Chapter 9
Aliya
Aliya entered the great hall a few minutes before dinner was scheduled to be served.
The cavernous space still felt overwhelming.
Her footsteps echoed over the murmuring coming from Roland Enorathil and his daughter, Tsara, where they sat on a small settee to one side.
Grand banners that had been black and crimson less than a week ago were now Larimar blue as they lined the room overhead, waving gently in the breeze.
“I’m sorry for my tardiness,” Aliya said as she moved to join the elves. “I was held up by an unforeseen issue.” Unforeseen as in she hadn’t realized how badly she didn’t want to be at dinner and thus had dawdled until the last possible second.
It wasn’t a stellar way to start negotiations with her fellow monarch, but based on his actions upon arrival, they were already on shaky ground. Hopefully, Tsara had been able to smooth things over.
Aliya’s gaze shifted to the princess, but Tsara kept her eyes averted.
Or maybe not.
Turning her attention back to Roland, she gestured to the door leading to the dining room. “Shall we?”
Roland swirled the red liquid in his glass. No doubt it was some ultra rare vintage pulled from Malkov’s private reserves. She didn’t care, though. It wasn’t like she drank much wine, and, if all went well, some premium alcohol would soften the man’s rough edges when it came to her and her kingdom.
“After you.” The sun king’s gruff voice grated on her ears.
She stiffened at the insult. As if he didn’t trust her to not stab him in the back or lead him into an ambush.
Holding in a sigh, Aliya threw her shoulders back and marched into the dining room. This was going to be awkward. At least Tsara was here as a buffer.
A servant pushed Aliya’s chair in behind her as she took her place at the head of the table. Roland sat on her right, with Tsara beside him.
Meeting the butler’s eyes, Aliya nodded.
The man whose name she had yet to learn lifted one hand.
The doors burst open as servants filled the room with dish after dish of decadent foods Aliya had only eaten a few times in her life.
There was far too much here for the three of them.
She should make sure the cooks knew to send the leftovers to the priories and community centers in The Warren, so they wouldn’t go to waste, but she didn’t dare mention that in Roland’s presence.
She couldn’t afford to appear softhearted or he’d walk all over her.
She brought a spoonful of the orange-colored soup to her lips. It tasted of carrots and yams, with an unexpected sweetness. Cinnamon, maybe? “I hope you’re enjoying your time here, Your Majesty?” she asked, to break the silent tension more than anything else.
“Would that I didn’t have to be here,” Roland said with a dark glare at Tsara, “chasing down my wayward army and daughter.”
Aliya swallowed. “I’m grateful for you and your military’s timely intervention,” she said, hoping to turn the conversation to safer grounds.
“Your daughter’s bravery helped end the war.
And we have managed to negotiate a mutually beneficial trade agreement that I think will go a long way toward normalizing relations for our kingdoms going forward. ”
She cleared her throat, washing the dryness away with several swallows of water. Did she sound uncertain? Had her voice wavered as she spoke?
Tsara peeked at her through downturned lashes, a comforting smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.
Well, that was something. At least the princess approved of Aliya’s presentation.
“The contracts will have to be re-negotiated,” Roland said, setting his spoon down on his plate with a too-loud clank. “Such things should be handled by monarchs.” His countenance darkened as his eyes flicked toward Tsara. “Not by rebellious princesses who don’t know their places.”
Aliya schooled her expression before the skin between her eyebrows could pucker.
Was that a backhanded comment applying to her, or just Tsara?
She wished Zadé was here—Zadé knew the king well enough she could’ve interpreted his meaning.
Though, from what the moon elf claimed, Aliya was best off assuming the worst about everything coming out of Roland’s mouth.
So… It sounded like he didn’t consider her the legitimate ruler of Lions Grove and the human realm. That threw an unexpected wrinkle in her plans. And having to scrap the full agreement and begin from scratch…
Once again, Tsara wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Were there specific parts that concerned you? It would be more efficient to tackle individual clauses than the whole thing.” She closed her eyes in a slow blink. Please don’t make us start over…
The edges of Roland’s lips turned down, a malicious glint in his eyes. “There is no mention of compensation for the use of my army, for starters.”
Aliya froze, ice shooting through her veins. Compensation? Her treasury was depleted. Tsara had no doubt informed him of such. He was making this impossible on purpose.
“Nor recompense to the families of the soldiers who lost their lives in your little uprising.”
Aliya gaped. Little uprising? Her fingernails dug into her palms as she reined in her temper. “The person who bears the responsibility, former King Malkov Cerel, has been executed, there is no more vengeance to be had from that quarter.”
Roland opened his mouth but Aliya cut him off, slashing one hand through the air for emphasis.
“It is in the best interest of both our peoples for the war to end. I’m told you’re a cunning and intelligent man.
” That wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough.
“You must see that. So please, speak plainly. What is it you want?”
“I’ve already informed you. Compensation for the use of my army and my fallen soldiers.” He paused for effect.
Aliya’s gut plummeted to the ground.
“I also want the Whisperers.”
“What?” Aliya stood, shaking her head. “No.” Whirling, she gaped at Tsara.
Now she knew why the princess had been so quiet the whole dinner.
No, she couldn’t give them to Roland. They were too dangerous, too powerful, to be in anyone’s hands, including hers.
She blinked, realization hitting her as clearly as if Zadé had screamed it in her ear. Roland didn’t care about the use of his army or his soldiers. He’d used his initial request—something she couldn’t grant—to soften her up for the one thing he wanted he believed she could relinquish.
But she couldn’t. She’d promised not only her council, but the dwarves. If the thanes found out Aliya handed the Whisperers over to the elves, she’d have another war on her hands, even more destructive than the one they’d just ended.
She shook her head. “No,” she said again. “The devices are abominations. They need to be destroyed. That is not negotiable.”
Roland’s eyes flashed, a cunning smile morphing across his face. “Then you will hand over the one who created them.”
Aliya’s heart thrashed, pumping blood past her ears with so much force she barely heard his words. Giving Roland the master artificer was worse—it was tantamount to an unlimited supply of Whisperers, and whatever else the twisted little man came up with.
“I couldn’t give him to you if I wanted to,” Aliya said. “I had him executed two nights ago.” The lie was bitter on her lips.
Tsara’s eyes widened. She knew the truth—the man had escaped with Brooks the other night.
Aliya glared at her, praying to the seven gods the woman held her tongue.
Grunting, Roland dabbed the edges of his mouth with his napkin and tossed it into his soup bowl.
Standing, he turned to face Aliya. “You ask me to speak plainly, then lie to my face.” He pushed his seat back.
“I’ll give you a few days to think about it.
But without those Whisperers or their inventor, the trade agreement is void and the war still stands. ”
And his full army was camped outside her walls.
Aliya gripped the table as Roland pivoted on his heel and marched from the room.
Tsara threw her an apologetic glance before trailing after him.
With a sigh, Aliya rested her elbows on the tabletop, pressing her palms into her eyes.
“Aliya?” Elessan’s voice came from behind her as the reassuring weight of his hand settled on her shoulder.
“You know,” she said, not lifting her face from her hands, “Sometimes, I can see why Malkov simply executed those who opposed him.” Not that she was considering trying to assassinate the king of the sun elves.
Doing so would no doubt lead to more problems, including reigniting the war, but it was entertaining to dream about the possibility of him randomly dropping dead.
Elessan cleared his throat. “Aliya?”
Something in his tone had the few bites of soup she’d managed to swallow curdling in her gut.
“I’d like you to meet my mother, Sorisana Svialto.”
Aliya dropped her hands from her face and leaped to her feet.
Crap. She shouldn’t have said anything about wanting to murder Roland.
Turning toward the mountain elf pair, she schooled her expression, plastering a smile on her face.
Holding out her hand, she studied Sorisana. “It’s nice to put a face to the name.”
Elessan’s mother was stunning. It was clear where he’d gotten his high cheekbones and lilac-colored irises. Her hair was more of a medium brown than moonlight blond, but it fell similarly across her shoulders.
She offered Aliya a quick grin that almost reached her eyes and grasped her hand in a firm handshake. “It’s an honor to do the same, Your Majesty. Congratulations on your recent victory.”
Sorisana didn’t like her. Aliya felt it deep in her bones, but wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t done anything to the woman. They’d never met before.
“Thank you,” she nearly stammered, only catching herself at the last minute. “Though your son, Princess Tsara and General Zadé deserve most of the credit.” Turning her focus to Elessan, the warmth in his gaze melted away the chill permeating Aliya’s skin. “I owe him my life several times over.”