4. Conclave
Conclave
E ight sets of eyes watched me, the tension in the air heavy with the weight of unspoken expectations. These were the representatives of an entire nation, and I was the ultimate authority amongst them. Acknowledging that left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I am not ready for this.
You don’t have a choice. The Shadow’s voice was not cold, however firm she may have been. Petra is dead, so the burden is yours. I am yours.
Stated so plainly, the words sent a shock through me. My fingers curled into fists, knuckles scraping against the polished tabletop. There was no time to fret—no time to wonder if I could handle this. As the Shadow said: we didn’t have a choice.
Freya Anja was the first to break the tension.
“How are you feeling, Your Majesty? You took quite the fall from your horse.” Her dark braids were gathered into a simple twist that draped over her shoulder, the little golden bells tied at the ends jingling as she leaned forward.
My words lodged in my throat as I glanced around the table.
Directly across from me, Reynar’s icy gaze was unrelenting. The Thane of Clan Ylfring—his daughter, Tabitta—mirrored his stare, slender arms crossed over her chest. Though I’d known her my entire life, she and I never got along well. Much like her father.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I lied. My backside and my shoulder ached fiercely, and the pounding in my head hadn’t entirely gone away. “I’m thankful none of you were seriously injured.”
“Bumps and bruises, nothing more,” Vilke said, gaining a conciliatory grunt from Ingvar.
“The same cannot be said for much of our guard.” Reynar’s tone was cool, as frigid as his gaze.
He stroked at his short-cropped beard, a silver ring on his little finger catching the light of the candles.
“We lost twelve to the attack. If not for your Talon, Your Majesty, I fear we might be short a few heads at this table.”
My heart quickened its pace. Though I’d already admitted to myself that Corbyn saved us, it was quite another thing coming from one of the Jarlum. Was he being genuine? I never could tell with Reynar. Knowing the Jarl of Clan Ylfring as I did, this was likely a test. Nearly everything was with him.
“You are likely correct, Freyr Reynar.” I squared my shoulders. “Though Talon Arlbright should have accompanied us home, I will take responsibility for that oversight.”
Twelve good men and women were dead. And I didn’t even know their names.
Reynar raised a finger to his temple, leaning back in his seat. “My healers are tending to the wounded now. I’ve been assured they will all recover.”
I nodded my thanks. His eyes narrowed the slightest bit, inspecting me for something I couldn’t even begin to fathom. I raised a hand to my chin, stroking absently at the scar there in a nervous habit I’d had ever since gaining the disfigurement.
This time, it was Freyr Ingvar who spoke, his voice laced with annoyance. “These attacks are becoming more frequent. Twenty in the last fortnight alone across the map. That’s not counting any skirmishes at the border of their territory.”
In all the chaos after my mother’s death, I hadn’t known things were that dire. While there’s always a threat of the myrkva , I hadn’t thought we’d be set upon so close to the city. They were growing bolder, a fact that worried me more than I wanted to let on.
Ingvar’s Thane—a younger man who shared his short stature and rounded middle—cleared his throat conspicuously. The Jarl huffed out a breath before continuing, softer this time, “Things haven’t been this bad for nigh on thirty years. Have we any explanation?”
Lenn answered, “The creatures' numbers go through cycles, as history has shown us. It is merely a period of greater strife. Nothing we’ve not been through before.”
His explanation made sense, but something about the attack earlier didn’t sit right with me. Even so, I didn’t have the words to explain what that something was.
Reynar tilted his head at my Thane, his salt-and-pepper hair flopping into his face with the movement.
“Yet things are different this time.” The Jarl’s voice retained its earlier edge as he directed his unsettling gaze back at me.
“The queen is dead, murdered in her own bed by a seemingly invisible assassin who remains at large. The people of Volmere live in fear of an enemy they cannot hope to defeat on their own. We are forced to rely on help from AEldin, and they are shaky at best in their commitment to keep the myrkva contained in the Eydda Fen. What are we to make of this? What are our people to make of this?”
“We are searching for the assassin, Freyr Reynar,” I said, folding my hands atop the table.
His eyes sliced through me. Lifting my chin, I looked at each of them in turn.
“I assure you: I will not allow this killer to go free. If there is any connection between my mother’s death and the increase in myrkva attacks, I do not know.
“What I do know is that a delegation from AEldin will be arriving with a replacement Talon tomorrow , bound by a treaty we have upheld for a thousand years . Honored Jarlum, we no longer have the luxury of sitting idly by. If my suspicions are correct”—I paused heavily, scanning my gaze around the table again—“the enemy is within our walls. And more of them will soon be upon us.”
Freya Anja drew in a sharp breath, her green eyes going wide. She clutched at the pendant around her neck. “Your Majesty, you can’t possibly mean?—”
“I do,” I cut in.
“You believe the Shifters of AEldin sent this assassin, and that they are subsequently plotting our end?” Vilke questioned, one dark eyebrow arched higher than the other. Her already-sharp features looked even more severe in the cast of firelight. A shiver snaked down my spine at her look.
Though peoples of all clans lived throughout the queendom, Clan ?asgrin’s territory lay along the eastern border, closer to AEldin than any other.
Their ancestral home, Geiradlar, slept in the shadow of the Tordun Mountains, the only thing separating Volmere from the strange lands beyond.
If AEldin was preparing for war, Vilke and all the Weavers of her clan were in the most immediate danger.
Not even their groundthread, which gave them power over the various elements, would keep them safe.
“I do,” I repeated, firmer this time. “My mother is dead. One of her personal guards—a Shifter of AEldin—stands alive and well outside the door of this very room. Why did he not fight to the end like his kinsman? What was he doing when her throat was cut like a pig for slaughter?”
“Her Majesty is aware of the restrictions regarding a formal inquiry?” Freyr Ingvar asked haughtily.
“Of course,” I answered. “We do not know the details of the circumstances. But we know one thing: Talon Arlbright’s companion was slain while he was not. The pieces are not too difficult to put together.” I realized my mistake the moment the words left my mouth.
Ingvar’s face turned a startling shade of red at my less-than-subtle dig at his intelligence. Gods, I was making a mess of this.
Lenn stepped forward, drawing their attention away from me. “What Her Majesty means to say is that it would be foolish of us not to consider every possibility.”
Reynar’s gaze lifted, training on Lenn’s face like a wolf sighting its prey. “ Is that what Her Majesty means, brother?”
It was as if a fog settled over the room, stifling in its weight. The two men stared daggers at each other. Brothers they might have been, but there was no love lost between Lenn and Reynar.
My breath stalled in my chest as my eyes darted around the room.
The other Jarlum looked to one another nervously, Freyr Ingvar the most obvious one of them.
The aging Jarl of Clan Riis pulled a cloth from some hidden pocket to dot the sweat from his wrinkled brow.
Vilke leaned back in her chair, whispering something over her shoulder to her Thane as her dark eyes flitted about the room.
I made to snap at Reynar for his impertinence, but a glint of silver on the table before me made the words die in my throat. Mother’s signet ring, a simple band of silver with a plate bearing an engraving of the hawk. But not hers anymore. Mine.
It flashed from its place upon my pinky as I drummed my fingers on the table. Reynar was trying to provoke me by challenging Lenn, but I couldn’t take the bait. These people looked to me now. I had to appear capable, no matter how untrue that was.
Slowly, I rose from my chair, hoping the pace portrayed intimidation, rather than giving away that my legs quaked beneath me. The Shadow roiled beneath the surface, swirling against the edges of my control combatively. My fingers curled into fists at her intrusion.
Stop it. A threat, more than a request.
Assert your authority, she snarled. Why are you holding back, Asvoria?
My fist hit the table with a thud and all eyes snapped to me. I wasn’t sure if it was my own fear or their apparent uncertainty, but my hold on the darkthread trembled.
Enough.
My voice echoed through my mind forcefully. Whatever the Shadow heard in that word sent her slinking back to her corner. For now, at least.
“All that I know,” I said aloud, gazing at the faces in front of me, “is that one of them was not there to protect my mother when he should have been. That is enough to plant the seed of suspicion in my mind. A thousand years we’ve had peace.
A thousand years they have kept their end of the treaty, as we have ours.
“No Erling queen has ever died by an assassin’s hand under the so-called protection of the dragons.
Not until my mother. He did not uphold their promise to protect the Erling queens with their lives.
What does that mean?” I gave each of the Jarlum a pointed stare, keeping my face stern.
I was not the weak and frightened girl they imagined. I couldn’t be.