Chapter 10 #2
Slowly, he surveyed the room, taking in the bent bodies holding the bow far longer than was comfortable.
When he was done, he reached for the goblet of wine set before him, taking a long draw.
Only then did he give a decisive nod and released the crowd from their bows.
Without further ceremony, chatter gradually resumed as musicians in the corner tuned their strings.
Apparently, Harthon wasn’t one for entrance speeches.
With nothing to do but sit, I eyed Ana, wanting to get my apology over with. I’d barely shifted my legs to stand when Harthon said, “No.” He didn’t even glance my way, only spoke discreetly from behind his goblet.
I studied him, his arrogant posture. He would never descend into the crowd, like he was their equal. The same apparently went for me.
Besides, his cabinet was currently trudging up the stairs to the platform, each of them bedecked in jewels and gold wherever possible. Fingers, necks, belts, woven into robes. It was a shock no one crumpled to the ground beneath the weight of their peacocking.
One by one, they approached the table, bowing and greeting us by title. Lord Alrich, sixth in the line, was the first to linger.
“The crown is lovely, Lady magvis,” he said pleasantly, eying the gold upon my head.
I offered a tight-lipped smile in response.
He tilted his head, the movement bird-like. “It reminds me of something a Princeps’ Lady might wear.”
The statement felt masked in implication.
“It is something a magvis might wear,” I corrected.
“Of course,” he agreed easily. “I meant it only as a compliment. A Princeps’ Lady is the highest a woman can rise in society.”
Ah, yes. The highest a woman could ever hope to be was an extension of a man. How rich.
My smile turned razor-sharp. “And how high is it that you hope to rise?”
Alrich was good at tempering his reactions, but he couldn’t stop the slight wobble in his amiable smile. “I simply meant to compliment you.” His examination moved from my crown to my face. “You look as lovely as the crown. So much so that I question whether the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?” Harthon asked.
“Of the attempted attack, of course.”
Alarm skated through me. Harthon had intentionally kept the attack quiet.
In a reassuring tone, Alrich added, “It is a small rumor—nothing of concern. With her presence here tonight, no one would believe it. In fact, even I question its truth.”
“There was no attack on Etarla,” Harthon said blandly, like the rumor bored him. “Though ridiculous rumors like this are a good sign. It means there are no real issues to gossip about.”
“I suppose that is true. You are well then, Lady magvis?”
“Does it look like I am unwell?” I asked.
His face slacked. “No, of course not.”
I glanced at the next Lord in line, a clear dismissal. Alrich took the hint, departing with a goodbye. The next few came and went without ceremony until Jonathan, who was last in line, shuffled before us.
Unlike the others, he wore a jeweled necklace around his head, the gemstone resting in the center of his forehead.
A faux crown.
“Princeps. Magvis,” he stated, a slight bow to his head. When he straightened, he, too, eyed the intertwined metal on my head. In a voice that dripped with disdain, he said, “You’re wearing a crown.”
And you’re trying to wear one, too, though you look like a child playing dress-up.
Rather than voicing that thought, I said, “I’m glad your eyes seem to be working.”
“Seated beside the Princeps, wearing a crown,” he mused, eying Harthon. “Is there a change in the magvis’ status your cabinet was uninformed of?”
He had to realize the platform’s edge was only feet behind him, no? It would be so easy to send him over it. Just a shove of the table into his stomach, and—
“What type of status change might there be?” Harthon asked with boredom.
“Why, this is how a Princeps’ Lady might present.”
Skies, it was like he and Alrich had consulted before coming to greet us.
Harthon casually reached for his goblet. “And what about a magvis, Jonathan? How might one of them present?”
“I, well—”
He didn’t give him a chance to blubber. “You don’t know, because you’ve never seen one. A Princeps has never partnered with one. Given Etarla’s abilities and importance, I think this is a fine way for her to present herself, no?”
Pursed lips hid what was likely a snarl. “Of course, Princeps.”
“And she does look rather lovely,” Harthon continued. Then he lowered his pitch. “A thankful thing, given recent events.”
Jonathan’s eyes widened. “A shocking event, yes,” he said gravely.
I cleared my throat, because what in the Domus was Harthon doing? It was bad enough that word had gotten out about the attack. Now he was deliberately stoking the fire?
Ignoring me, Harthon said, “News of the attack should not have spread. Tell me, what do the Lords know?”
Jonathan lifted a hand to his chest. “I don’t know if I’m entitled to speak for them—”
“You are. We both know you diligently keep your finger on the pulse of the cabinet. This is why I’m asking you, and not the others.”
He nearly preened. “Of course, I feel it’s my responsibility to stay…up-to-date on the happenings in the cabinet and this Territory. Supposedly, our magvis was attacked by hired men.”
“Is that all?” Harthon asked, unimpressed.
“Of course not.” Jonathan leaned forward, as if sharing a secret between two friends. “The attack was nearly successful, and as you can imagine, that does not reflect well on your magvis, or the security of the Citadel.”
And Jonathan would certainly use this to his advantage.
“My security is sound.”
“Yet armed men made it to the Citadel’s center.”
Harthon was quiet for a moment. “Do the Lords fear that they may also be targeted?”
“Naturally.”
“Yet they have never been threatened.”
Jonathan tilted his head. “Our meeting space is close to where the attack occurred. If an area as central and guarded as the kitchens was infiltrated, is anywhere safe?”
Harthon straightened, a slight crease in his forehead. I was certain Jonathan was dramatizing the situation, but there were valid concerns there to address.
In politics, image mattered, and Harthon’s now contained cracks.
“Stay vigilant. I’ll need you again soon. Very soon, in fact,” Harthon told him.
Jonathan bowed. “I am your ears, Princeps.”
I turned to Harthon once he left us. “How did this information get out?”
His gaze trailed after Jonathan before sliding to me. The troubled wrinkle on his forehead was gone. “Who says it got out?”
What was that supposed to mean?
“Lord Jonathan,” Harthon bellowed. The name bounced off the arched walls, filling the space.
Conversations stopped. The musicians halted mid-melody. Trepidation made my skin tingle with warning.
Jonathan halted just steps beyond the platform.
“By very soon, I meant now. Join me here,” Harthon clarified, demanding nothing but obedience.
The Lord pivoted, red creeping across the pale, drooping skin of his cheekbones. Under the scrutiny of every guest, he pasted pleasantries across his face. “Of course, Princeps.” Hiking up his chin, he retraced his steps with as much grace and dignity as one in his position could muster.
Earlier, he’d hobbled up the platform steps.
Now, with an audience, he tried to walk them smoothly.
If not for the knots in my belly, I would have smirked at his attempt.
I forced my shoulders to relax as he neared.
I was as front and center as he, and while the back of my neck itched with unease, I couldn’t show it.
Feigning calm, I looked to Harthon, who watched Jonathan’s approach with shadowed irises. From the uncertainty threatening to crack the Lord’s fake smile, he was as perturbed by Harthon’s expression as I.
“Princeps,” Jonathan said, offering a deep bow. That jeweled necklace around his head almost dropped to the ground. He righted it with a quick hand. The gemstone was designed to reflect the light, I imagined, but it fell flat, a dull red against his skin.
Rather than addressing him again, Harthon spoke to the room.
“Today is a day of celebration.” He remained relaxed on his throne, an image of casual confidence, but his deep voice rang with authority.
“A celebration of many things. The overthrow of a tyrant. The triumph of those who are strong. The new beginning for this Territory and its people. Continued success and progress. The acquisition of powerful alliances and additional lands, reinforcing our dominance. And, of course, those who have played an integral role in this journey.”
“Our fierce soldiers. Our farmers who work tirelessly to provide. Our villagers who fight for something greater than survival. Our military leaders. Our minister. Our magvis.” He glanced at me but offered no smile. No—his lips didn’t curl until he added, “And, of course, our cabinet.”
At that, Jonathan stood even straighter. He’d angled his body so he faced both us and the audience, as if he shared in delivering this speech.
“A Territory is only as strong as its people. If our villagers were weak, we would have no provisions. If our soldiers were weak, we’d be overthrown by enemies. If our leaders were weak, we would regress or cow to others. And if our cabinet was weak, new concerns would not be addressed.”
Harthon took a drink from his goblet, savoring his wine before swallowing.
“Some of that power comes from our nature. The innate instinct to survive. But much of it comes from above. It is granted. Shared. Passed down, all the way from the top—from me. Because if I have no power over our enemies or our lands, it is impossible for you to have power over them.”
His goblet suddenly met the table with a clatter. The sound sent my heart straight into my abdomen.
With predatorial grace, he rose, a vision in black, the sharp gold tips upon his head glinting in the torchlight.
Unhurried steps began to carry him around the table.
“But sometimes, there are people who think there is a third source of power: personal will. They think they can steal it. Take it by force, by undermining those who actually have it. And they’re foolish enough to think it will work without consequence. ”
He stopped next to Jonathan, the Lord with the faux crown whose posture was beginning to crumble. Those standing near the platform edged back, any merriment from earlier wiped from their faces.
The way I was at the justice hearing—it’s going to be the same today.
His warning from earlier pressed against my belly, worsening the anxiety coiling it tight. This couldn’t be anything good.
“But there are consequences,” Harthon said, his voice deathly quiet, the line of his shoulders hardening. The breath stalled in my chest. “It seems we are in need of a reminder.”
One moment, Jonathan was a fragile man cowering in Harthon’s shadow, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. The next, his hands were flying to his head, to where his ear…no longer was. He screamed, blood spurting between his fingers as he crumpled, falling to one side.
That quick, Harthon had drawn a blade and sliced his ear away.