Page 15 of The Faceless Mage

Silence greeted that sally, so Leisa peered around the column again.

“Ah, that’s right,” the younger prince continued. “Because Father has bigger plans for you. He wants Farhall, but not enough to offer up his pride and joy on the altar of unequal matrimony.”

Danric’s jaw seemed to clench at his brother’s jab. “I hope you haven’t spoken of this to Evaraine.”

“Do you suppose she doesn’t already know?” Vaniell mocked. “I doubt a princess ever gains her majority without calculating her worth, even in a kingdom as small and relatively pointless as Farhall.”

Danric’s reply was caustic. “What gives you the right to speak of worth?” he said, sneering. “What have you ever done to justify your existence?”

“Why, agreed to shackle myself to a princess without beauty or wit,” Vaniell said smoothly. “Can you say the same, brother?”

The words stabbed, even though they weren’t truly aimed at her. But Leisa still needed to hear the remainder of their conversation, so she remained focused. She was so intent on the princes’ words, she almost missed the creeping feeling of dread that began by drying out her mouth and forming an ache in the pit of her stomach.

It felt like magic—a dark, angry swell of power—and as she pulled her awareness back into herself, Leisa could feel the pressure of a focused regard that left her hands shaking and her knees weak. Just like it had earlier that same day.

She knew who it was without turning and without seeing, just as she could feel the heat of the sun with her eyes closed.

But turn she did, and there he was—the Raven. His massive sword rested in a scabbard across his back, but that did nothing to diminish his aura of menace.

Leisa had always hated being frightened or feeling vulnerable. Perhaps it reminded her too much of the days after her parents disappeared, when she was helpless and friendless, too young to know what was happening or what to do next.

Her way of dealing with those fears had always been to attack. When she was younger, she’d fought like a tiny, snarling berserker until the king’s guards had taken her in hand and taught her tactics. Patience. Fighting skills that could keep her from being killed by the instincts that told her to rush in and destroy the fear before it destroyedher.

But now, this ruse in which she’d been forced to participate made her feel weak and uncertain, and none of those skills she’d learned were of any use. Her dagger was hidden in her room, and she couldn’t put any of these smirking Garimoran courtiers into a chokehold.

Let alone eliminate the threat that loomed before her now. She might be in a crowded ballroom, but behind this column, there seemed to be no one but her and the Raven. So naturally, when that surge of fear threatened to overwhelm her, she reverted to old habits—she attacked, with the only weapons left to her.

She said the first ridiculous thing that popped into her head. “I bet you’re nothing but a troll in a suit of armor.”

What was she, five? A real princess probably wouldn’t even think of saying such a thing.

“After all these years of doing nothing but terrorizing people, I’m surprised that armor still fits.”

Very smart. If she were any more eloquent, perhaps someone would hire her as a court jester instead of a bodyguard.

“Or maybe you’re actually dead. That would explain why you don’t speak. Or do you?”

He didn’t answer. But he also didn’t sweep out that sword and cut off her head, so she goaded him again, desperate for him to dosomething. Anything, really, as long as it made him appear human so she wouldn’t have to be afraid.

“Are the stories all true? Are you really a monster who can hunt down any quarry and has killed thousands in the name of your king?”

He was so inhumanly still, Leisa began to wonder whether she hadn’t been right about him being dead. There were dark mages who could conceivably manage that sort of thing, but she wouldn’t have thought to find one here.

“If you’re so devoted to protecting Garimore, what doyouthink of this alliance?”

It was more of a feeling than an actual movement, but she could have sworn she’d finally gotten a reaction.

“Doyouthink I’m ugly and witless and without a scrap of backbone?”

And at that, he actually twitched.

“So you do, then?” She’d found a weakness, so she pushed. “And are you staring at me because you’d like to add your own observations to the list of my imperfections? Opine on my unsuitability? Or because you find me suspicious and want to know whether I’m hiding that army of serving girls under all these flounces?”

Some spy she was. Maybe she could blame the corset. The wretched thing was clearly cutting off the blood to her brain and making all rational thought impossible.

And now, if she wasn’t careful, someone was going to find out about her talent for eavesdropping. Or that she was nothing at all like the reserved, proper princess she was pretending to be. And if the Raven informed his king of everything? Well, hopefully it was only Prince Danric who would be getting in trouble and not Leisa.

This conversation, if one could call it that, had obviously gone on long enough. She had gotten what she wanted—proof that she could act in spite of her fear—and now she really wanted to be somewhere else.

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