Page 185 of Silverbow
“I would consider whatever this is to be one of them. What exactly are you doing, Enya?”
She fluttered dark lashes up at him, setting his blood roaring in his ears as she said, “I’m going to war.”
War.The word echoed through his head like the gong announcing the royal arrival. He was grateful Alsbet had artfully arranged to be closeted away with the Master of Coin on some matter that surely violated customso that the man might not see his knees buckle. He’d hardly gotten ahold of himself when she tugged him along, dragging him up the dais steps.
Ralenet was already seated at Leon’s side in the place of honor that usually belonged to him. The empty chair at the High Lord’s other side was meant for Enya, at Ralenet’s request, but Oryn took one look at his smug smile and all but shoved her into the seat beside Alsbet. Amusement flickered across her face as she quirked a brow at her daughter’s handiwork.
“Divine,” she muttered.
“Prince Brydove,” Ralenet drawled as Oryn took the chair at his side.
He only managed to incline his head in greeting, hardly hearing Leon’s address or the subdued applause from his kin.War.The word settled deep in his core, wrapping itself around his bones. Oryn prayed to all five gods she had been speaking figuratively, but when he tallied her score across Estryia, he realized that was a fool’s hope. She’d been fighting her own personal war since Innesh even if she claimed to be nothing and no one.
As he stared blankly out at the Great Hall, he was afraid to contemplate what kind of warfare involved that kind of dress. He supposed she could have a dagger hidden somewhere she intended to drive into Ralenet’s heart. That was perhaps wishful thinking, but he sent a phantom breeze toward his companions. He met Colm’s gaze and darted a look to Ralenet’s personal guard in silent warning. By the way Bade was already eyeing the men, the signal to be on alert may have been unnecessary.
In a poor show of manners, the High Lord of Pavia leaned forward to speak to Enya across the prince and princess. “Funeral black,” he tsked, his eyes roving boldly across her chest. “In Drozia?” His own brocaded silk coat bore enough gold to look at home in Leon’s hall.
“I heard you like your women in black, Peytar,” she answered huskily.
Oryn’s stonebrew almost came through his nose. He coughed into his napkin, eyeing her over Ralenet’s head. No, this was not the sort of warfare he expected from Enya Silverbow.
The man chuckled and flicked a brow his way in answer. “And I heard you like your menold.”
Enya raised a goblet to her lips. “Lucky for you, my lord.”
Ralent’s cold smile didn’t falter. “It is a shame Louissa couldn’t join us. I’m sure she’d love the chance to leash your mutt.”
Enya’s face remained smooth, but Leon growled a warning. “Remember where you are, Peytar.”
The High Lord chuckled. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten, Prince. Say, Lady Ryerson, have you trained this one to come when you call?”
Rage was rippling off Oryn like heat in a desert as he contemplated hurling the man from the high table.
Enya, unperturbed, fluttered dark lashes at him. “Why, Peytar? Do you want to come when I call?”
“I’d like to-”
Alsbet cleared her throat loudly. “There are children at this table,” she hissed, her gaze rotating between the Estryians. “I thought you lot set much store by propriety.”
Oryn cast a look around at his nieces and nephews. Orimum stared at his plate, his eyes wide. The Second Prince of Drozia certainly hadn’t been prepared for this evening either, but to Enya’s other side, Gitaela sipped her wine casually, the corners of her mouth turned up in a faint smile. He should have worried more aboutthatalliance.
“Forgive us, Your Highness,” Ralenet drawled. “Neither Lady Ryerson nor I were raised with courtly manners.”
Oryn sent up a prayer of thanks to Simdeni for whatever serving woman at his back dropped a whole bottle of stonebrew at his fingertips. Leon swiftly turned to matters of trade.
Enya
It wasn’t her gift at all that Peytar Ralenet was interested in. It was her name.
She had realized that the moment Hylee had shown her the vision of her mother, but it was Alsbet who filled her in on the High Lord’s meteoric rise to power. From a low merchant family to the king’s Master of Coin was a remarkable climb up Estryia’s social ladder. There was only one rung left.
King.
But to achieve it, he needed legitimacy. He needed a name. It wasn’t a bounty at all. It was a bride price.
When he bowed over her hand and asked her for the dance of honor, she acquiesced with a flutter of lashes. She could feel Oryn’s eyes on her back as theHigh Lord led her from the dais and out onto the floor. She could feel all the eyes of Drozia upon them. The Great Hall seemed to be holding its breath.
She’d expected the Estryian waltz, had practiced it for hours with Alsbet’s ladies-in-waiting, but she hadn’t expected how roughly Ralenet would pull her in close. Enya nearly stumbled in her shoes. Gitaela had insisted on them. She had to hand it to the princess, they made her tall enough he could not look down his nose at her, but spinning across the floor, they suddenly seemed like a hazard.
