“This isn’t safe,” Raife murmured, “we should leave.”
The fae began a slow retreat backwards across the bridge, not taking their eyes off the soldiers. Thora and Kadiatu vibrated with fear.
His plan disintegrating, Ruenen couldn’t bring himself to move.
No! I won’t let this fail.
He planted his feet and tilted his chin high with all the regality he could muster. “I demand to speak with Commander Avilyard at once.”
Ruenen spotted the young guard from the other day amongst the fierce faces of men. The young guard gave Ruenen a brief smile and disappeared from view, back to where the office was located. He returned shortly with Commander Avilyard in tow.
The commander assessed the situation quickly, glancing from his men to Ruenen’s entourage.
“I’m surprised to see you back so soon, Master Ruenen. And with guests.” The commander’s deep voice betrayed no judgment, trepidation, or curiosity.
“Please take us to the Witenagemot, Commander Avilyard. Lord Steward Holfast is expecting all of us,” Ruenen said.
Avilyard nodded, signaling for his men to stand down.
“But Commander—” a soldier began.
“I have orders. No one will be harmed, by order of the Steward,” Avilyard said.
The men backed away, bows lowered, swords sheathed, but most kept their expressions shrouded with distrust and disgust. Avilyard then gestured to someone out of Ruenen’s sight. The gate began to rise in loud, screeching sounds.
“Stay calm. Act normal,” Marai hissed to the fae once the grate was drawn.
Avilyard called over six guards, the young one among them. “If you’ll all follow me, please.”
A sea of curious citizens parted as Avilyard, his golden guards, and Ruenen’s group passed through Kellesar. Unlike the guards, normal Kellesarans were unaware that faeries were in their city. Ruenen bet all the coin he didn’t have in his pockets that rumors had been flying since the moment he’d arrived. Did they know he was the lost prince? Whispers echoed on the wind, but Ruenen couldn’t make out any specific words.
The fae remained tense as they walked, avoiding eye contact with the humans, hiding their unusually vibrant eyes and pointed ears. The only one looking up was Leif, who strode forward with confidence, a grimace on his face. It wasn’t exactly the first impression Ruenen had hoped for, but Leif had every right to feel resentment. These people, no matter how poor, had more than Leif ever had.
Thank Lirr, they made it through the city unscathed. Inside the castle and away from the crowds, the fae’s heads tilted up. Thora and Kadiatu elicited gasps, taking in the windows and vaulted ceilings. Raife’s jaw dropped as he spun around, examining the frescoes. Almost as if he were holding his curiosity in check, Keshel took in the details with mild interest.
Marai’s face remained stony as Avilyard led them all into the throne room. Guards opened the heavy oak doors to reveal Holfast, Fenir, and Vorae standing at the foot of the dais, dressed again in their black robes. As Ruenen and his company filed into the room, Fenir and Vorae took noticeable steps backwards, but Holfast remained as impassive as he had before.
Triple the number of guards from yesterday were stationed inside the chamber, all with their weaponry raised. Heavy doors closed behind Ruenen and the fae with a booming thud; the sound echoing off the marble in a jarring, foreboding way.
Once again, Ruenen found himself questioning if this was all an elaborate trap.
Are we here to die?
Holfast didn’t step forward, but opened his arms in greeting.
“Welcome to Kellesar,” he announced, but his tone wasn’t friendly. It was curt, distant, as if barely holding back his disgust.
The fae slowed to a stop inside the doors. Neither side wanted to get too close to the other. Ruenen sensed Aresti, Leif, and Raife shift into stance. If they were anything similar to Marai, they were counting the number of guards and available exits.
“I’m Lord Holfast, Steward to the throne of Nevandia.” He inclined his head, but the gesture wasn’t returned by any of the fae.
Vorae wiped sweat from his bald head with a handkerchief as Holfast introduced him and Fenir. Both councilmen stepped closer to the guards standing by the throne.
Holfast focused on Marai. “It appears you weren’t lying, Lady Marai. I’m surprised you managed to bring your people here, and right on time.”
“We’ve come ready to negotiate,” Marai said, stepping out in front of her family. There was a protectiveness in her stance; her knees were bent and loose, shoulders square.
Ruenen stepped closer to her, showing the Witan and the fae his allegiance. Fenir and Vorae shifted awkwardly on their feet, taking in each member of Ruenen’s party. Avilyard and his guards remained nearby at every entrance, every corner, near the table and throne, swords at the ready.
Holfast cleared his throat. “Please, have a seat.” No one moved. “Ah, forgive me. Your bags.” He tugged on a nearby tassel.
A bell tinkled in the distance, and in an instant, three servants appeared from a corner doorway. They trotted forward, reaching for the sacks and bags belonging to the fae, but their outstretched hands were halted. They couldn’t pass Keshel’s barrier. It was as if a glass box had been erected around Ruenen and the fae. The servants blanched, turning back to Holfast, confused.
“Lower your shields,” Marai scolded from the corner of her mouth.
Ruenen felt the barrier release as if a bed sheet had been lifted off his skin. The servants staggered forward; one bumped into Leif.
“Apologies,” he murmured and tried to take Leif’s bag.
The fae warrior ripped it from the servant’s hands.
“Let them take it,” said Marai, receiving a glare from Leif. “They’re not stealing them.”
Leif slowly handed the male servant his bag, then returned his hands to the sword at his hip. Once the bags were all collected, the servants disappeared back through the door.
No one had yet made a move to sit.
To ease the tension, Ruenen took the first seat at the end of the table across from Holfast. Fenir and Vorae sat on either side of the Steward. Marai walked to Fenir and sat next to him, eyes alight with defiance, as the man trembled.
