Chapter 7 Isabel #2
“Melucians? What in Irina’s name were Melucians doing anywhere near my family? Are you people complete idiots? Does the number of soldiers streaming toward the border tell you nothing of our intentions toward our neighbor?”
Each of the men stared at the table, unwilling to meet my gaze.
Except Danai. He fought to hide another grin.
“Your . . . Majesty, the late King insisted these were simple war games. Surely, you can’t blame the men at Council for misunderstanding the Crown’s intentions?” Danai spread his hands wide. A trickle of amusement floated from him into me, and I resisted a smile of my own.
“Fine. Jess is gone. She has abdicated her responsibilities again—which means she has also abdicated her throne. From this point forward, until Kendall comes of age, I will assume the role of Queen Regent. The nation is at war, and a firm hand is required. Are there any objections?”
I looked from one man to the next until I’d made it around to Wilfred. The Sherriff shuffled uncomfortably in his seat and struggled to speak.
I cocked a brow. “Yes, High Sherriff? Something to say?”
The war in his mind was plain in his eyes. Through my Gift, I felt terror, grief, and . . . The man was hiding something. I almost laughed at the thought of him trying to keep secrets from me.
“Sebastiano, you have been a friend to the Crown for so many years. You practically helped raise our children. Your boy was even wooing my daughter,” I said in as soothing a voice as I could muster. “What are you not telling me?”
He looked away, then toward Danai, then to Bril.
“I am here, Sheriff.” My voice was a lash across his face. “Answer me. What are you not saying?”
“Jessia is Queen. She is your daughter. Please, don’t do this.”
I stared down. Of all the things . . . Sebastiano was loyal to Jess. That could not be. She was impetuous, impertinent, and every other quality a teenage girl possessed that made her impossible to tolerate. She could never be Queen. The thought was preposterous.
Then I realized it wasn’t Jess to which he clung. He saw her nature as clearly as the rest of us. I could not count the number of conversations he, Alfred, and I had had over the years, usually over a bottle or two of strong wine, in which we wrung our hands over the girl’s latest tantrum.
It wasn’t Jess he sought to cherish. It was the principle lawmen prized above all else: order.
Of course.
“Sebastiano, rest assured, we will do things the proper way,” I soothed. “Once this war is won, I will call a conclave of nobles to codify her abdication and Kendall’s ascension. The line of succession is sacrosanct and should remain so.”
His knuckles whitened as his fists balled on the tabletop, and his gaze hardened.
When he spoke, his words began as a hoarse whisper and grew into a writhing storm.
“You can’t be Regent. You murdered our King and Prince Justin. You should be arrested and tried for treason, not given power. You are a traitor to the Crown.”
I raised my right hand, palm upward, and a ball of magical flame appeared.
It was a pinprick at first, but quickly grew to the size of a man’s head, swirling and licking like the hungry beast it was.
I flicked my wrist and the ball divided in two, one darting toward the Sheriff and vanishing into his chest, while the other continued hovering above my hand.
The Sheriff’s eyes widened.
He leaped to his feet and tore at his gold-banded collar.
His eyes flew wide, and sweat erupted from his forehead. His pale face turned pasty white, then deep crimson.
A curl of smoke slivered out of one ear as the magical fire boiled him from inside.
Wilfred staggered and stumbled backward against the bar. Within seconds, his breath failed, and flames erupted across his face and chest, spreading to his dark shirt and cloak.
He fell to the floor and writhed in agony, screaming for someone to end his suffering with a quick death.
No one moved. Even Captain Proctor stood rigid, his face frozen in horror.
The Sheriff’s skin riddled with burns as flames raced from head to toe like some school of predatory fish devouring newfound prey. The putrid smell of smoldering flesh followed a sickening sizzle as his skin burned away.
I glared down at the dying man, my palm still filled with magical flame.
“The fire will not kill you quickly. It burns deliberately, with a mind of its own, taking each organ to the brink of failure, yet leaving it alive, before moving to the next. Your heart will remain untouched, and magic will sustain you, but your eyes, your lungs,
your skin—everything else will burn. Your blood will boil until every part of you teeters on death’s door. Only then will the fire consume your heart and release your spirit.”
I stared a moment, then casually turned back to the men seated around the table, each staring in shock. Even Danai’s face was ashen.
“The Sherriff’s objection is noted. Anyone else?” I asked, as if ticking off items on an agenda.
Still, no one spoke.
“Good. Now, to my wayward daughter.” I looked at Captain Proctor. “I do not want to see you again until Jess is standing in front of me.”
“But, Your Royal Highness . . .”
I flicked the ball of fire in my palm at the guard.
He panicked and began beating at the flame that clung to his golden armor and spread across his bulky frame.
A second later, I waved my hand and the fire vanished, leaving his armor and chest unharmed.
He stared down at his unburned hands, trembling.
“Bring my daughter back to me, Captain,” I commanded through gritted teeth.
Proctor didn’t quite run out of the room, but he moved as quickly as his wounded dignity would allow without meeting the eyes of anyone else. When the door slammed behind him, I turned back to the wide-eyed men of my Council.
“No more talk of war games. Tonight, we discuss our invasion.”