Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 69

Before we left our chambers, Meridian advised me to let the King do most of the talking, to force him to delve into specifics so I won’t have to, so I counter, “A great king such as yourself must be aware of the type of resources we can offer. Perhaps you could tell me what piques your interest.”

Rahzien leans forward, his gaze keen. “Is your father so ready to pay tribute to another ruler?”

“Tribute?” I frown. “What would you do with the bones of another nation’s dead?”

A confused silence falls, and the lords glance at each other. Rahzien picks up his goblet and sips, watching me over the rim.

“Your Highness, he is speaking of monetary tribute,” Meridian says aside to me. “Tribute of land, resources, soldiers, technology, and workers.”

Shit.

I fucked this up. As a dragon, the tribute I’m most familiar with is bone-tribute, the sacred gift of a bone from a deceased dragon.

“I’ve been reading about the habits of dragons,” I say. “I heard you were allied with them, so I thought I should be somewhat familiar with the beasts. Just this morning I was reading a passage about their morbid custom of bone-tribute. The concept was fresh in my mind, so I misunderstood your meaning. My brain, as you know, is a bit muddled of late.”

Rahzien quirks an eyebrow. “Are you quite sure you’re feeling up to this discussion, Prince?”

“If my lord could have some water,” Meridian interposes.

Rahzien gestures to a servant, who hurries to pour a glassful from a pitcher.

I drink a few swallows. “Let’s discuss the tribute, then,” I continue, in what I hope is a cool, confident tone. “We have the mines of Arnat. Perhaps you would be interested in refined ore?”

The men around the table seem to accept my explanation; they move forward in the discussion without further inquiry. But as they argue back and forth about the benefits of different resources, I sense Rahzien’s eyes on my face. When I glance in his direction, he smiles. A broad, friendly, open grin.

I’ve never distrusted a smile more.

After the tribute debacle, Meridian enters the conversation several times, usually to steer a direct question away from me or to prod at any conflict he can sense among the Vohrainian lords. At long last, we settle on a yearly amount of tribute to be given to Rahzien, in exchange for friendly relations between Zairos and Vohrain. Essentially, Zairos will be paying Vohrain not to conquer them…at least for a few years. We rise from the table with the understanding that I will be writing to my father, the King of Zairos, to gain his blessing upon the agreement.

The other lords rise and begin to drift out of the room, deep in earnest conversation with each other. Lord Jaskar, with the viper’s eye, lurks at the fringes of the group, addressing no one. I’m about to head toward him and strike up a conversation when Rahzien claps a huge hand on my shoulder.

It’s the closest I’ve been to him. The first time he has ever touched me. The same hand clasping my shoulder has touched Serylla—cupped her chin, seized her hair… I grit my teeth, fighting to keep flames from quivering visibly beneath my skin.

“Well done, young prince,” Rahzien says jovially. “You’re a credit to your kingdom.”

I’m not sure why he keeps calling me “young prince.” He can’t be more than a few years older than I am. Perhaps this, too, is a way of putting down others, unsettling them. Asserting his dominance, once again.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The heat from the liquor burns in my brain, making it difficult to keep my tone and expression under control.

Rahzien peers at me. “You seem distressed.”

“Not at all. It’s only the pain in my head.”

“Right. Your head injury. How did it happen again?”

The wine blends with my suppressed fire and churns through my gut, a roiling inferno so fierce I can barely think. “A banister was blown apart by cannon fire.” Is that the right word? Banister? “And a piece of it struck me.”

“Struck your esquire, too,” says Rahzien sympathetically, still looking deep into my eyes. “You said he’s feeling unwell.”

“Yes.”

“I’d be happy to send my healer, Lady Cathrain, to look at you both. In fact, I must insist on it.”

“I’d hate to disturb my esquire while he’s resting,” I object.

“Of course, of course. Then we’ll have her take a look at you. Sometimes if the injury is too old, she can’t help, but there’s no harm in asking, is there?”

“I… suppose not.” I want to glance in Meridian’s direction to see how he feels about this turn of events, but I suspect that breaking eye contact with Rahzien and looking to my “herald” for approval would only raise suspicion.