“We’ll deal with it,” Silas told her.
“Yes.” Margosha knocked on the bedchamber door, then went inside.
As Silas left the queen’s suite, he told himself once again that whatever happened, he would deal with it. No stupid curse would destroy his country.
He headed to the king’s offices on the ground floor of the northern wing and found Aleksi standing outside the door, leaning against the wall as he frowned at his boots.
“What’s wrong?” Silas asked.
Aleksi jumped to attention and saluted. “His Majesty is not here.”
“What?” Silas eyed the closed doors. He knew for a fact that Petras had been here earlier. “The offices are empty?”
“Lord Romak is in the outer office,” Aleksi muttered. “He said he could fit you in for an appointment next Opal—”
“An appointment?” Silas growled.
“Next Opalday—”
“That’s six days from now. Eberon and Tourin will attack before then.”
Aleksi winced. “Then it’s true? The little girl is the Eberoni princess?”
“Yes.” While his friend muttered a curse, Silas opened the door and strode inside.
The outer office was small and sparsely furnished with a wide desk on one side and a line of plain, wooden chairs along the opposite wall. It was a cold, comfortless room that offered no warmth of a fireplace or sideboard stocked with wine for those who waited for an audience with the king. With no windows, and with walls covered in wooden paneling, it was also a dark room, relieved only by a weekly candle clock on the table in the corner and the brass candelabra sitting on Lord Romak’s desk.
Silas had never cared for Romak. Like so many courtiers, he flattered and weaseled his way into being close to those in power. When the king’s old secretary had died eight months ago, Romak had somehow produced a paper from the old secretary recommending Romak for the position.
King Petras had gone along with it out of love for the old secretary who had served him faithfully for so many years. But after only three months, Romak had been awarded a title and land, becoming Lord Romak. His rapid ascent to power had made Silas suspicious, but he’d been too busy battling Woodwyn to return to Draven Castle. His letters from Petras had seemed normal, so he’d been more concerned with the mental state of the queen.
“My lord general.” Romak jumped to his feet and bowed.
“My lord.” Silas inclined his head, watching the older man carefully.
Although Romak’s hair was silver at the temples, most of his hair was black, which indicated he was a descendant from one of the Three Cursed Clans. That was not uncommon, though, Silas reminded himself. The three clans traced their beginnings back five hundred years, so there were numerous descendants.
A few descendants, like Aleksi, Dimitri, and himself, could communicate with dragons and with one another telepathically. Could Romak? Silas tried to read the man’s thoughts, but caught nothing. That left two possibilities: Romak either possessed no mental powers, or had erected an excellent shield.
Silas gave him a test. What are you up to, you little weasel?
Romak gave no indication that he’d heard as he scurried around the desk, still bent over in a subservient position. “What an unexpected pleasure, my lord. Shall I have a servant bring you some refreshment?”
Silas shook his head. “I’m here to see His Majesty.”
“I’m afraid he’s not in right now, but I’ll gladly set an appoint—”
“Since when do I need an appointment?”
Romak waved a dismissive hand as he smiled in an ingratiating manner. “I mean no offense, my lord. This is simply the best way to assure that—”
“Are you determining who is allowed to see the king?”
Romak’s smile froze, and his eyes glinted with irritation that was so quickly suppressed that Silas wasn’t sure he’d seen it. Romak folded his thin hands over his waist and bowed low. “I am merely trying to fulfill my duties to the best of my ability.”
Silas noted the multiple rings the secretary was wearing, each one set with a large gemstone. Was the weasel selling access to the king? “Where is His Majesty?”
Romak circled back around his desk. “I believe he went to the Sacred Well. He goes there quite often these days.”
“Why?” Silas noted the way Romak’s lips tightened. The weasel didn’t like all these questions.
“It seems to give His Majesty some comfort and peace of mind in these trying times.”
Silas tensed inside. The Petras he knew had never been overly religious. Why was he behaving like this now? “As soon as His Majesty returns, he must agree to send the Eberoni princess back home. If he doesn’t, Eberon and Tourin will declare war on us.”
Romak straightened a stack of papers. “We are aware of the situation.”
“And doing nothing.”
Romak’s fingers clenched like claws around the papers. “We will take care of the matter.”
“You mean His Majesty will.”
Romak’s beady eyes seethed with anger. “Of course. I know the extent of my duties. Do you? Why are you not with the army where you belong?”
Silas scoffed. “I don’t have to explain my actions to a secretary. I’ll speak to His Majesty when he arrives.”
“I suggest you leave Draven Castle, or His Majesty will wonder why you have abandoned your post in these perilous times.”
Was the weasel planning to make him look like a disobedient subject who shirked his duty? Silas stepped closer to the desk. “Why are you so eager for me to leave? Are you afraid of what I might discover here?”
Romak smirked. “Paranoia. I see the madness is spreading.”
Silas’s hands curled into fists. As much as he wanted to plant one in Romak’s face, he resisted. For even though he suspected Romak was up to no good, he couldn’t make accusations without proof. And if he acted too impulsively, people would, indeed, wonder if he was losing his mind. “I will see His Majesty as soon as he returns.”
“Yes, my lord general.” Romak bowed.
Silas strode from the room.
“Well?” Aleksi asked.
“I should have returned months ago,” Silas muttered as he stalked down
