Thrallmagic: Chapter 32

Chapter 32

“He should be sentenced to an immediate death for his crimes!” One of the vampire diplomats bangs his fist on the table, making it shake and causing a few empty glasses to fall over.

I massage my temple with a finger, staring down at the table. My eyes flutter closed, and I jolt awake a moment later, looking around guiltily and hoping that no one’s noticed my lack of interest. The same argument has been circulating around the council since the beginning of the session. Nearly all of the vampire diplomats are calling for Lindon’s immediate execution, while the clan lords are split between eternal banishment and imprisonment. My mother is uncharacteristically silent.

Taking a long drink of my wine, I glance up, meeting Cassandra’s gaze. Her eyes and nose are the tiniest bit pink, but otherwise, no one would guess that she was probably up all night crying. She nods to me, averting her gaze as quickly as possible afterwards, staring desolately at her empty hands.

Prince Alexander, too, sits quietly- perhaps not sure what to say, or perhaps not wanting to go directly against the rest of his countrymen. Upon meeting my gaze, he nods to me, a small smile dancing across his lips as he raises his glass to me and takes a small sip in a silent toast. I smile back for a second, my gaze lingering on the way his dark hair curls around his cheekbones, before I avert my gaze, smile falling away, as I remind myself not to be too friendly.

Blathen sits beside me, hand resting innocently on the table. He seems to be sufficiently entertained by the argument, a sadistic smile gracing his lips from time to time. A chamberlain begins to bring in food, but my mother holds up a hand.

“We’ll adjourn for lunch and reconvene later in the afternoon.” With a sharp nod, she sweeps out of the room, and the sanctum falls silent as everyone files out after her. Slowly, I get up, lost in thought. When I turn through the door, Blathen offers me his arm, and I take it, not quite sure what else to do before half the court. We walk to my chambers without speaking, and when he comes inside, I frown, wondering what business he has at me. When I see the heaps of golden fabric and the excited chattering of my ladies in waiting, a flash of understanding graces me.

Kerissa skips towards me, face lit in a brilliant smile. “Isn’t it lovely? The dressmaker arrived just now. Just look at all the fabrics! Your wedding dress will be positively marvelous!”

I attempt to smile back, not quite sure how much I’ve succeeded. My mother strides through the door, nodding to my ladies.

The dressmaker curtsies to me, bowing her head with respect. “Your highness, we’ll have to have you measured today and choose most of the fabrics. We’ll have it fitted and altered later on.”

I nod weakly, sinking into the nearest chair when the room starts to spin. Gesturing one of my ladies closer towards me, I tell her to send for some lunch, hoping that it will give me my strength back. Meanwhile, the seamstresses hold up various shades of gold to my skin, shaking or nodding their heads periodically. Kerissa dances around the room, chattering rapidly to everyone, alighting near me and voicing her opinion on each. They finally settle on a light champagne coloured satin and begin to take my measurements. My mind whirls at how fast everything is moving along and being decided, and when the start to discuss styles of dresses, I can only nod weakly along. Thankfully, no one questions my quietness, and the shallow whispering of my ladies and Kerissa masks my silent fear.

After what seems like ages, the dressmakers leave, and I lock myself in my bedchamber, claiming a headache, even though I know I should speak to Lindon, or Arianna, or at least visit Lady Vanessa to see how she is recovering.

I conjure a little sphere of fire and let it dance on my fingertips, tossing it up into the air and letting it drop, like a ball. After a few hours, I rise, and let the fireball disappear into the air. My eyes keep sliding shut, and I know I need to sleep. Quietly promising myself a full night’s sleep tonight, I rise tiredly, splashing some cold water on my face to wake myself up. Serafine fixes my hair quickly, and I glance over my notes for the Council before I nod and get up.

When I enter the sanctum, nearly everyone has arrived. The queen is conspicuously absent, as is Cassandra. A pang of pity runs through me as I imagine how she must be feeling, but I shake my head, trying to put it out of my mind.

The air is thick with tension, and no one is speaking. A few vampire diplomats are muttering to each other. Lords Fenthclann and Greiclann are staring murderously at each other, and two guards nearby are watching them like hawks. A bruise blossoms on a guard’s face, and anxious faces line the walls.

I sink into my chair and glance around for Rook. He’s pacing anxiously in the clerk’s balconies, a stack of papers in hand. Upon meeting my eyes, he pushes up his thick spectacles with his free hand and clatters ungracefully down the stairs, making such a racket that I’m surprised when no one looks up.

“Make sure you take exceptional notes of the proceedings that follow, especially the queen’s dialogue, do you understand?” I wait for him to nod quickly and push his spectacles up his nose, then dismiss him with a moody flick of my wrist as I sit back down, staring coldly at the wall opposite me. One of the young clansmen approaching me turns abruptly to the nearest person and begins jabbering at them, probably put off by my coldness.

Then, to make matters worse, the doors open, and two sets of guards file in, followed by Lindon, who is led in on iron chains. The collar they’ve put on him still rest on his neck. His usually vibrantly dark blue hair now hangs matted and greasy against his slumped shoulders. Every step he takes, his chains rattle, and when he slowly makes it through the door, two more pairs of guards file in after him.

The queen stands, and motions for the doors to be closed. The heavy wood doors thud ominously shut, light disappearing from the room as the sunlight is blocked out. A chamberlain hurries to light some lamps, and soon, the room is flickering with a warm glow.

I can’t seem to stop myself from looking back to Lindon. He somehow manages to stand up straight, and stares at the wall across from him, not meeting anyone’s eyes and hiding whatever pain he’s feeling.

The head vampire diplomat frowns at Lindon and the queen. “Your majesty, was it really necessary to have the… prisoner brought before us? I believe that we can come to a decision without the smell of putrefaction stifling all the air.”

The guards move to open a window, and someone- or maybe multiple someones- move the wind out of the room and bring in fresh air from outside.

Lord Wrenclann speaks up. “Your grace, please, take your seat. It is not our intention to sentence what may be an innocent man to the axe. We must consider all possibilities before coming to a decision.”

The vampire diplomat bangs his hand against the table. “What possibilities remains? Crown Princess Rionach, the self-professed closest friend of Prince Lindon, recognized him, and watched him put a knife to Lord Cyan’s throat!”

A small, stifled sob echoes into the room, and everyone turns to look at Lady Cassandra. Her eyes are rimmed with red, and her cheeks burn crimson in the torchlight. A filmy white handkerchief is clutched to her mouth, and she slowly dabs at her eyes with it. Prince Alexander reaches out a hand and lays it on her arm to comfort her.

Slowly, the room’s attention turns back to Lindon. When no one makes a move to speak, I clear my throat. “My lords, much of this investigation, and our resulting decision, seems to be based upon-“

The vampire diplomat cuts me off. “Investigation? There is nothing to investigate!”

He makes as if to go further, but I hold up a hand, staring him down. “Your grace, please, allow me to explain my point.” I smile- or rather, bare my teeth- ever so slightly. “As I was saying, most of your argument seems to be based upon my recollection of the facts. However, I think it unwise to execute a man solely based on the testimony of one witness, princess or not.”

His scowl deepens as he stares at me. “Are you admitting, before the council, of lying to the court about what you saw that day?”

Lord Grieclann stands up, his red hair and long beard practically swirling as he snarls. “Have care how you speak to the princess. We cannot lie, or are you unable to remember that?”

“Gentlemen, please. Let us stay civil.” The queen cuts in, her voice sharp, and nods to Lord Greiclann, who slowly sinks back into his seat, the redness leaving his face. His son, a bit younger than me, places a hand on his father’s arm and whispers something urgently into his ear. Lord Greiclann nods reluctantly and his fists loosen. A silent sigh of relief escapes my lips as I think of what might happen if a fistfight erupted between the vampire embassy and the hotheaded clansmen and lords.

I resist the urge to take a long drink of my wine and force myself to sit up straighter in my chair. “As I was saying- I only saw Prince Lindon for the barest moment. I do- or did- believe that I saw Lindon, but my beliefs may be incorrect.”

The vampire diplomat frowns, and opens his mouth again, his perpetual frown still gracing his face. Thankfully, a chamberlain that has entered unnoticed by me clears his throat, and whatever illogical argument the diplomat was about to present remains unspoken.

“Your majesty, King Laernius and Prince Roan have arrived from Ciardis.” My heart begins to pound as I hear of Blathen’s father’s arrival. Seeking to distract myself from my sudden nervousness, I look at the chamberlain, who bows deeply and backs out of the chamber, perfectly poised the entire time. In sharp contrast, I see Rook scrambling to look for parchment, a smear of ink just beneath his spectacled eyes. His quill is clutched between his teeth, and his bright red hair is standing awry, each lock pointing in a seemingly differently direction.

I roll my eyes at him, huffing in annoyance as I study the other clerks who are pointedly ignoring him, their shirts neatly pressed and faces free of ink smears. Really, a princess’s clerk should have more decorum, don’t you think? Lindon’s voice rings out in my mind, and I sit up with a start. Blathen glances at me, but looks away almost immediately, attention drawn by something more interesting.

When I meet Lindon’s gaze, his lips quirk up into half a smile. I try- and fail- to ignore the way his arms clench with pain at even the slightest movement. Attempting to match his lightness, I think back, Rook may have absolutely no decorum, but I’ve never found anyone better at hunting down obsolete documents or keeping secrets.

Lindon laughs to himself at that, making the guards beside him tense, and ease their swords out of their sheaths an inch or two. You needn’t get so defensive, Ria. Only you would be able to find a clerk better able to write on his face than on the parchment in front of him.

Very funny, Lindon. I sigh, unable to keep myself from dwelling on Lindon’s case. Where is your father, Lin? I would have thought he’d be here by now.

Lindon grimaces, his face twisting into a self-deprecating smile. Ever since I told him about wanting to abdicate my throne to you, he’s been ignoring me. Never mind that there’s plenty of precedent set in the past, or that I couldn’t be a good king even if I wanted to. Snorting to himself, he continues, Until I come to my senses and apologise, I’ll be ignored. If this gets serious, though, Ria, I’m sure he’ll be rushing here.

I bite my lip, annoyed suddenly at Lindon’s lightness at his own execution. Lin, this is serious. Stop writing it off like it’s nothing, would you?

Lindon’s eyebrows narrow. Ria, I lead the Wild Hunt. I’ve been through worse. And trust me when I say that regardless of what the Council decides, I won’t be here for my execution. Neither you nor the Hunt will allow that to happen.

I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms defiantly. When my mother finally adjourns the session, I stride out of the room as quickly as I can, happily leaving Blathen behind. When he finally catches up to me, I’ve calmed down a bit, and my mask of careful disinterest is firmly in its place. Neither of us talk as we walk to the throne room, but my mind races as I wonder what King Lorn is like. I’m sure I’ve met him, perhaps when I was a child, but I have no memories of him.

If his son is this terrible, how much worse is he? The thought jumps unbidden to my mind, and I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. When the doors swing open and the herald announces us, I barely register his words, a loud humming in my ears. As we walk to the dais, I take my place numbly, the world tunneling into a tiny pinprick of light. Blathen shakes me lightly when I sway uncertainly, his cold eyes glaring down at me. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that all I had to do was curtsey, nod, and smile. Then I can go take a leap out of a tower before dinner, hopefully.

My mother sweeps in soon after, and everyone rises. After she takes her seat, the room falls silent, as the courtiers wait excitedly for their new topic of gossip to enter. My mind flashes back to the night that the vampire embassy arrived, so similar, yet so different from this.