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Teigra gulped. She could deny it. Of course, she could. It would be better for Aurelius that she did. It would allow him to keep whatever fiction he’d built with the prince.
But Ms. Securia’s words came back to her. Here, Teigra was the voice of the senate. The institution that housed the destiny of House Cosmin. And the senate’s position on this matter was clear.
She exhaled heavily.
And she confirmed the coming invasion.
The royals gasped. All except Calix, whose eyes turned as heavy as her own stomach.
A shard stabbed through her. She’d been angry at Aurelius for his carelessness. But was this too far?
“Oh, how awful,” said Zosime, without sympathy. “But given what you’ve just said, you won’t be seeking any military assistance from us? That would be ever so hypocritical. Trying to get Ardora to fight the very forces that Mestibes kept alive?”
“No, we won’t!” she snapped, taking pleasure in the princess’s surprise. She spoke next with the voice that Mother used when speaking to the plebian classes. “The Mestibian senate will not strike any alliances on this matter. We believe all combatants must be allowed to see the errors of their ways, even the Rinathi. And should the worst come, we are confident Mesti will bring aid to her children, filling all aggressors with her reason.”
“Well said!” barked the king. An eavesdropping group nearby, dressed in green fabrics and including the most enormous man she’d ever seen, also nodded their approval. “We can’t force you to be sorry for not showing up at Sama, but at least you aren’t going to beg for help when you wouldn’t do the same!”
“Yes,” said Zosime, turning to Calix. “Thank Ardor we haven’t had anyone from Mestibes trying to snake their influence onto us. Aren’t you pleased to hear that, brother?”
Calix grunted, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“Hah,” said the king, jumping unsteadily on withered legs. He wielded his walking stick like a sword—eliciting laughs from nearby sofas and a concerned look from the queen. “I’d like to see them try! You Mestibians are good with your silver words, but nothing can pierce the heart of an Ardoran! We fear no army! We fear no—”
It all happened so fast.
The king collapsed, his whole body shaking.
Blood poured from his nose and ears.
His thin limbs twisted up like a dying spider.
There was a sudden break in noise as the band stopped. The surrounding families rose, the green-clothed ones nearest showing some strange combination of shock and anticipation.
Calix moved quickly, taking his father’s head, adjusting it to the side, reaching in and scooping out the vomit which had pooled in his cheeks.
“It’s alright, Dada. Just hold on,” he said, with a calm she couldn’t fathom. “It will pass.”
The king’s eyes were terrified. His twisted hand grasped at his son’s strong forearm, like a drowning man reaching for rescue.
After what felt like hours, but must have been no more than a minute, the shaking stopped, and the king was still.
With utmost grace, the queen helped her husband up, wiping away the worst of his mess. Loudly, and with a forced laugh, she said, “Oh dear, just like old times! Gorging yourself sick and getting all excited! Let’s go change so you can tuck into seconds, eh!”
The crowd laughed with relief. The king waved to them, his strength seemingly returned. Zosime moved effortlessly through the crowd, bringing the conversation and laughter and music back to full volume.
In a matter of moments, it was like nothing had happened—if not for Prince Calix, kneeling in the red puddle of bile and blood and half-digested food.
“Are you all right?” she asked, placing a hand on his broad shoulders.
Tears welled in his eyes, and he turned away in shame. “I should take you home.”
57
TEIGRA
Calix was silent on the ride back—keeping his white stallion at a gentle pace through the midnight city. She’d asked if the king would be all right, to which he’d muttered a few platitudes of, “It’s just something that happens.”
But as much as his words wished to dismiss the topic, his body told a different story. Even sitting behind him in the saddle, he bore a demeanor she’d seen before—one which had stared back at her for years in the wavering troughs of suddenly silent stables.
