Chapter 56
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
LYRA
“Now that everyone is settled, let us begin.” King Yarum presses his fingertips together and leans back in his golden chair.
My eyes scan the faces around the table, a lump already forming in my throat.
To my left sits Draven—his fingers draped loosely over my thigh—and to my right is Gray.
Marcella is next to him, while Nuri sits on King Yarum’s right.
There are no guards, no advisors—there is nobody else in this lavish room, dripping with gold and punctuated by red and beige accents.
Just us and the cool breeze as it whispers in through the panes of the cracked windows, a kind reprieve to the constant warmth heating Anatheima.
Nuri speaks first. “As you may or may not have noticed, the Erandor and Rivara kingdoms have been taking quiet strides to ostracize the Anatolé Kingdom from the rest of Solaya. It has been a slow game with subtle action. Until Tynan Dalmar publicly announced that the Anatolé Kingdom refused to cooperate with their conscription request to supply more wielders to Bathara. That was the first public move they have made, and it was the moment we realized that what we have seen coming for years is finally upon us: King Erasmus and King Alastair seek to move against us.”
Draven shifts forward, bracing his elbows on the smooth granite table. “Why would they seek to move against you? What are they after?”
Nuri’s lips thin as she shakes her head. “We do not know. We have sent out our own spies to recover such information, but not even they were able to discover the truth. Resources, territory, greed, power—your guess would be as good as our own.”
“So they never actually attempted to broker an agreement with you during Bathara’s conscription?” Gray asks.
King Yarum shakes his head. “No. We received no such request.”
Gray slides his eyes to Nuri. “That’s why you reacted with such an outburst the day of the conscription announcement—you were privy to the truth.”
“Yes,” Nuri answers. “While I knew my reaction was unwise, I wanted to see if I could rattle them. If I could catch any slip of the tongue, any glimmer of information for why they were saying what they were.”
Draven’s voice is low and gravelly. “My father does not have slips of the tongue.”
Nuri sighs. “I know. Still, I had to try.”
Draven nods, as if he does truly understand. “I owe you an apology, Nuri.”
Both she and I wear the same confused expression at that.
“What for?” she asks.
“I knew what my father was saying that day was odd—was bullshit, really—and I allowed myself to get so distracted, I never followed up with you like I originally intended. If I had, maybe I could have helped intercept whatever scheme they have planned sooner.” Draven’s eyes remain on Nuri, but he tightens his grip on my leg with a comforting squeeze.
As if to reassure me that I am not the distraction nor should I feel like a burden.
I rest one of my hands atop his, a sharp warmth not a result of the heat in the room spreading through me.
Nuri inclines her head to Draven. “I appreciate the sentiment, Captain Dalmar.”
I study Nuri, then, my mind simultaneously wandering back to that night during The Founding celebration.
The way I noticed King Alastair and King Erasmus strutting off together in the opposite direction of King Yarum, leaving him behind without so much as a word.
The way King Alastair hosted members of Bathara’s council without Anatolian emissaries present, despite the clear laws in place protecting such a thing from happening.
I realize, then, that I just might be the only person sitting at this table with such insight. Which ultimately results in a quiet sigh blowing past my lips.
“Just after the most recent Founding celebration, King Alastair hosted members of Bathara’s council alongside Erandor emissaries.
The Keeper of Bathara, Josiah, was amongst them.
I waited on them while they dined. I remember thinking it odd, but at the time, I had no proof for the reasons surrounding their visit outside of idle chatter.
Well, that is until…” I glance at Gray, whose keen eyes are watching me with concerted intensity.
“...I was introduced to Josiah by Gray, and Josiah himself told me they were there for political matters.”
Gray’s shoulders visibly wobble. “She’s right,” he murmurs, face pinching together.
“He said it in front of me and I missed the weight of it completely because…well…it’s Josiah.
I’ve known him since I was a boy. My father trusts him, and my father does not place trust lightly.
” His brows furrow more deeply. “There must be some sort of reason to justify what he was doing. There has to be.”
King Yarum and Nuri exchange glances, an entire conversation passing silently between their eyes. He dips his chin at her, and Nuri nods to confirm she understands whatever it is they’ve just agreed upon.
“We fear Bathara has been compromised.”
Gray shakes his head. “That isn’t possible.”
“I assure you,” she counters, tone stern though not unkind, “it is very possible, and it has happened. I partook in the entrance exams only as a means to gather more information for my kingdom—for my people. Since gaining acceptance, I have been acting as a spy for Anatolé, and there is so much they aren’t telling us. ”
The news is a paralyzing venom.
I glance at Draven, whose tight expression remains an impenetrable mask. And outside of the tense downward curve wedged into Gray’s lips, his face is also rather unreadable. Yet Marcella? She wears her shock openly and without a shred of shame.
“How?” she demands.
Nuri looses a breath, looking for some final confirmation from King Yarum.
Subtly, he dips his chin at her. She presses her fingertips against the red granite and stands, rolling her shoulders back and straightening her spine with an authoritative flare.
“Because my real name is Nuriella Zareena Calliva, and I am the presiding princess of the Anatolé Kingdom and Heir to the Anatolian throne.”