Page 73

Mer let go of the rope.

Chapter Twenty-Five

RAZIEL

Somehow, Raziel’s council always managed to make him feel like a child.

Like he’d done something wrong and was going to get in trouble.

His wife had ruffled more than a few feathers in the last few weeks. And he was paying for her actions.

“Is this what we should expect from our Sirenidae queen?” sneered Chancellor Ortunge.

Raz pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a calming breath before addressing Ortunge. “The queen’s culture is very different from ours,” he reasoned. “It will take time for her to acclimate to our customs. Plus, would you ask her to give up her customs, her way of dress? She’s already given up the comfort of friends, family, and kingdom to become your queen. Can we not be a little gracious in this transition?”

The chancellor’s eyes narrowed, and Raz arched a brow at the disrespect. Ortunge quickly averted his gaze and asked, “What transition is that, my king? Our new queen didn’t seem like she wanted to make any sort of transition to the Methi way when sheshowed up for the celebration feast. If anything, it seemed like a statement. That she wasn’t here to fit in.”

Raz opened his mouth to respond, when his mother cut in.

“Queen Mer has only been in our kingdom less than a month. Did you really expect her to fit in seamlessly?”

Raziel nodded in agreement. “Royalty is meant to stand out, not to blend in.”

“As my king says,” the dowager queen replied. Her sharp gaze was pinned to the chancellor. “And from what I recall of the banquet, she was kind and generous to everyone. Isn’t that the very basis for our Methian culture? She shook hands and spoke with highborn and commoners alike without batting a lash. Outside our kingdom, that is not common practice. So instead of focusing on a few pieces of clothing and criticizing her for the fabrics that she wore, how about you show some appreciation for the healers and dowry she’s enriched our kingdom with?”

Raziel glanced at her from his left eye as she stared stonily at Ortunge. He hid his smile at how defensive his mother had become. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought she liked the Sirenidae. “Well said, my lady.”

His mum blushed and smoothed her hands down her silk tunic. “It’s nothing you haven’t already expressed to me.”

A lie to make them look good and to have a strong united front. His mum was brilliant.

“Discussion of my wife’s ensemble is off the table,” he announced, eyeing each of his councilors. “We will not speak of it again. What’s next?” He locked eyes with Levay. The healer nodded once, her movement sharp, her lips pressed thin. Raziel braced himself. She needed to speak, and it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Do you have something for us, Master Healer?”

Levay held her head high, ignoring some of the looks shot her way. While the Methian people believed in unity betweenhigh and lowborn, it seemed that the council he’d inherited was mostly highborn. His mother had appointed Levay some years earlier to her council position. They accepted her begrudgingly because of her skills, but despite her humble origins. Her father had been an apothecary with no sons to continue his trade. He’d trained Levay, unwilling to leave his business vulnerable without an heir. The man had a terrible gambling problem and lost his business anyway, leaving Levay with skills she couldn’t use.

Until she helped Queen Osir when she unexpectedly went into labor in the countryside after herfiileewas injured.

“I do, my lord.” She sighed. “There’s no easy way to say this, and I do not wish to alarm anyone or incite panic.”

His arms broke out in goosebumps at the tone of her grim words. “Please continue,” he rasped, dread filling his belly.

She scowled at the pages in her hands and then pressed them against her knees before she soldiered on, addressing the room. “It seems the Mirror Plague is mutating.”

Sharp gasps echoed through the room, followed by suffocating silence.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes.” Levay cleared her throat. “There have been several cases of those who have survived the original sickness and yet they are now also getting sick.”

Raziel cursed, running his fingers through his hair. The only good that had come from contracting the Mirror Plague was that once someone survived it, they couldn’t contract the disease again. It gave them immunity.

“How many is several?” the chaplain asked, his hands twisting anxiously in his lap.

“Less than fifty, more than thirty.”

Raziel’s stomach dropped. This was not a fluke. He exchanged worried glances with the dowager queen. The kingdom could not afford another strain of the plague. Methiwas still suffering from the first bout. They were on the brink of civil war already. This could be what pushed them over.