Page 88 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

“Children!” Alsbet clapped only half-heartedly, her face painted with amusement. “Children, I do believe you are offending the lady’s sensibilities.”

Oryn got to his feet to rescue the Silverbow from a fight she had no business in. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to play a duet with my niece?”

Enya leapt from the bench, bowing herself out as Dothebelle settled on his knee.

That was the last he saw of her for days.

Every morning, she was whisked out of the palace on hearth visits and what time she had alone, he learned she was holed up in the library tower or behind her door.

Oryn mourned that delightful little hum, even if her scent lingered on the staircase when he came to and from his own rooms.

On the fourth day, he perched atop the low wall surrounding the plaza, watching her make good on her word to let the children ride Arawelo.

The mare was far from a children’s pony, which she let everyone know with her ears flattened in irritation, but she stood stoically as Dothebelle reached up trying to scratch a place behind her girth.

A handful of gawkers had gathered to see the now famed Lady Silverbow, who wore new sweeping sky blue divided skirts and a more tailored version of her usual white linen shirt, courtesy of the royal seamstress.

He caught the glint of the knife at her belt that he’d helped Orimum select.

He’d assured the lad that she would prefer it to jewels and the boy had been strutting around like a proud peacock, reporting it was the only hearth gift she’d been seen wearing.

As youngest and perhaps Enya’s most ardent admirer, Dothebelle with her blonde braid now in the style of Enya’s, was the first Alsbet handed up.

She settled in front of her in the saddle.

The little goldsinger beamed as Enya bent to whisper something in her ear.

She pressed the reins into Doth’s small hands and steered the mare off around the plaza .

He sighed as he saw Alsbet prowling toward him and held up a hand to stop her. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.”

Alsbet did a poor job of suppressing a smile, but she turned toward the onlookers. “It’s good to have you home, Oryn. Don’t you think it’s time to put down some roots?”

“I need a Treesinger for roots, Alsbet.”

She sighed. “You don’t.”

“I want to take my people home.”

She gestured at the palace. “After all this time, you don’t see us as your home? As your family?”

He winced but didn’t reply. She knew where he stood on the matter.

“I heard from the royal smith your hearth gift has been ready for two days.”

For a stone that held so many secrets, Drozia leaked like a sieve. Oryn patted his breast pocket. “The lady’s been occupied.”

A flurry of motion on the steps caught his eye. Leon bowled through a train of his advisors, crossing the plaza to where Oryn sat. He wore a scowl. Jerking his chin to Enya he said, “When you’re done, both of you in my audience chamber.”

Alsbet sighed, watching her children squabble over the horse. She went to retrieve a wailing Dothabelle, forced to give up her turn. “Immortality isn’t forever, Oryn. Don’t let your life pass you by waiting for your Treesinger.”

It had never felt like it was, until now.

When Enya finally finished and the horse was handed off to one of Leon’s stable hands, he raised a hand in greeting.

She smiled at him, peeling off her riding gloves.

She looked… ladylike, and it was so unusual, he couldn’t stop staring.

He started toward the palace and she fell into step at his side.

“Leon wants to see us.”

“About?”

“He didn’t say. Alsbet’s been keeping you busy.”

“I’m to go hawking tomorrow with Lady Goldmont,” she said excitedly.

“Lady Goldmont is a most competitive huntress. You should be well matched.”

Another frightening alliance, now that he thought of it.

“Are all courts this magnificent?” Enya asked.

Oryn clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t think you’d much enjoy the formality of Oyamor or the scheming of Misthol or Durelli. The Zeskayran lords do not hold such a formal court. If you can get past the more… primitive bits, you may find the horse lords…enthralling.”

He saw the corners of her mouth turn up. “And Eastwood?”

“I am told it was much like Drozia,” he said.

“My father and Lerrick were dear friends. Though my people did not have this notion of hearth gifts.” He drew the small box from his coat pocket and held it in the space between them.

Enya hesitated, eyeing it like she might eye a snake.

“Alsbet will exile me if you do not take it.”

Spots of pink appeared in her cheeks. “You really shouldn’t have gone to any trouble.”

He really should. “The smiths in Drozia like to be put to use. Open it.”

Delight lit her features when she lifted the lid. It was a simple broach in the shape of a finely worked bow, modeled after her own. Much to the smith’s chagrin, Oryn hadn’t allowed any embellishment, but the piece had been made by the finest silversmith beneath the mountain.

“The Silverbow,” she smiled, running her finger along the curve. “Thank you, Oryn.”

Their arrival at Leon’s door saved him from any further discussion. He pounded a fist against the stone.

“Come!”

Leon waved them to the chairs flanking his cluttered desk.

Oryn spied the glint of a crown buried in a mountain of scrolls, but one scroll in particular caught his eye.

It sat in the middle of the desk, the remnants of the fox head seal peering up at the ceiling.

Dread coated his insides as Mosphaera seemed to raise her head, waiting.

Leon tapped the scroll. “A hawk arrived from Shorewatch not an hour ago. Peytar Ralenet has docked in my harbor.”

“On what pretense?” Oryn demanded. Beside him, Enya stilled.

“To inspect the royal vault,” Leon answered. “He’ll be here in a week. Longer, if you need me to stall him, but he’s demanded an audience.”

“With me?” Oryn asked incredulously.

“With her.”

“Absolutely not,” he snarled.

But Leon looked to Enya for her answer. She met his gaze with cool resolve. “He can’t drag me back to Estryia, can he? ”

“No, my lady. Not without inviting war. You are protected by your claim of sanctuary.”

“A bit of parchment makes a flimsy shield,” he growled.

Leon flicked a brow at his casual mention of the treaties, but neither Pallas Davolier nor Peytar Ralenet could be trusted.

He didn’t want her anywhere near the High Lord of Pavia and neither did the gods calling his gifts to the surface, ready to fling their songs into the audience chamber.

She tapped a finger on the box she cradled in her lap. “I’ll take the meeting.”

Oryn’s head whipped toward her. “Have you forgotten how we left Misthol?”

“He won’t kill me.”

“You can’t rely on the visions of the future.”

She pinned him with a sharp look. “It’s not the vision, it’s the man. Ralenet wants me alive.”

“What makes you so certain?”

She pursed her lips in a look of distaste. “Corpses don’t make very good puppets, do they?”

Liam

After days of sleeping and stuffing himself and letting Aiden drag him through the taverns of Drozia chasing after cards and dice, Liam needed to find something to do with his hands.

His room in Colm’s townhouse was fine enough with its miraculous water coming out taps in the walls and vanishing down drains.

Liam still marveled and uttered the word every time he turned one of those taps.

Plumbing. More books than he had ever seen lined one of the walls of the sitting room, but Colm had told him if there was something else he wanted to read, he could fetch it from the library.

Liam scratched his chin. “The library is bigger than this?” He asked, gesturing to the wall of books.

“Of course. It is a library.”

Plumbing, libraries, those terrifying, rattling minecarts – Drozia was a marvel, but it was so dark all the time, even with the lamps lit during the day and the iridescent glow worms that shone blue during the night like little stars overhead.

The men that drifted through the taverns were always up for a game of stones or cards.

They often talked of far flung places and wild beasts.

He never could tell which tales were true and which were flights of fancy.

Liam had lost some silver, Enya’s silver, he thought begrudgingly, to a silk trader from Durelli who surely had been trying to pull the wool over his eyes going on about the horned beasts of Zeskayra.

He had nearly fallen out of a chair when he glimpsed a trio of what had to be pureblood elves with their pointed ears and willowy grace. They wore long robes that swept over the floor stones and looked down sharp noses at Bade, Colm, and Aiden.

“Still licking Amiven’s almighty boots then,” Bade grumbled as he threw a griffin card away only to be devoured by Aiden’s dragon.

Liam flinched when he saw their heads swivel toward the earth wielder, but they silently took their leave of the tavern.

He took one look at Bade’s hard face and decided not to ask about the king of Oyamor.

Other than the day Enya had insisted he join her to tour the mines and ride in one of those carts she enjoyed so much, a ride that had Liam sicking up over the side, he had not seen her since the feast. Despite being closer to her in Drozia than he had been those long weeks on the road, he could not help but feel as if she drifted farther away with each passing day.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hard on her on the ship.

She remained in the royal apartments, which might as well have be unreachable. Well, perhaps not unreachable , any servant would carry a note to her, if he were inclined to send one and he was not forbidden from climbing there himself, he supposed, but it was a lot of steps.