The Broken Song

Chapter Seventeen

— The Royal Court, Isca Caerleon, Avarra, Andavaran —

The room was silent. She was the first to arrive. Her boots clicked against the hardwood floors as she made her way to the oversized table that was stationed in the center of the room. There were maps and scrolls already displayed on its surface, ready for the meeting that would begin shortly. Ori traced the edges of the world map, her eyes roving over the denoted kingdoms. She didn't see the lines, or even the names. Instead, she saw the people that would be caught in the middle of the brewing storm, the innocents whose only crime would be living between two feuding kingdoms.

She reached up, an arm curling around herself, fingers brushing against the still painfully tender scar that now marred her side. That sorceress. She had never encountered power like hers before. Both she and Idelle came by their powers naturally. Some mages trained and honed their skills their entire lives and never achieved half the power they had. But there seemed to be no limits to what Ori and Idelle could do. Any spell they had come across, they were able to perform. Any skill, they were able to master. It was just the way it was. But that sorceress had nullified her magic in seconds, striking without the faintest hint of effort. Ori had studied magic since the moment she learned to read. She knew how it felt, sounded, tasted. She could tell the difference between a novice and a master with just a look and could date magical artifacts by the residue left behind. But, that sorceress...

Her magic had growled when Ori was near.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped. Her magic darted out, curling tightly around the newcomer's throat. Her arm, sheathed in lightning, raised, ready to strike if need be, but the moment she turned and saw who had startled her, she relaxed, her magic instantly receding.

"Prince Alistair, I'm sorry I..."

He shook his head. "The fault was mine. I shouldn't have startled you."

"Still, I...shouldn't have responded so forcefully."

"I understand. After what you went through, I'd be easily startled as well. Just remember, so long as you are in Isca Caerleon, you are safe. No one will strike at you here. You are a royal guest, and we have the best military in Andavaran."

"Thank you, Your Highness." Ori bowed her head.

The doors to the council chamber opened, the pair turning together and bowing at the figures that entered. King Caerwyn and Queen Katrina strode in, side-by-side, looking every bit the picture of royalty and authority. Though both were known for their kindness and compassion, both were grim-faced, their brows set in hard lines, wearing matching frowns, and dark circles set in deep beneath their eyes. The threat of the sorceress and worry for their realms had kept them occupied for months even before Ori had gotten involved. Now, it seemed as though a good night's rest was too much to hope for.

They took their places at each end of the table with a nod to their son and Ori. Behind them, their noses held high in the air, their strides verging on the border of strutting, was the royal advisory council. Made up of the heads of the richest and most powerful families in both Avarra and Belanen, they believed themselves the expert authority on anything and everything within the kingdoms. The king and queen had handpicked each and every one of them. Their trust and advice were invaluable, they said, and, in most cases, the Crown deferred to their judgment when they, themselves, were unsure of the correct course of action. The prince, too, seemed reliant upon their advice. Ori couldn't argue there were some wise councilors in the position, voices that should, indeed, be heeded. But the council itself she did not trust. If it were up to them, she never would have gone to Isca Ilora and learned what she had about their enemy.