Abruptly the king halted. The shock that had me in its grip loosened a little and my thick wits began to run clear again. Remember where you are! I curtsied, pulling Neira down with me. Her hand trembled on my arm, but it was not to her or to me whom the Silent King turned his attention.
Julienna paled a little as he took a step toward her, then stopped. Hesitantly, her eyes never leaving that faceless veil, she curtsied. “Your Majesty.”
The Silent King tilted his head.
“The Silent King gifts to you the greeting of the desert, Daughter of the Fireborn,” one of the forge-wights said from behind him.
“You are of the bloodline of Edan Daired, are you not?” another forge-wight said.
“I am,” she said, glancing between the guard and the king and finally settling on the king. “Julienna Daired, sire.”
There was a stirring among the rest of the guards. The Silent King moved closer. Julienna stood her ground as he raised his hand. He wore a spiked gauntlet of the same dark red metal as his helmet, hiding all trace of the flesh beneath. I held my breath as he reached out slowly, hesitantly, and touched Julienna’s cheek.
“We are pleased to meet you,” the first forge-wight said, in a voice so low only we could hear it.
Sharp and bright as a thunder crack, the sound of the herald’s staff echoed again through the hall, oblivious to the strange scene it interrupted. “Your Majesty, Your Highness, dinner is served,” the herald cried.
The announcement shattered the breathless silence and the dull roar of a hundred voices all speaking at once rose like a wave and broke over our unexpected tableau. The Silent King let his hand fall from Julienna’s face and turned on his heel, his honor guard falling into place around him like a movable fortress of steel and flame as he resumed his original path toward King Harrold.
“Ah . . . yes, well, welcome, friends and honored guests,” King Harrold said as the room’s stunned silence resolved itself into a dull roar. “To dinner!”
Tall doors opened at the end of the hall, revealing a glimpse of a great table laden with crystal and silver. Delicious smells wafted from the banqueting room, but they served only to turn my stomach. I looked at Julienna. “Dearest, are you all right?”
She said nothing, staring after the Elsian retinue with an inscrutable expression, one hand resting lightly on her cheek.
Chapter 20
Games of Gods and Monsters
Alastair was at our side in a moment. “Julienna, what happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “It didn’t hurt.”
“Did he say anything?” he asked. “I couldn’t hear.”
She told him what the forge-wight translators had said, though that only deepened our confusion. None of us had seen the Elsian king speak, nor noticed any other method of communication between him and his translators. “It felt strange, though,” she said. “Like he recognized me, or thought he did. I can’t explain it.”
A movement from across the hall caught my eye. Lady Catriona was motioning for us to join her. “Were you able to warn King Harrold?” I asked Alastair as we made our way after the last of the courtiers.
“No, and neither was the High Cantor.” He kept his voice low. “We didn’t have the chance. Too many other ears.”
Lady Catriona met us and looked down at Julienna with concern. “Are you all right, dear?”
“I’m fine, Aunt. Where’s Edmund?”
“The daughter of the Southron ambassador asked him to accompany her to dinner,” Lady Catriona said with a flicker of a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve already told him to be on his guard. I warned Queen Callina too, and Lord Camron. They’ll relay our suspicions to the king at the first opportunity. But come, we’re called.”
She strode into the banqueting hall with head high. Alastair offered me his arm and Julienna his other. The last rays of the setting sun filtered through the narrow stained-glass windows, painting the hall in patches of crimson and violet and rich orange. Lamps suspended from silver chains hung from the vaulted ceilings, bathing the long table in a golden glow. Already most of the courtiers had found their seats, either shown to them by the hovering stewards or assigned according to some court hierarchy that remained inscrutable to me. King Harrold and the queen consort sat in great gilded chairs at the farthest end of the table, flanked by Lord Camron and a handful of high-ranking councilors, including the High Cantor.
Next to them on Queen Callina’s side were the ambassadors and their retinues. The Silent King sat beside a pair of very nervous-looking Arlean courtiers whom he did not deign to look at. His honor guard, staff, and standard-bearer stood rigid and unmoving a few steps behind him, watching the banquet with quietly flaming eyes. I noticed the guests made an effort not to look at them. Even the palace guards who’d remained in the banqueting hall stayed farther away from them than deference demanded.
“My lord, my ladies,” a servant said, appearing at my elbow. He gestured to the chairs at the opposite end of the table from the king. The keystone seats, I remembered, vaguely recalling some etiquette texts Mama had once tried to force me to read, but I didn’t need to know the rulebook to guess at the subtle political games still at play. King Harrold was host to three nations tonight, and there must be no signs of favoritism. Family Daired was the closest he had to a neutral choice. I took my seat next to Alastair.
King Harrold stood and raised his hands. “Friends, honored guests, Your Excellencies, Your Royal Majesty! Once again, allow me to welcome you to Arle. Many of you have come a long way to join us for this historic convocation, and for that we thank you. May the blessing of the gods rest on those gathered here tonight, and tomorrow, may we bring about such harmony between our four nations as has never been seen before.” He made a motion to the chief steward. “Now to feast! Tonight we—”
He stopped. The Silent King was rising from his place, gauntleted hands on the table, the veiled eyes beneath that fanged helmet fixed on King Harrold. “We crave your indulgence, Your Majesty,” one of the Elsian honor guard said. “We should like to say something.”
King Harrold blinked. “Er . . . well, yes, by all means.”
The Silent King inclined his head.
“You are most gracious,” another forge-wight said. “Now, we understand tomorrow is a sacred day in your kingdom. A festival commemorating the bravery of a famous saint.”
“Indeed it is, Your Majesty.”
“We also understand that on this day it is tradition to tell stories of your past, to remember what has been before you celebrate what is to come. Is this not so?”
“It is,” King Harrold said, clearly puzzled. Whispers stirred from around the table as the Silent King pushed back his chair. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Alastair tighten his grip on his fish knife.
“By your gracious leave, Your Majesty, we should like to honor this tradition. We too have a story we would like to share in this honored company.”
The king glanced at his wife, who offered an elegant shrug. “Well then, yes. Of course. We’d be delighted to hear your tale.” He sat back down.
“Your Majesty is most kind,” the Silent King said through his strange translator. He began a slow circuit of the table. “We would like to tell you of Els, for it is a place you Arleans have long wondered at. You have too, Garhadi and Southrons, neighbors though we may be. Our silence, you understand, has been long and zealously preserved. But you do not know why.”