Page 80 of The Uncrowned Prince

Karreya took up a rear guard, well behind Grendish, so she could ensure that he did not intend to stab anyone in the back or signal to his own guards. And as best she could tell, he did nothing but growl incoherently under his breath as they left the hall, followed by swelling murmurs of speculation. She was also aware of Irian guards tracking their party’s movements, but their scrutiny did not particularly bother her. Vaniell’s choice of venue for this confrontation was intended to avoid violence, but if violence did occur, she was more than prepared to provide a safe exit for those under her care.

The path they took was quite familiar, leading through the garden courtyard, beneath the arches on the far side, and into the atrium, where she’d thoroughly humiliated the royal guards on her previous visit.

Fortunately, no one in their present company seemed to be looking closely enough to recognize her. A bodyguard was nearly always invisible, except to other guards, and those all had their eye on Kyrion—the far more obvious threat.

Once their party entered the atrium, Faraden took a turn and led them through the elaborately carved double doors into the larger council room on the left.

It seemed designed for more formal occasions, as the walls were draped in tapestries rather than remaining bare. The council table and chairs bore gilt etchings, and on the far side was a dais, where a single dark wooden chair rested, allowing its occupant to overlook anyone seated at the table.

The deceptively simple throne was presently surrounded by a dozen more guards and occupied by a young boy in embroidered blue robes. His hair and eyes were dark, his face drawn by exhaustion and grief, but he did not appear afraid, and he was regarding the newcomers with a gravity far beyond his youthful stature.

“Prince Vaniell of Garimore.” The boy’s voice was still high, but clear and steady. “I have long wished to meet both you and your brother. I only wish it might have happened during happier times.”

Vaniell approached the throne, bowing his head in a gesture of respect before speaking.

“As do I, Your Highness.”

“Well?” The First Councilor turned to Vaniell as the door swung closed, his expression stern and unforgiving. “You have created a disturbance among our guests for the purpose of requesting an audience. We have granted that request out of an excess of courtesy and no small amount of curiosity. Perhaps you would be good enough to explain yourself?”

Clearly, he knew of Vaniell by reputation, and what he had heard did not impress him.

“Most particularly,” he added in a hard, dangerous tone, “we would like an explanation of why you appear to be traveling through our kingdom in the company of your father’s most infamous assassin. One who was commonly believed to be no longer in Garimore’s employ.”

At the word, Karreya’s every sense went on alert. They could not mean her, so who was his father’s assassin? Was this why Vaniell had insisted on Kyrion wearing a dark cloak and gauntlets?

Vaniell, for his own part, did not appear even slightly affected by the accusation. He merely took a step to the side and gestured for his two companions to approach the dais. “Please allow my guests to introduce themselves.”

Four of the young prince’s guards rushed to block the path to the throne as Leisa and Kyrion stepped forward, the latter lowering his hood and drawing back his cloak to reveal what lay beneath.

Audible gasps filled the room at the sight of a night elf among them.

“Your Highness.” Leisa curtsied, not too deeply, but with a clear indication of respect. “I am Leisa vir Lythienne, daughter of King Soren of Farhall, sister to Queen Evaraine, and more recently, Wyvern Queen of Dunmaren by marriage.”

Eyebrows shot up all around the room.

“I come to you together with my husband, Kyrion ven Athanel, Wyvern King and ambassador of his people to the Five Thrones of Abreia. You are correct that he was once known as The Raven, an assassin in unwilling service to the king of Garimore. But that, Your Highness, is part of why we are here. As you can see, my husband is now free of the enchanted armor that once enslaved him, and I pledge on my life that we mean no harm to the Throne of Iria or any of her people.”

A Garimoran assassin? Had Grendish known? Karreya shot him a quick glance, and found him watching the proceedings with a distinctly green cast to his features, as if every bit of his blustering confidence had been drowned in sick apprehension. All around him, the Irians in the room seemed to freeze, like small furry rodents caught in the gaze of a cobra.

Whoever the Raven had been, his reputation had been formidable, and Karreya could not help thinking wistfully of their duel. If only she’d had a weapon…

For his part, the young prince appeared slightly pale, but he did not fail in matters of courtesy.

“Then we welcome you to Iria, Your Majesties.” As he spoke, he made a hasty gesture that summoned Faraden to his side. The two held a quickly whispered conference before the councilor straightened to address Kyrion and Leisa.

“We apologize for being unaware of your presence among us,” he said gravely, almost as if in reprimand. “Our thanks to Prince Vaniell for his service in making you known, though we also extend our regrets for our failure to offer an appropriate welcome. What is it that brings you here?”

Karreya could have laughed at how precisely Vaniell had predicted this confrontation. They’d needed Grendish to confirm his identity, before he, in turn, could confirm Leisa’s. Now it was Leisa’s turn to set the trap…

“Grave news,” Leisa answered, “from both Farhall and Eddris.”

“If you come to tell us of the deaths of Queen Allera and Queen Evaraine at the hands of imperial assassins,” Faraden responded wearily, “Ambassador Grendish has already done so. Unless you have anything significant to add or any solutions to offer, I must insist that you not waste our time. We have much to do preparing to face the threat at hand, and little time in which to do so.”

“I beg your pardon?” Leisa blinked as if in confusion. “There seems to be some mistake.”

“And what might that be?” Faraden’s arms crossed over his chest. “Allow me to remind you that our own King Trevelian and his beloved wife have only recently met with the same fate, so do not presume to tell us it is impossible.”

Leisa bowed her head. “Know that you have only my deepest sympathies for the depth of this tragedy. It is a grievous thing to lose a parent, and the weight of losing both in a single day cannot possibly be measured.”

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