These Ivory Swords

| Chapter Four |

The Head of the table – a man appearing to be no more than thirty-five with short waves of ebony hair – shifted his attention to them. His irises reminded Iliya of living icebergs, glacial blue with piercing strikes of white. Those pillars seemed to glow in recognition as he glared at the gathering before him.

A long, oval table carved from the darkest wood offered a setting for three other members of a dwindling court.

Damien Ravellier stood abruptly, sighing. "You're dismissed."

"We haven't discussed the terms," Ashej argued.

"Father," a younger woman murmured, laying her hand on his fist. "Perhaps we should clear our minds of this for a moment."

The voice snapped something in her and she tore her gaze from the Fae male now sizing her up.

Iliya could've sworn the woman's accent mirrored Qudja's, but her cheeks were rounder, her features full. Her warm brown skin was even darker than the friend she'd come to know. Different, yet the same.

Damien glanced between her and the foreign youth, the edge of his lip quirking up.

"Ifinka, would you mind terribly if I asked you a question?" Her great-grandfather wondered aloud, glancing at the table.

Iliya shook her head, dread and confusion warring in her chest. She didn't mind, but she barely knew this man well enough for his casual tone.

And somehow Mairin was worried about her tone.

"Chiori Faire is still the only continent without wards, yes?"

Of all the questions she could've guessed, this wasn't one of them.

Her head bobbed. "Yes, Chiori stands without wards."

He made an odd chuff of approval before leaning against the table. "And how often would you say Chiori experiences border breaches?"

"Chiori Faire was founded to be home for all," Iliya stated calmly. "But for the sake of argument, our first breach was a month ago, the first in a decade."

Damien observed her, practically dissecting each and every word before smiling back at Ashej.

"And how was it handled?"

"Swiftly," she answered awkwardly. Her fingers pressed tightly against her jewelry. "My Cousin dispatched the trespasser with ease."

The king again nodded, lifting a brow to his council.

"Should you really require my assistance, you would be safe for a moon while we complete our investigation. If Chiori Faire can stand without infiltration for centuries, I know you will last a night or two. Think it over, send a missive if you must."

Ashej went to argue, but the young woman with him practically tore him from the room.

Damien turned to the final guest.

"Leave us, Isla."

A curvy woman strapped into riding leathers rose from her seat, knee-high boots laced over sleek black pants with several hidden sheaths on her thighs. Her corset smoothed the wrinkles from a pleated dress shirt, accentuating her body until she tugged her overcoat on.

Armed and lethal.

Isla nodded at Iliya and made a hasty exit.

Damien's attention flickered between her and the spy at Iliya's side.

He seemed to note the dirt crusted clothes, analyzing the red knick Iliya had left on Mairin's neck. His smirk only grew.

"Caught, were you?"