by R. J. Larson
“It is.”
Lord Trillcliff broke their awkward silence. Stout and earnest, his eyebrows moved in thick, upstanding silver fringes over his ocher owl-eyes. “Being the king, Majesty, you will have no lack of young ladies willing to share your . . . interesting circumstances.”
Squelching further complaints, Akabe sat back in his carved, gilded chair and stared at the dead flies. Poor creatures. A pity they’d suffered what he’d escaped. With as much grace as he could muster, Akabe conceded defeat. “As you say, then. Have you a list of courageous candidates, my lords?”
Faine sighed as if relieved. “Not yet, sir.”
No? Good! Akabe straightened. “Am I permitted to suggest a possibility?”
Trillcliff said, “Any young lady of some social standing and good reputation may be considered. However, sir, a foreign princess might bring—”
Princess? Akabe stopped Trillcliff with an upraised hand. Here, he must declare his personal battle lines. “No foreign princesses. And no Siphran ones either—if any exist.”
His tone approving, Faine agreed, “Indeed, sir. Foreign brides bring foreign gods, and we’ve enough to deal with, trying to protect ourselves from the Atea lovers. One of those goddess-smitten fools is likely your failed poisoner from this morning.”
Glad to shift the subject toward ardent worshipers of the fertility goddess Atea—and away from his future bride’s pitiable fate—Akabe asked, “Has the man been found who served us the poison?”
Faine snapped a look at Lord Piton, the youngest council member with the fewest silver hairs. Caught off guard, Piton stammered, “Um, not yet, sir. Your men are questioning everyone at the temple site, including the priests and the prophet.”
“They’re questioning Ela?” Akabe kept his outrage in check. “Do they suspect her?”
Piton moistened his lips. “Er, no, sir. But perhaps she saw some detail about the intended assassin that others have missed. And she could petition the Infinite for the man’s identity.”
Ela. He must speak of her before the opportunity was lost. Akabe pressed his fingertips together. “What I am about to say will not leave this room—does everyone understand?”
“Of course, sir,” Faine said as the others nodded agreement. “We hope you may trust us.”
Watching their faces carefully, Akabe said, “Ela Roeh is now Siphran. She’s highly regarded by our people and used to dealing with extraordinary circumstances. Not least, she’s more dedicated to the Infinite than any lady I’ve ever met. I’d prefer to marry her.”
His council showed surprise, but no opposition. Trillcliff, ever aware of rank, lifted his silver-spiked brows. “The prophet’s place is unique in Siphra. Difficult to dispute, should anyone mention her status. Though she’s not highborn, she’s quite presentable.”
“And,” Piton quipped, “considering her swift actions this morning, sir, no doubt you’d be marrying your antidote to future poisonings.”
Even Trillcliff laughed. But as Akabe enjoyed the joke, it distressed him. Ela deserved better than to be considered a living antidote to future assassination attempts. Would she agree to wed a king?
Tomorrow, he would seek information from someone well-acquainted with Ela.
Then he would visit with his favorite prophet and persuade her to marry him.
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