They dip their head forward. “You are granted access.” Twirling a hand vaguely near their face, they add, “While you were busy in here with my fae princess, your mates and I discussed weight limitations on the amount of silver you will be permitted to take from my stores.”
I look over at the guys for verification and get nods from them. Vallan says, “The amount agreed upon should sufficiently suit our purposes, silverblood.”
“Good.”
“Quite good,” Skar tacks on, because he fucking loves saying that any opportunity he can. The nobleblood repositions himself on his seat as if have a sudden important thought. “Tell me, Overliege Liolen, what do you make of the gates to Nuhav coming down this evening? It seems unprecedented.”
Liolen leans back against the throne, swiping a long golden waterfall off one shoulder. “That’s because it is. Overlord Aramastun, our dear lord and savior of the Damned, decided to do that on his own. The remaining two Ministers were not made privy or part of the process, as it were.”
I slant my head, picking up on the heavy mockery in their tone. “You don’t agree with the Night Judge’s order?”
“My dear judge of the nights has become . . . erratic, in recent weeks.”
“Which is why you keep Zefyra spying on his army.”
Liolen gives me a sharp smile. “Always best to keep your eyes and ears open, I say.”
“True.”
Skartovius, falling into tactician mode, leans forward in his seat. “If you had to take a gander, what would you say Aramastun’s purpose is for doing this?”
“Melding the races?” Liolen shrugs. “I haven’t given it much thought, dear Ashfen. Clearly not as much as you.”
“Right . . .” I say, “but if youhadto guess.”
Liolen sighs and stares at their sapphire-painted fingernails, flicking something off one of them. They look like real sapphires. Liolen is growing bored of our questions and has no obligation to answer us now our business has concluded.
“I’ll say this and then no more,” they start. “Aramastun Wyvox is not as blunt or tactless as, say, Barnabac Craxon was. The buffoon lord. Barnabac was a bad fuck and a brazen barbarian.”
Vallan clenches next to me.
I speak in a slow, measured tone. “He would not, for instance . . . abduct and slaughter countless Nuhavians and line his streets with their decapitated heads . . . because of a mere disagreement?”
“Quite so,” Liolen admits, bowing their head. “He would do something more cunning. Probably something I would do.”
“Like?”
“What would you do, my dear, if your people were starving, desperate, poverty-stricken, and there was a glimmering oasis on the other side of a fence?”
I gulp. “Tear down the fence?”
That sharp, untrustworthy smile returns, slicing across their gaunt face. “Not out of the goodness of your heart though, would you? Because you still need tocontrolyour people, and can’t let them get out of hand. Must keep them subservient, yes?”
My throat is dry, because I’m finally picking up on the tapestry he’s weaving.
Liolen speaks nonchalantly, even as their words get deeper and darker. “Aramastun Wyvox has lorded over the oasis for so long, with all the answers right under his elegant feet, no? So, he senses an opportunity . . . ” Their eyes shimmer with guile, drilling into me.
My words come out as a dry croak. “. . . and invites themin.”
“Just so, my dear Hellwhore. Why destroy a perfectly good fence with malevolence when a benevolent hand will do the job easier? With the humans so desperate for succor, they’ll happily march to the golden oasis and to their potential deaths with a smile on their face, so long as it means a chance at wealth”—they gesture at their gold robe—“redemption”—their hand flings east toward the Faith Ward—“and freedom”—ending with their hand pointed at the central Judgment Ward.
Quite abruptly, I see how all three Ministers are deeply involved in this blurring of the lines between Nuhav and Olhav.
More than ever, I recognize that for us to have any chance at peace in the sister cities, all three must certainly die.
Chapter 30
Sephania