over the years, however, I had learned to sit and listen. To study the way my mother led. How she remained calm even when the seer brought news of yet another vague vision of fires burning the sea, of the Red Sea earning its name as its waters became tainted with Pontian and enemy blood alike.

I had learned that my mother’s calmness was not a sign of indifference. It was a sign of strength, a sign that she was calculating the perfect time to strike. But the question we were all wondering was when?

My father might have been gone, but my sister was still out there.

Last time, we had been unprepared. This time would be different.

So, maybe it was the new title or the desire to prove myself worthy of it, but I had enough of sitting and listening.

"We have spies in the southern kingdoms," I said, cutting through the silence.

My mother nodded.

"The spies have information. That is their purpose, is it not?" I asked.

---