Anger sparked inside Peloroun, prickling along his shoulders and down his arms. “Then how can we destroy the Tree?”
Iroen’s lips twisted into a smile. “You cannot. Nor can the Chosen. But we have already begun. The Trees are weakening, their power lessening.” The smile vanished. “But it will take time. That is what you and the Chosen are intended to do: provide us with that time. You know this. Soon there will be calls to war. The Accord that all three races signed a generation ago will be tested. That is when you will be needed. You must keep the Alvritshai distracted while I and the rest of the Wraiths bring down the Seasonal Trees and begin our march on Wrath Suvane. That is your goal. Or have you forgotten?”
Peloroun’s hand closed into a fist at the flat derision in Khalaek’s voice, but he bowed his head. “I have not forgotten.”
“Deal with Lord Aeren on your own. Do whatever it takes to stop him.”
“Of course, Khalaek-khai.”
Iroen’s black eyes bored into him, the guard’s features shifting subtly, taking on more of Khalaek’s aspects than Iroen’s. “You failed me once in the past, Peloroun, there at the Escarpment. Do not fail me again.”
Before Peloroun could respond, the darkness left Iroen’s eyes and the guard’s body slumped forward, forehead thudding onto the desk. He glared at the body, tried to control his breathing, then shook himself. He shoved Iroen’s body back, noted the too pale skin, the black marks like tattoos no longer swirling like ink, no longer mobile.
He knew before he pressed his hand to Iroen’s neck that the guardsman was dead.
“You must watch the lords and their retainers as closely as possible while I speak,” Aeren said to Hiroun for the tenth time as all around them the proceedings of the Evant continued. He did not look at the guardsman as he spoke, his gaze flicking from one lord to another, to the Chosen and the Tamaell, and then back to the rest of the room. “I will be too focused on presenting my argument to see everything. I’m counting on you to catch what I miss.”
“Yes, Lord Aeren. I’ll watch them carefully.”
Aeren kept the frown from his face at the hint of irritation that had crept into Hiroun’s voice and kept his eyes on the Hall of the Evant’s activity. He knew he’d repeated himself too much, that the repetition came across as a lack of faith in Hiroun, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d felt Eraeth’s absence too much in the last few weeks as he arranged meetings with each of the individual lords as they arrived in Caercaern. All of his requests had been granted, even by Lord Peloroun, who had opposed him since before the Accord. The arrangements for the meetings and the preparation required had been taxing. Without Eraeth there to share the burden, he’d been forced to handle everything himself. He’d taken to talking out loud to his empty rooms, as if Eraeth were there listening.
Of the six lords he’d met with after speaking to Thaedoren, only one supported him outright. Lord Terroec, still young in his claim to his House after his father’s death, had been the most disturbed by the presence of the members of the Flame in his lands. Aeren hadn’t even informed him of Lotaern’s theft of Shaeveran’s knife before he was agreeing to back him if he brought the matter of the Order to the Evant floor. Peloroun, the oldest lord next to Aeren, had listened attentively, eyebrows raised at Lotaern’s treachery, but had been evasive and ambiguous regarding his support. Aeren had expected nothing less, yet had left the lord’s apartments in Caercaern faintly troubled. There had been something about Peloroun’s household that hadn’t felt quite right. It had taken him two days before it struck him why-the guardsmen and servants had been too settled, too fixed into a routine. Peloroun had told him he and his entourage had arrived only the day before, and yet Aeren hadn’t seen any unpacked chests or wagons being unloaded. Servants were not hastily scrubbing floors or dusting shelves, clearing away the effects of leaving the rooms and corridors vacant for the long winter months. Everything had already been cleaned; even the smell of the scented water used for such efforts had faded.
He suspected that Peloroun had been in Caercaern longer than he admitted publicly. Eraeth would have noticed the discrepancy immediately. It annoyed Aeren that it had taken him two days to figure it out on his own. But what reason would Peloroun have to arrive early? He didn’t know.
He scanned the remaining four lords. Orraen and Houdyll were both relatively new to their positions, although Orraen carried himself as if he had already risen to the highest ranks of the Evant, if not the Tamaell’s position itself. Houdyll was different. Watching the young lord’s nervousness on the floor and during their private meeting only made Aeren believe that Jydell, Houdyll’s father, would be disappointed. Jydell had been a strong leader, careful to make alliances that only aided his House, aligning himself with no one permanently and maintaining alliances only when they were still beneficial to him. Houdyll attempted to please everyone. He had nodded agreement with everything Aeren said during their meeting, leaving Aeren completely uncertain about where he would stand when it came time for a vote in the Evant.
Saetor and Daesor were more experienced and, like Peloroun, hedged their responses. Both had expressed concern over the Flame, and surprise over Lotaern’s actions regarding the knife. Saetor, with his military background as part of Khalaek’s Phalanx, had nearly admitted that he agreed with Lotaern, that the knife should be in the hands of the Order, where it could be used most effectively. Daesor was more taciturn about his thoughts.
It was not the reaction Aeren had expected. When Daesor had seen his frustration, he’d merely said, “Perhaps the reason you feel so strongly about this is because the affront was so personal. Lotaern’s Flame practically stole the knife from beneath your own hand.”
Aeren had had nothing to say to that. Daesor had been the last lord he’d spoken to before the Evant was convened.
Now, Lord Daesor stood in the middle of the oval chamber, reporting on his activities over the winter months, including travel to Andover across the Arduon Ocean, ostensibly to solidify trade agreements with the Northern Fleet Trading Company and the Taranto and Avezzano Families of the Court.
“-have signed agreements with the Northern Fleet based on these accessions on their part. I believe the compromise will increase our trade with the Court in Andover and help solidify our political ties with the Doms of each of the northern Families. I hope that this will allow the establishment of a presence of Alvritshai goods on the Andover markets unprecedented in our history with that nation.”
Daesor nodded to Tamaell Thaedoren as he finished. The murmur of conversation increased as he made his way to his seat, flourishing the maroon-and-gold colors of his House. A page leaned forward to hand him a note, which he frowned at as he read it. More pages were making their way back and forth across the room, Aeren keeping a close eye on those who arrived and departed from Lotaern’s seat.
On the raised platform that held the Tamaell’s seat, the Tamaea’s and Tamaell Presumptive’s thrones empty, Thaedoren allowed the conversation to continue for a time. As soon as the pages’ activity began to abate, he caught Aeren’s gaze and nodded toward him, then rose.
“Lord Aeren has expressed a desire to speak to the Evant regarding some of the recent activity of our own Chosen, Lotaern, of the Order of Aielan. I yield the floor to him.”
Thaedoren’s voice was perfectly inflected; Aeren could tell nothing of which way the Tamaell intended to throw his support. But Aeren remembered the meeting in his chambers too clearly, recalled Reanne’s presence, so strong and self-evident once he’d noticed it. The Tamaea was not in attendance at this meeting of the Evant, but he could feel her nonetheless.
He rose, cast Hiroun one last look, the young guardsman nodding in acknowledgment, his face set. Aeren felt heartened as he watched the guardsman begin to scan the rest of the chamber as he himself made his way to the center of the floor.
He smiled and surveyed all of the lords before settling his gaze on Lotaern. He bowed his head. “I beg the Chosen’s forgiveness for bringing this to the Hall of the Evant, but it is something that I felt needed to be addressed by the assemblage as a whole.”
Lotaern had stiffened where he sat, a dark frown touching his eyes and turning the corners of his mouth, but he did not respond. Aeren realized he already knew what he intended to say, and he felt a flicker of annoyance.
One of the lords must have informed him before the gathering of the Evant.
He shrugged his sudden unease and despair aside and turned to the rest of the Evant. He could not escape the feeling that the decision regarding his complaint had already been reached, but he forged onward.
“I have already spoken to all of you separately and in private about my concern, so here let me remind you
