5. Chapter 5 #2
Before the threat could curdle in their thick skulls, she turned to the final man beside her father.
“Lord Castedrass, you’re in charge of mining. Who mines what where, making sure safety measures are in place, guaranteeing we have all the material we need, both for ourselves and to meet our new obligations to the dwarves.”
The beady-eyed man licked his lips and nodded, a smile dancing on the edges of his mouth. “Your Majesty.”
Zadé’s boot slid from the table to the floor with a thud. “Speaking of mines and safety measures, Princess…” She swallowed, coughing as the human nobles gasped at the misuse of Aliya’s title.
No doubt they thought it was intended as an insult. Aliya flinched and exhaled, wishing by all the mages Zadé hadn’t slipped up so publicly. It would do nothing but inflame the tension between the humans and elves.
“I mean, Your Majesty,” Zadé corrected, “we need to speak about the Brisimin Labor Camp.”
Aliya blinked. “The what?” She’d never heard of such a place.
Elessan crossed the room in three strides and clamped his hand on Zadé’s shoulder. “Now is not the time,” he whispered in Elven.
Zadé batted his arm away. “Why not? We’re in a council meeting. Now’s the perfect chance to discuss it.”
The edges of Elessan’s mouth hardened.
“He’s right, general.” Princess Tsara’s clear voice rang across the chamber. “That’s a private matter we can talk about later. And sit down, Svialto—it gives me shivers to have you lurking in the shadows.” She turned her attention to Aliya. “We also need to consider your supply of Whisperers.”
The soft rasp of wood over stone as Elessan pulled out the chair next to Zadé echoed in Aliya’s ringing head.
She longed to demand that no, they were going to tell her what this labor camp was but her gaze flicked to the flat faces of the human nobles and she bit back the words. Tsara was right—this looked to be an emotionally charged conversation, and she couldn’t afford to stumble into it blind.
Elessan met her eyes and shook his head, the movement barely perceptible.
She swallowed the impulse so hard she choked. Fine. They’d discuss it later. Turning her focus back to the elven female, she raised her eyebrow. “What about the Whisperers?”
Tsara adjusted her weight so she was sitting more upright, if that was even possible. “How many you have, and how you’re going to go about deactivating them.” Her intense eyes bored into Aliya.
The princess’ words were like a freight barge, threatening to plow Aliya over before she had the chance to collect her bearings. The Whisperers had been the furthest thing from her mind since Malkov’s head had been separated from his body. After all, she had no intention of ever using them.
She ran a hand through her hair, pulling a few stray strands away from her face, wishing for all the world she could put this conversation off until she had time to figure out the answers.
But this question was important to Tsara, and Aliya understood why.
She’d want to know, too, if Whisperers had been used in war against her people.
“Um…” Aliya turned to the nobles, each staring at the elves with expressionless faces. “How many Whisperers do we have?”
The silence stretched.
“How many?” she asked again, glaring at them.
“Daughter.”
Aliya almost jumped at her father’s quiet voice. Mastering her reaction, she spun on him. “Do you know?”
“The most recent count, I believe, was less than five.” He nodded apologetically to Tsara. “Though, as I’m sure you are aware, the master artificer was the only one familiar with how to activate and deactivate them.”
Elessan swore under his breath as a lump of lead congealed in Aliya’s gut.
The master artificer, who had escaped last night with the help of the Arcane Inquisitor.
If only it were appropriate for a queen to swear. She could think of a few choice words she’d love to shout to the sky. She sighed, her shoulders dropping. Of course, they couldn’t have discussed this yesterday, before Brooks had absconded with Garrick.
Aliya massaged her temples with her fingers. Valek, what she wouldn’t give to not have to deal with this right now.
Jalius, who had been so quiet for the rest of the meeting, raised his hand. “Your Majesty?”
She tilted her neck from side to side in a vain attempt to relieve some tension in her back, then turned her attention to the gnome, who she’d almost forgotten about at the far end of the table. “Yes?”
“I believe, if given enough time, the mages may be able to figure out how to deactivate them.”
That would be ideal. They were the most neutral party here, and, if Jalius was to be believed, the most loyal, as well.
Other than Elessan, of course. A small amount of the tension between her shoulder blades released.
“Thank you. I would be extremely grateful. You can use the artificer’s lab. Anything you need, just ask.”
Jalius cleared his throat.
She furrowed her eyebrows. She’d granted him carte blanche to all the resources of the crown. What else did he want? Her heart skipped a beat. Not another Irrevocable Vow.
The gnome pushed his round spectacles up his nose. “Due to the, um, volatile nature of the Whisperers, perhaps somewhere not in the castle would be better? Somewhere far enough away from the capital that, should anything go awry, innocent bystanders will be spared?”
Oh. She should’ve thought of that. “Of course. Select an appropriate location, one that can be secured.” The last thing she needed was someone like Brooks making off with the Whisperers while the mages were working on them.
“The elves will provide security.” Tsara’s words were like a tidal wave shattering the tension in the room, leaving no room for argument.
Lord Macherall stood, his chair nearly falling to the side behind him with the force of his movement. “I will be damned before I see those weapons in the hands of an elf!”
Tsara met his eyes, the resolve in hers countering the blinding rage in his. “And we will not allow them to remain under human control!”
“Enough!” Aliya flicked her wrist and a fireball the size of her fist exploded in the middle of the table.
Both sides went silent.
“We will have two shifts of ten guards each.” She glanced first at Tsara then at Macherall. “Five elves and five humans per shift. Don’t forget, the mages can defend themselves, too.”
Jalius opened his mouth, but Aliya stared at him until he shut it. Yes, Malkov had killed all the mages who’d been trained to fight—either with a weapon or their magic. That didn’t mean she wanted that information made public.
Elessan’s hand slipped beneath the table, likely to squeeze the mage’s leg or some other warning.
Jalius settled back in his chair with a nod.
Aliya fixed her gaze on Macherall. The muscles in his face were stone-hard as he glared at Tsara.
Aliya ignored the tremor in her gut begging her to back down, instead forcing that same rigidity to settle in her eyes.
“Lord Macherall.” She let the words hang in the air until he turned his attention to her.
“Yes, Your Majesty?” He spit the title, making it sound almost like a curse.
Heat flooded her chest. This man was going to be a problem. One she’d need to figure out how to address sooner rather than later. “Sit down, sir.”
“Five elves versus five humans is hardly fair.” He gestured to Tsara. “They’ll overpower us and take the Whisperers.”
Aliya flicked her eyes toward Tsara, who looked for all the world like she was trying to hold back a snort of disgust.
The edges of Elessan’s mouth hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glared at Macherall.
“Well.” Aliya picked an invisible bit of lint off one of her sleeves.
“If you can’t come up with five soldiers from our ranks who are capable of fighting elves, we have more to be worried about than the Whisperers.
” She pinned him with her stare. “I may have to reevaluate which noble houses are in charge of training the military.”
Under Malkov’s rule, each house was responsible for preparing the recruits from the lands they controlled. She hadn’t intended to change that, but, if she had to make good on her threat, she would. Even if it meant adding yet one more item to the never-ending list of things she needed to attend to.
Lord Macherall’s mouth opened and closed as he stuttered, searching for words to counter her ultimatum.
“If it makes you more comfortable,” Tsara’s clear voice came as she studied Macherall with narrowed eyes, each word sounded like the peal of a golden bell, “we can limit our guards to three.” Her lips spread into a wide smile that showed too much fang to be genuine.
Aliya couldn’t decide what she desired more—slam her palm into her forehead or lunge across the table and throttle the sun elf princess.
Elessan leaned closer to Tsara and whispered in Elven, “Not helpful.”
Tsara blinked at him with too-innocent eyes as she ran her fingers down Elessan’s arm in a familiar caress. “What? I’m trying to be considerate.”
A burning sensation exploded through Aliya’s stomach at the possessiveness of the gesture. Now she definitely wanted to strangle the elven female, regardless of the consequences.
Aliya clenched her jaw until she was certain she’d crack a molar at any moment. Ripping her gaze from Tsara’s hand on Elessan’s bicep, Aliya turned her attention back to her nobles.
She had no right to Elessan, it wasn’t like they were married.
He and Tsara had been friends growing up; they’d known each other for a few centuries.
The couple of months since she’d met him paled in comparison.
Besides, nothing could happen between her and Elessan, no matter how much she wanted it.
He belonged with his people, and the humans would never accept an elf marrying into the human throne.
Aliya blinked, her vision clearing. Lords Alinac and Castedrass were pale under the weight of her stare. “That’s enough for today,” she squeezed the words past parched vocal cords. “Dismissed.”