Page 14

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Zolya decided he needed to stop attending these dinners.

Despite the stretch of steaming and teeming savory dishes laid before him, the accompanying conversation succeeded only in souring his appetite.

Which was a quick path to souring his mood.

As Zolya leaned against his armrest, he idly sipped his wine, the rich flavor inspiring little enjoyment as he listened to the exchanges taking place within the banquet hall.

There was the hostess of the evening, Princess Azla, and her lady-in-waiting, Lady Esme, hands grazing where they sat beside one another at the far end of the table. Osko was in attendance along with Zander Aetos, another of their senior kidars. The final guest was Lady Lorelei, of the Sun Court, a past lover of Zolya’s and someone whose company he usually enjoyed but whom he currently was in no mood to entertain.

From the echoing of voices rising toward the skylight, one would think he sat before his entire court rather than the intimate gathering of six.

Zolya took another swig of his drink, wings shifting at his back with his annoyance.

Or perhaps he was bored.

Whichever he was, he was assuredly tired.

Tired of the same discourse.

Tired of his presence needed at every affair.

Tired of—

“My prince,” said Lady Lorelei, drawing his attention to where she sat to his left. She was a vision of lavish expense, muted silks, and drapes of jewels. The distant night sky was her backdrop, framing her sand-colored wings, the plumage matching the massive billowing curtains hung around the room. “You have been awfully quiet on the topic,” she observed. “What say you of the uprising of Mütra sympathizers Kidar Terz tells us of in Zomyad?”

The table fell silent as every eye turned his way. Even the towering columns appeared to bow forward, the stars in the heavens glowing brighter in anticipation of his answer.

The High Gods were listening.

“I waste little thought on them,” replied Zolya. “They are for Nyddoth Marwth to handle, as they are in his domain.”

“Surely such sympathizers are not only in Zomyad,” said Princess Azla, her brown complexion made warm by the light of the nearby candelabras, her white wings and hair a matching pair to Zolya’s. When together, there could be no denying their shared blood or shared father. It was also only because of her that Zolya suffered through these affairs. There was little he wouldn’t do to help Azla have an easier time at court. If becoming the gatekeeper to a private dinner with himself helped, then so be it.

“The law against Mütra stretches the whole of Cādra,” explained Zolya. “So your assumption is likely correct.”

“And still you do not waste time thinking of them?” countered Lady Lorelei, her pale cheek catching the light bouncing from her ambrü earrings. “When there could very well be sympathizers in Galia?”

“If there are, they keep their thoughts to themselves,” reasoned Zolya. “An effect of them knowing their fate if they voiced their beliefs here, let alone attempted to stir an uprising. As it is now, there is little we can do about one’s quiet musings.” And thank the stars for that, finished Zolya to himself. He would certainly never admit to it, but he understood why there were those who were displeased with the treatment of Mütra. He himself found the discrimination against them barbaric. After all, they held souls like the rest of them, were given the gift of life despite the rarity of the two races procreating. If anything, their existence was more of a miracle.

But there, of course, lay the problem. Only the king was meant to be a marvel.

“The issue, I see,” began Zander as he swirled his glass, his twiglike form poised on the edge of his bench, “are these stories the Süra sympathizers are spreading.”

“What stories?” inquired Princess Azla.

“Tales that we are scared of the Mütra.”

Osko snorted his disbelief. “Is a hawk scared of the fish he hunts? What is there to fear of these mongrels?”

“Mütra do hold magic,” said Lady Lorelei. “And an unpredictable kind.”

“ Some hold magic,” corrected Osko. “And even then, it is a watered-down, useless trick. Nothing compared to what the High Gods have bestowed to us, their children. The Mütra are thieves of blood not destined for them.”

“Then why are they created?”

The dinner table fell quiet, heads turning toward Lady Esme.

“My love?” inquired Princess Azla, a nervous flutter to her voice.

“It is not a shocking question,” reasoned Lady Esme, a single amber brow raised. “And I certainly am not the first to have asked it. I’m merely offering a counterpoint to your argument, Kidar Terz. If life is not meant to be, why would the gods, high or low, bestow it on the coupling of a Süra and Volari?” she challenged. “And, besides, isn’t proclaiming that Mütra are thieves of High Gods’ blood insinuating that our benevolent creators are capable of being stolen from?”

Zolya fought back a grin, observing Lady Esme more closely as her words echoed his thoughts. Born into one of the oldest families of the Sun Court, Lady Esme had been beside his sister for over three decades, her fiery wings and hair always an accompanying accessory to the princess, stirring from her a laugh or warm smile. But despite the proximity, Zolya had not paid much mind to what beliefs she might harbor.

Or perhaps that was Lady Esme’s intention.

As she held Osko’s gaze, Zolya noted the keen spark in her eyes. Quickly did he then ascertain that he had sorely underestimated the intelligence of his sister’s lady-in-waiting.

“I am insinuating no such thing,” huffed Osko, offense clear in the slamming down of his brows.

“Of course you are not,” appeased Lady Lorelei from across the table. “The High Gods rule over the entire universe. They cannot pay attention to every weed that sprouts.”

“Precisely.” Osko nodded.

“That is why they have created us, is it not, Kidar Terz?” continued Lady Lorelei, dazzling smile aimed at Osko. “To watch over that which they have made. Or, more specifically, why we have the strength and powerful sky magic of our men and the wisdom of our king: to retain order in our otherwise wild lands.”

“Well, aren’t you charming.” Zander tutted beside Lady Lorelei. “I can now see how you have risen in ranks to charm our prince. Tell us, sire,” he engaged Zolya. “Does she spin similar beautiful bedtime stories for you after you’ve lain with her?”

Osko laughed at Zander’s coarse remark.

The women at the table, however, appeared less than amused, much like Zolya.

He watched in annoyance as Lady Lorelei forced herself to control her expression, settling on a placating grin as she nodded her acknowledgment of his jest.

Displeasure was a sour bite across Zolya’s tongue.

“Lady Lorelei is the beautiful bedtime story,” he replied curtly, pinning Zander with a hard stare. “The likes of which I fear you will never experience, Kidar Aetos. From what I hear, you seem only capable of nightmarish bed partners.”

This had Osko guffawing even harder as Zander’s features flattened.

Zolya met Lorelei’s gaze. Something flashed too quickly through her features to note, but she gave him a small grateful smile, a blush filling her cheeks.

He had an urge to reach out and touch her hand in reassurance, but he thought better of it. They may have shared relations for a time, but it had ebbed naturally. Zolya did not want to send her the wrong message. Too often his acts of kindness were interpreted as debts, ones that the women of court felt they needed to repay with their bodies.

Such behavior never sat well with Zolya.

He wanted his bed partners to be with him out of desire, not duty to a crown. Moreover, the additional pressure from courtiers offering their daughters at every function, wishing to tie themselves to a future king, made Zolya even more cautious and deliberate with how and whom he pursued.

“While we are on the topic of late-night trysts,” interjected Princess Azla, sitting straighter on her bench. “I wanted to discuss an idea those at court have been wondering about, sire, and something I would very much like to grant.”

Unease danced up Zolya’s spine as he met his sister-cousin’s stare. He knew that look, and it never brought him joy. “I fear you will tell me whether I wish to discuss it or not,” he replied.

“Your fears are sound.” Azla’s grin widened. “I would like to host a welcome-home celebration in honor of your return, sire, along with the success of your and your men’s mission.”

“No.”

“Oh, Zolya,” she huffed, wings drooping along with her polite decorum. “It has been too long since the palace has had anything worthy to celebrate.”

“She is not wrong,” agreed Osko as he carved up a slice of meat, then talked through his chew. “Our kidets would certainly appreciate the gesture after such a lengthy time away.”

“Not that I enjoy treating those fools,” added Zander, “but I agree. This would also be well timed for more than inspiring our soldiers. An extravagant soiree could distract from the nervous chatter at court.”

“What chatter?” questioned Zolya, brows pinching.

“Well, as you know, sire,” said Zander, “the reappearance of Gabreel Heiro and his Mütra spawn has caused quite the stir.”

Zolya waited for the point of such an apparent observation.

“And many are saying,” Zander continued, though less assured, “that Galia must be in a dire state to return the traitorous inventor to his former role for our king. They wonder”—he paused, sending regretful furtive glances to the dinner guests—“well, if more than filling an already hearty treasury hinges on the success of this new mine.”

Annoyance was a pouring of heat in Zolya’s chest. Not only to hear that the courts appeared wise to the palace’s current affairs—never a pleasant situation to assuage—but to have mention of Gabreel. Zolya’s thoughts had finally had a few blessed days of silence regarding the inventor and his son, from the guilt in bringing them here. To suffer.

“Is this true?” Zolya asked Azla. Like her lady-in-waiting, the princess might play the innocent, but he knew it only disguised her cunning. If something was happening at court, she would know.

“No offense to the princess,” interrupted Zander with a frown, “but these political nuances are surely too complicated for a lady’s mind to grasp.”

Zolya made a mental note for Zander to be forbidden from attending any future dinners with him. “Azla?” questioned Zolya pointedly, not wasting breath on addressing Zander’s ridiculous comment.

The princess appeared unsure for a heartbeat, as if revealing she had a crumb of intelligence might put her at risk.

It made Zolya only more infuriated. Not at her, of course, but at their ridiculous society for forcing women to be so thoroughly reduced in nature.

But after Lady Esme placed an encouraging hand atop Azla’s, she finally spoke. “It is true, sire. What is spoken between Sun and Isle Courts is most unpleasant regarding the status of the palace, let alone Galia. They jest about burying their valuables in the soil of Cādra in case we all fall to such low ranks.”

Zolya inhaled his frustration. “By the High Gods,” he said. “The courts might as well take to the stage for their desire to spin such melodrama.”

“We agree, of course, sire,” added Zander, appearing desperate to get back within his good graces.

Zolya drummed his fingers on the table, the tiredness that seemed to forever haunt him tugging at his wings.

He met the expectant gazes of each of his guests.

But is it true? their expressions still wondered, begged for him to answer.

This will not do, thought Zolya.

Especially if his father learned that his courts doubted their stability, his stability as their king to rule so they may remain satiated, comfortable. The king’s anger would only come down on Zolya.

“Have your celebration, Princess,” he announced. “And spare no expense. If the courts question the abundance of the Diusé household, we must be thorough in our answer. I want everyone who attends to be reminded of the centuries of comforts our king has provided them—and that it will continue.”

Azla’s smile was radiant as the table awoke in excited chatter.

But Zolya could rejoice in none of it.

His mind was once again plagued by thoughts of the inventor.

If Gabreel Heiro had been under pressure before to find a solution to the new mine, his timeline had just become shorter.