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"Yes, Your Majesty?" I ask, pretending to keep calm even though I can feel the sweat trying to bead on my forehead. No matter how many times I've done it, having a group look at me and expect something of me never gets any easier.
"You brought us all here," he begins. "We had no plans of meeting again for several years, having finally found an arrangement we can all agree on. And now that we've done all the hard work, Rhyma wants to be a part of it, so why don't you begin by telling us exactly what you want and why we should give it to you?"
I swallow, frozen for a second while his words settle and hit their intended target. Rhyma only asked for this agreement to be made with Oksangui. It was Kairon's idea to invite everyone else rather than continue the peace we already had with them. Why is he acting as if I asked for this, like I wanted to inconvenience everyone?
"It's quite simple," I tell him and the rest of them. "Rhyma simply wants peace and to expand our trading. We have some small trade agreements with Fastid and Slawyth, but as our country grows, so do our needs."
"And what would we have to gain from expanding our trade agreements with you?" Farhan asks. "We are already being incredibly generous with our livestock trade. Does your country have something new to offer than it did 10 years ago?"
"We've made some very innovative advances with our weaponry in the last decade," I explain. "The Zalig in our armies have created a firearm that doesn't need to be reloaded after every shot, making 11 or 12 before emptying."
"Firearms?" Farhan chuckles. "What do you know of these firearms? That seems far too violent for a little thing like you."
The taste of copper floods my mouth, and only then do I realize that I have quite literally bitten my tongue until it bleeds rather than react to his gross comment. "I have not fought in our army, so I can only speak on these things from a bystander's point of view, but I've watched many demonstrations, and I assure you, they're quite impressive."
"So you've never done any of the firing, and yet you're here to sell them to us?" Farhan scoffs. "How irresponsible of your people to send someone so unqualified. Though, I shouldn't be surprised. They let anybody run their country, even those without any abilities."
"Remind me, Colm," Kairon interjects, the cold calm of his tone not boding well for any of us. "What powers do you possess?"
"I am immune to any disease or poison, as I'm sure you know."
Kairon's head tilts slightly to the side. "Right. And you found this out rather strangely, didn't you?"
"It was a tragedy." Farhan looks to me, deception bleeding from his pores, both nervous and furious at Kairon for bringing it up. "Some would-be usurper poisoned my entire family. I was the only one who did not perish."
Only because of years of training do I manage to show a sympathetic frown rather than the disgust I feel. "I'm so sorry for your loss," I tell the king. "That must have been terrible for you."
"Yes," Kairon adds. "He lost all four of his older brothers that day. Went from fifth in line for the throne to sitting on it all at once."
Farhan's expression makes it clear he does not like the very true allusions to his guilt, but he doesn't dare say anything to Kairon about it, instead changing the subject. "What about you, Elva?"
"What about me?" I ask.
"You've made no mention of being Zalig," he supplies.
"Well, as you've said," I remind him. "Rhyma does not require us to be magic carriers to be leaders."
"I see," he tells me, seemingly disappointed, turning to Tirriel and asking, "What is your power again, princeling?"
Tirriel's cheeks turn red. "I can change the form of anything. Liquid to gas, gas to solid, solid to liquid."
"That seems entirely useless," Farhan comments. "No wonder I've forgotten."
Fury fills the crown prince, but he remains quiet, clenching his teeth.
"Is it more useless than being immune to poison?" Maren asks, raising a small smile on one side of her mouth. "How many times has that come in handy?"
"Enough to give me a throne," Farhan responds, speaking to Maren like she's the dirt on his shoe, not even sparing her a glance.
For all his boring talk about himself and his seemingly harmless facade, I find that perhaps he's more dangerous than the others in this room. He's capable of killing his entire family for a throne, and he's known for having wives who die under mysterious circumstances, many of them falling ill.
Tirriel's fury lessens a bit, Maren's interjection soothing the sharp sting of it.
The meeting room doors swing open, and Kairon grits out, "You're late."
The rest of us spin to look at the newest addition to our gathering, not expecting anyone else. In walks a woman with hair the color of the emeralds, so dark green it's nearly black, with sharp brows the same color and shimmering scales above them that disappear into her hairline. She sweeps into the room, wearing a dress made from seaweed, the dark green woven together to barely cover the important stuff. Water drips off her with each step, and she rings the water out of her hair, leaving it all on the floor in a puddle.
She curtsies and says, "Apologies, Your Majesty. One of my generals needed to relay some vital information to me at the last minute."
