Page 9 of Thorns and Echoes
His fingers gently squeezed hers. He wasn't shaking, hadn't gone still with fear, no indrawn breath of shock. Perhaps these few might live.
“Welcome to my court, Isabel,” the Queen said in an ice-cold tone. “If you are not here to join the tourney, then let the feast begin.”
The Nadraken representatives stood awkwardly in the middle of the hall as music began to play, and servants moved tables. Isabel's face flushed an angry red. She and her attendants belatedly shuffled out of the way.
Sometimes, it was the small things.
The court quickly settled into its usual patterns, nobles snatching food, wine, and gossip. Anais hadn't forgotten her courtesan’s blatant manipulation, but too many ears passed too closely to the Queen's table.
She stabbed a grape and turned to push it into his mouth. His tongue curling around her claw was almost enough to make her forgive him. The provocative smirk and his deliberate chewing reminded her of the last time his mouth had been put to better uses. More than a week ago. Too long.
He was spoiling her.
The fond smile spreading on her lips twisted cold and cruel. Her attention drifted from him as though bored, lazily surveying the hall. A predator looking for prey.
The Nadraken representatives were an obvious target. Even her snakes maintained a pointed distance around their table. She shouldn’t kill them – not unless they provoked her.
Their existence provoked her.
Laughter drew her attention to the Akeramian table. Her brows rose. Balak was standing on the table. Of course, he was. While she had never met the prince, he had a reputation as a ruthless and brilliant strategist at sea. The boisterous swagger was his mask.
Their eyes met briefly. He bowed with an extravagant flourish, rolled off the table, and spun into his seat. The prince would make a fine jester. She wondered if he would prance half so well on the coals.
Across the hall sat the other two ambassadors. Of note was Duchess Satryani and how she'd positioned her circle of courtiers beside the Delian high priestess. There was a suspicious red book in the duchess’ hands. Religious texts were forbidden in the palace. The goddess had no place here.
Was she praying?
Disapproval and disdain were the only appropriate expressions. If Satryani wanted to disgrace herself by associating with a cult, it was beneath the Queen's notice.
Her eyes shifted to the Shoni’i contingent.
Aurora wasn’t with her attendants.
Several figures exited the hall. Anais waited a few seconds, then made eye contact with Vern. Her steward leaned idly next to the hearth. No one was burning today. Sensitive Akeramian noses didn't like the smell of roasting human flesh. Pirates probably preferred it salted and dried.
Vern uncoiled from the wall, heading to the throne as she rose to her feet. A wave of her hand indicated that the music should continue. Almost as an afterthought, she tapped Castien’s shoulder, bidding him to follow as though he were an obedient dog.
Out of the Great Hall, the noise of the feast lessened. She walked faster. Servants stepped aside and bowed low. No nobles lingered out here. The spectacle of all five nations gathered in one room was too fascinating to miss. She should be there, too. Her, every Escort, and the rose guards, more pairs of eyes and ears to catch the subtle plays.
Measured footsteps preceded her. Anais turned the corner. “Commander Aurora, a moment of your time.”
The tall figure at the other end of the hall paused. She turned and bowed precisely correctly. “Queen Renebris. I am at your pleasure.”
Anais gestured for her guards to remain behind. To Castien, she brushed her hand against his, nudging him forward with her. It only took a second for Aurora to approach – alone.
They closed the distance like two truce bearers across a battlefield.
Anais spoke first, softening her tone. “It's good to see you after so long, Aurora.”
Aurora bowed again, her tone formal. “We are grateful for the hospitality, your highness.”
Anais swept her eyes across the hall. For the moment, there were no servants, no one to overhear. “If there's anything more we could provide for your comfort, please let the servants know. You are always welcome in Drantar.”
The other woman’s mask of soldierly indifference remained firmly in place as she spoke to her Escort. “You must be Escort Castien. I’ve heard of the famed Prince of the Night. My peoplehave traveled far and could use your skills. Are your services still available?”
The unexpected request sent a sharp denial to the tip of Anais’ tongue, but she bit down on it. If they wanted a courtesan, the palace had many – specifically requesting her Consort-to-be was an insult.
Or a test.
