The king bows his head respectfully as he passes us. His wife follows behind him, her long hair swaying as she walks up the steps. Her gaze falters on me for a moment, our eyes meeting before she cants her head to the side in some strange bow. I node my own head, even as my brows crease at the strange behavior the northerners seem to possess.
“They didn’t even state their names,” Mira murmurs as we watch Ona follow them all inside.
“It’s strange, indeed,” I agree. “Different customs, though. They’ve been isolated from the rest of Lazoreat for quite some time, perhaps this is just normal for them?” I shrug my shoulders, moving up the stairs to follow them toward my father’s study.
Mira lags behind, and I can hear her chattering to Dary about the strange manners of our northern visitors as I make my way down the hall. When I reach the door, I find my father standing just inside, his hand on the handle as his eyes meet mine.
The look on his face says it all, he doesn’t have to tell me he’s sending me away. Though, I am shocked that he would. I raise my chin over his shoulder, staring at the backs of the Izvoras as they speak with Ona. Her eyes meet mine and a wicked smile curves her lips.
Anger . . . or jealousy maybe . . . curdles in my stomach and I shake my head, turning on my heel. A quiet huff sounds behind me and I know my father feels bad for not including me. But the king did say he wanted a ‘private’ meeting. I roll my eyes as I make my way down the hall, toward the eastern wing. The knots in my stomach don’t make sense. I’m no jealous child. I know diplomacy with the northerners isn’t something we can pass up, and we can’t risk it for the sake of my personal feelings either.
Still. It stings.
Chapter Three
Ona
My fingers clasp together at my waist as I smile at the northern king and his sister. “I am Ona DiAllo, the king’s mage here in Vanir.”
“It’s an honor,” King Aeron murmurs, nodding his head politely. “We have no mage in Izvora, so meeting someone with your talents is quite the treat for us.”
“Yes, it is,” Lady Anna agrees.
My cheeks warm under their praise. Many, many rumors have spread over the years about Izvora, about why they are so isolated from the rest of Lazoreat, about what secrets they must be keeping.
Some have claimed they were ruled by a troll king. Other rumors stated that Izvora is the last foothold of the elves—that’s the one I’ve always leaned toward, personally. The elves had to have gone somewhere and what better hiding place is there than a kingdom with no contact with the rest of the continent?
Godfrey closes the door softly and comes to sit at his desk. I remain standing at his side, waiting for one of the royals to speak. Whenever two kings are in a room together it’s like waiting for an explosion.
That explosion can be fireworks or it can be mortar shells, depending entirely on how the two egos clash. Kings are funny things like that, I’ve found over the years. I’ve served many.
Ona DiAllo isn’t the first name I’ve been known by, after all.
“What did you want to speak with me about that demanded such privacy?” Godfrey asks, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk.
“Thank you for meeting with us privately. I know it’s a strange request, but I appreciate you accommodating me. It has been a strange journey to this place in time where Izvora is considering joining the accords de paix. I wanted to discuss the details of the accords, or read them, if that’s possible.”
“Oh?” Godfrey asks, his voice going up as he waves to the wall behind him. “They’re hanging right there. They’ll be on display for the jubilee tomorrow, but they are always right here, each signature preserved over the generations.”
King Aeron rises and makes his way to the parchment hanging carefully on the wall. As he brushes against me, a zing of energy flares through my middle.
Magic.
My eyes go wide as I glance from the king to his sister. They said they had no mages in Izvora . . . perhaps because they have no need of one. I’ve never heard of a sorcerer ruling a kingdom. The royal bloodlines of Lazoreat hold no magic, as far as I’m aware.
How . . .
“Is something wrong, mage?” Lady Anna asks, drawing my gaze back to her.
I shake my head, pursing my lips together as I take a step away from the northern king. It wasn’t just magic I felt, but strong magic. Old magic. The kind of magic that can be dangerous, and despite my curiosity about this strange kingdom, my first duty is to my king.
“My king?” I murmur quietly.
“Yes, Ona?”
“I’m going to fetch a guard to bring us refreshments while you and our guests discuss these matters. I’m sure the Izvoras are parched after such a long journey.” As Godfrey’s eyes meet mine, they soften, and he nods. Of course, he nods. He’s such a kind king, of course he would put their needs above any perceived impropriety.
“That’s very thoughtful,” he agrees. “Please forgive me for not thinking of it myself,” he chuckles to the Izvoras as I step away to the door. “This introduction has been rather peculiar, and I think it’s robbed me of my manners.”
“Nonsense,” Anna laughs, the sound sweet and grating on my ears.
I pop open the door and motion to the guard across the hall to come over. “Send for some wine and something light to eat. Bring it in personally,” I emphasize the last words, waiting for him to nod as he acknowledges the double meaning.
It’s a guard’s duty to know when their presence is needed and when it isn’t. Right now, it is. At least, in my opinion. The guard nods his head and I step away from the door, leaving it cracked open.
Something about the magic in that king has my nerves on edge. I can’t expose him, not without creating an incident, and of course, I have no proof. And having magic isn’t illegal in Lazoreat, even if it was in my homeland. I straighten my spine, taking my place beside the king once again.
“Yes, Ona, could you give us some more light, please?”
“Certainly,” I murmur, holding out my hand. I summon an orb of light to hover above the accords and wait patiently as the two kings read over them together, murmuring to one another.
“Fantastic,” Godfrey laughs with delight, turning around. He grabs a quill from his desk and dips it in ink before handing it to Aeron. “You’ll be the first Izvora to ever sign. It’s a wonderful occasion, isn’t it?”
“It is,” King Aeron agrees, but he doesn’t reach for the quill immediately. “And there will be no interference in my kingdom?”
“None whatsoever. You can continue on as you have, but some level of cooperation for trade is usually expected, but not required. All you are doing is agreeing to the peace that the entirety of Lazoreat has enjoyed for generations.”
Aeron nods, grasping the quill between his fingers before he scrawls his signature across the bottom of the document, in a blank space originally intended for Izvora.
A shiver curves my spine and I pray to all the Gods—the old ones that have no names anymore and the new ones that are worshipped openly—that my feeling about these royals is wrong. I pray they mean my king no harm. But something tells me, they are much, much more than what they seem.