Page 15 of The Sundered Blade

Not one of his best talents, but he could manage in a pinch.

One of the guards opened the wide front doors, and they were met by a servant in a neat gray tunic. The woman offered them a grim nod before beckoning them to follow her down a spacious hall with a polished wooden parquet floor and numerous skylights above.

“Her Highness has been anxious for news, so I’ve no doubt she’ll be pleased to see you, Lord Kyrion.”

“I regret that my information is unlikely to bring much pleasure, but I must relay it nonetheless.” Kyrion’s voice remained deep and quiet, but it held no threat, and Vaniell wondered whether that meant he felt safe in this place.

Their path led not to an audience hall or throne room, but to a comfortable sitting room in the family wing of the palace, on the second floor. Tall windows admitted the morning light, while a plethora of lamps brightened the corners and a warm fire crackled on the hearth. The cushions and couches and curtains were all in shades of gray, green and brown, the colors of the forest that made up nearly all Eddrisian lands.

A tall woman in her mid-twenties with long blonde hair and brown eyes stood before the fire, frowning into the flames. She was dressed in hunter’s leathers over a divided green skirt, and as she turned to face them, the frown smoothed out into a smile of welcome.

“Lord Kyrion. I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you, but truly, it’s a pleasure to see anyone who does not force me to pretend.”

“And how do your parents fare?”

“Well enough.” Princess Caro of Eddris shrugged a little as her lips drew downward into a scowl of worry. “Father’s recovery will be longer, of course, but he is awake enough to be cranky that he cannot be up and about. Mother, well…”

She glanced over her shoulder before continuing. “She grows stronger every day. It’ll soon be more than my life is worth to keep her out of action.”

The night elf actually smiled. “I well understand the difficulties your situation presents. My mother is yet a force to be reckoned with, and I would not care to be the one to tell her she must rest—for any reason.”

A door on the far side of the room flew open and bounced off the wall with a bang, revealing a small, dainty woman in a green dressing gown. She held her head high but leaned heavily on a cane as she entered the sitting room at a slow but steady pace.

Her graying hair needed no crown for Vaniell to know whom he faced—the sharp snap of her dark eyes as they locked on his was proof enough of her identity.

“Kyrion ven Athanel, who the devil have you brought into my sitting room?”

“Not quite the devil,” Vaniell murmured wryly. “Though rumor has it we are at least distant cousins.”

Allera raised an eyebrow, but Kyrion merely offered her a nod of greeting.

“I am pleased to see you looking so much improved, Allera.”

So these two were on a first name basis? Vaniell filed that information away for consideration.

“Why are you here?” Allera demanded abruptly. “It will be difficult to maintain the fiction that I am dead if visitors continue to waltz in at all hours of the day.”

“We are only here to consult with Princess Caro on a matter of security,” Kyrion assured her. “But I will take this opportunity to ask—when do you intend to make your survival more broadly known? Your guards wear black, and I know that your people mourn you with great sincerity. The longer this continues, the more of their trust you risk losing.”

“It is only because of their trust that I risk this at all,” Allera responded briskly, making her way towards a worn armchair in front of the fire. Vaniell would have expected her daughter to rush to her aid, but it was clear that Princess Caro knew better than to try. She even gave a little shrug as if to say, “What can I do?”

“Once my reasons are known,” Allera continued, “the people will accept it as an unfortunate necessity. But if it comforts you, know that in Eddris, neither man nor woman will ever be asked to go to war over a lie about my death.”

And with that, her gaze turned to land on Vaniell. “Unlike in some other places I might name.”

And just that quickly, the twin daggers of grief and regret found their way between his ribs to stab him in the heart once again.

Most of the time, Vaniell could pretend that he did not feel the ache of loss, or the sick emptiness of guilt over his mother’s death. He’d learned early to box his emotions and hide them away until it was safe, but then… It had never been safe. Feelings were far too dangerous to reveal in front of those who would use them to hurt and manipulate and control, and so he never allowed anyone to see them.

Which was how he knew that his agony remained invisible as he faced Queen Allera and bowed—slightly, politely, and without his customary smirk.

“Not quite the devil,” Allera echoed, “and yet alarmingly close if all that I hear is true. You’ve evaded searches by three kingdoms while traipsing merrily across the Five Thrones, doing who knows what for months on end. So why have you appeared now, and what does Eddris have to do with your schemes? Give me some reason not to lock you up and hand you over to whichever of your enemies will pay me the most.”

Vaniell did not flinch. He had embarked on this road knowing that the charming wastrel he had always affected was a thing of the past. If he meant to become the king Garimore needed, he would have to show himself capable of more than flirting and high fashion.

So he stood before Allera with his chin tilted and his gaze direct, hands in his pockets as a small smile tugged at his lips. “You are welcome to make the attempt, Your Majesty. But consider what you have been forced to do for the sake of your kingdom’s survival, and then ask yourself—what sort of person might a bastard second son mage prince have to become in order to survive the Garimoran court?”

Caro’s eyes widened at his bluntness, and even Allera seemed taken aback for a moment. Her fingers tapped the arm of her chair as she regarded him keenly, eyes raking from his hair to his boots as she considered his question.

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