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Teigra spoke louder than was comfortable, doing her best to follow Ms. Securia’s instructions.
Chin up, girl, and hold yourself with pride. Remember, you are no one’s kitten, and you won’t win favors in that room through deference and good manners. You must speak loudly and with passion. If they insult you, you must come back just as hard. They won’t respect you if you don’t. And above all remember that you are the voice of the Mestibian senate. Mestibes may seek good relations with all, but we are supplicant to none. We have never apologized for not assisting at Sama. Not once. And we won’t start tonight. It would have been sinful to take up arms then, just as it would be now!
“And what would dinner be in Mestibes?” said Zosime, lounging back in a pink himation, her full cleavage on alluring display. “A wafer of dried rye, a cup of water and a prayer?”
The king roared.
Teigra’s first instinct was to recoil.
Come back at them. You can do this!
“No, Your Highness,” she said, the words half choking against her instincts. “Just a small bowl of restraint and a glass of intelligent conversation. Though I doubt such a meal could be prepared in this room.”
The king howled even louder, and the queen gave her offspring a teasing poke in the ribs. Even Calix gave a little chuckle as he popped an olive past his thick, black beard.
The only person who didn’t laugh was Zosime, who bored hateful holes with her glare.
They all chatted away in the circle for a good while, with the king and queen adding texture to the lives of famous farming families she’d met. Despite her nerves, she was not only able to keep up with the conversation, but contribute, telling stories about some weak attempts to drive down prices, failed jokes and little cultural misunderstandings.
Now and then, she exchanged a few words with the prince, who mostly seemed content to listen.
It was strange. On passing glance, he looked like an utter brute—a drunken, dangerous thug of the worst kind. But up close, he was quiet and restrained. Even the way he sat on his couch was bunched up, as if he wished to inflict as little of himself on the world as possible.
“You aren’t drinking your wine, Teigra?” said Zosime, during a lull.
“No, Your Highness. Contrary to recent events, I am not much for drink. I will defer to you in that regard.”
Zosime didn’t laugh as the others did. Yet, some flicker of mirth tweaked on her lips. “What a shame our contest wasn’t held at Sama. Then you could have been a true Mestibian and avoided it altogether.”
There was a collective ohhh from the others. All except Calix, who went even quieter.
Teigra hunted for a good comeback, but none came. “Your... your polity may seek to solve things through violence. But we work in different ways.”
“Different? Like letting the Rinathi regain their strength after the Third? When every other polity wished to squash the vermin for good?”
Teigra recalled the lessons that Ms. Securia had given her. “All of the Five’s children deserve to thrive, free from the burden of their parents’ sins.”
Zosime grinned. “Well then, I’m sure you’ll be happy to see the Rinathi thrive all the way to the gates of Mestibes?”
Teigra’s stomach churned.
No...
The queen rested a hand on Zosime’s shoulder, giving her a play nicely expression.
“Oh, it’s just a joke, Mama. Just a little rumor I’ve heard amongst the sailors. There are whispers in Mestibes that the Rinathi will soon invade. Our old friend Xiber has returned, it seems.”
In her peripheral vision, Calix and the king both went rigid.
Zosime grinned. “But it’s probably just a misunderstanding. I’m sure the envoy can clear it all up. Can’t you, Tiggy?”
In the silence that followed, a question she’d wondered months ago—when she’d tried to confront Zosime at Palistrada Xiphos—was finally answered.
Who else in the royal family besides Zosime knows the truth? Of the coming invasion? Of the real reason for Aurelius’s mission?
The answer was none of them. Not one.
All the rest of them had moved forward in their seats. Their eyes hung on her silence. And none more so than Calix, his expression practically pleading for her to deny it.
