The Cursed Heir

Chapter Twenty-Three

Contrary to all her intentions, Cassie hesitated at the door, certain she had misheard him.

"You're at the age of maturity, and you're the only one left. You might as well sit in and start being informed."

As many other things she had been jealous of Elisabet for—her voice, her beauty, their father's favor—her position as heir was one thing Cassie had never coveted. "I never wanted to be the only one left," Cassie said quietly, lowering herself into the seat next to Miles. As the only untitled one in the room, he might be the closest thing to an ally.

"And yet, here we are."

The others kept their eyes riveted to the table, rather than risk being caught staring.

Had there been a proper funeral for Elisabet here? Had they sung Elisabet's favorite songs? Had their father grieved at all?

She could not ask those questions here. Not in front of these men.

"Well, then." She forced her shoulders to square. Her chin to lift. "If one of you would be kind enough to send for the healer, the rest of you can catch me up on what I've missed."

Not much, as it turned out. Lord Flor was uneasy at how quiet the Citakens had been lately, and Miles had been gathering as much intelligence as he could from his sources inside the enemy kingdom. They had caught wind of the unusual number of messages going back and forth across the border lately—it must have been James' correspondence with his family, she realized with a pang. Not that she could tell them that, precisely.

Her father's main concern seemed to be the loss of his closest connection with King Marius—Elisabet and Lottie had been best friends—and how to best forge a new one.

"As we understand it," Miles said as the healer hummed over her wrist, "the army is undermotivated since the mess of the last battle. Too many casualties, and nothing gained."

The healer curved his hand around her wrist without touching the skin, and Cassie gave a quick gasp of relief as she felt the bone slide back into place. She rotated her hand, flexed her fingers, and gave the man a grateful smile. She had almost forgotten what it was to move, to breathe without feeling pain.

"Any sign of the Citakens gathering forces again?"

Her father stared at the doll-sized model of the Mackay stronghold in the southeast of Esre, its buttresses well-worn. "Not yet," he answered. "It's only a matter of time, and we intend to have the armaments in place when they do."

"The blacksmith's guild has recruited ten more apprentices," Lord Beauford put in eagerly.

The healer backed out of the room as Cassie poked at one of the mountain ranges scattered across Trenoriah's section. She had never been allowed to touch the table before.

"And thanks to the marriage treaty, we can get the iron deposits from Trenoriah at even better prices than last year."

They thought churning out more swords and shields for the king's war would increase their already substantial wealth. "You'd be better off saving your money," Cassie spoke without thinking, too busy wondering if the roof of the thumb-sized Windhaven model could come off.

Silence greeted her words.

She looked up to find them all staring at her.

"Learned a lot about finance while you were gone, did you?" The cool amusement with which her father delivered his condescension would always set her teeth on edge.