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I wondered where Zeke’s parents were and who used the remaining two thrones, as I assumed Ash’s deceased parents had used the others.
I’d expected them to be in robes like at my execution, but it seemed the over-the-top fantasy attire was something they reserved for theatrics. I’d only seen advisors in robes since arriving in the palace. Everyone else wore either business casual or tactical gear.
The woman motioned for me to step into the space in front of them, then blocked the only way out of the room, making it clear her direction wasn’t a suggestion.
I cringed at the echo of my heeled boots on the dark marble floor as I crossed the room to face the people who had tried to kill me only a week ago.
“So good of you to finally join us,” Cornaith said as I came to a stop in front of them. “Amra asked that I give you until lunchtime to come, but I didn’t expect you’d wait until the last minute.”
I glanced at Ezra’s mother sitting next to Cornaith.
Just like when I’d seen her in Cholian, she kept her eyes downcast, not engaging with anyone around her while all eyes remained on me.
Again, I wondered if Cornaith were to blame for her docile behavior.
Cornaith’s voice dropped. “No response?”
I focused on him again. “I’m sorry if I didn’t come as early as you wanted.”
His eyes narrowed as he shifted in his seat and picked invisible lint from his charcoal button-down.
I could tell my response annoyed him, but he said nothing. What could he say? I apologized. I wasn’t going to kiss his ass like a palace servant might.
“And why did you not come sooner?”
I turned my attention to the large man with long black hair, Ardvaen, who I now knew was Cyn’s father.
“I slept in.”
His corded forearms, exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his dark red button-down, flexed as he clenched his fist on the arm of his throne.
His rigid posture suggested anger, but it didn’t radiate from him like it had when I first met him. His expression looked torn—conflicted. I didn’t understand it.
Cyn’s mother, Lymsrana, touched his arm and asked, “Slept in?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, offering respect to the only person on the council who didn’t seem to want to kill me outright.
“We spare your life and you show your gratitude by ‘sleeping in’?” Cornaith’s lip curled before he ran his fingers over his trimmed goatee.
“Spare my li—” I paused. I needed to tread carefully while alone with these people. “I am grateful to be alive.” Not a lie. “But unfortunately, teleporting after packing my entire life away took a lot out of me.”
Lymsrana’s eyes softened as if she were concerned for my health.
“I’m not used to it. I’m sorry if you wanted me here earlier, but if you had told the guys an earlier time, I would have shown up regardless of the jet lag.”
Lymsrana angled her head. “Jet lag? What is that?”
“She’s referring to a phenomenon where humans experience sleep disturbances and bodily ailments when traveling across vast distances,” Amra said, her soft voice contrasting her husband’s commanding tone. She finally lifted her gaze to me. “Their internal clocks are thrown out of sync.”
“But she’s not human. Will she be okay?” Lymsrana looked at me with concern, reminding me of the truth I’d been avoiding since we left Cholian.
“It isn’t unique to humans, Lym,” Ardvaen said, turning to his wife. “We don’t call it ‘jet lag’ though. It’s what Cyn experienced the first few times he teleported to Earth.”
“Ah, I remember those days. The headaches were terrible.” She looked at me again. “Unlike my son, I’ve never visited Earth and I don’t watch much television, so I’m not familiar with certain expressions or what it feels like to experience teleportation fatigue.”
“Enough,” Cornaith said, voice firm but not angry. “This meeting has gone on long enough.”
Lymsrana side-eyed Cornaith and sat back as Ardvaen brought his ankle up to rest on his thigh. Amra lowered her head, returning to studying her manicured nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.
