Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (56 page)

The music that had been playing as they made their way to the center ceased abruptly when they stopped and Alexander turned to face her. All conversation in the room followed the cessation of the music, the hum fading to silence as Alexander regarded her.

“Regardless of our station, or the reasons behind our marriage,” he said into the expectant hush, his words pitched low and just for her. “I want you to know, and truly understand, what a treasure you are to me.” He leaned forward to kiss her, and she eagerly leaned in to meet him.

Banlor watched from his seat at the high table and sipped his wine placidly, although his thoughts were a maelstrom. The prince and his new barbarian bride moved across the dance floor, making a complete spectacle of themselves. Their doting foolishness grated on his nerves like hot iron. It wasn’t the calf-eyes they cast at each other, but the effect they had on the gathered crowd that bothered him so. The people loved it.
The mindless fools
. Within the span of a few weeks, the pair had undone years of his work. Carefully cultivated animosity and suspicion shattered to pieces like broken glass.

If only Kesh had done his job and the snip of a girl had not come to the Citadel, Banlor would not be forced to watch his plans unravel kiss by bloody kiss. Kesh’s failure and continued absence scathed him still. His anger continuing to smolder despite the intervening time. The chancellor would have some explaining to do, if the fool still lived.

He chided himself for his self-pity.
Have I become a weak-hearted woman, then?
he thought. This was not the time for sobbing over lost sheep and plans gone awry, but the time to create new opportunities. What he needed now was a gambit to help him forge the key that would grant access to the barbarian capital of Pelos. The raw material was here, it only needed to be put to the fire and shaped.

Banlor looked around the table. Only he, Myka Harristone, and Captain Bale Tigon remained. The rest of the dining party had joined the dance or engaged themselves with other, more desirable company.

His gaze stopped at Bale, who sat in unmoving silence, scanning the banquet hall with his hard eyes. Banlor lifted his wine glass and inclined the rim toward the soldier, drawing his eye. “Are you enjoying the festivities, Captain?”

The Pelosian turned to regard Banlor for a moment before returning to his study of the dancers below. “Well enough.”

“Perhaps a dance would be more entertaining.” Banlor motioned toward the celebrants below, who were engaged in a complicated partner-changing dance, then to Myka. “Lady Harristone is most light on her feet.”

The older woman’s eyes grew wide. “You are too kind, Minister.”

Hardly
, Banlor thought. “I only speak the truth,” he replied, bowing his head slightly.

“I do not dance,” said Bale, regarding the flushing woman briefly.

Banlor raised his brow, reflecting mild amazement. “Surprising. Some of the best dancers are fighting men. They possess a strong sense of balance and agility, from what I’ve witnessed.”

Bale frowned.

Banlor leaned back in his chair and brought his cup back to his lips, moistening them. “It would be an excellent opportunity to show the people of Basinia that Pelosians are not so unlike themselves.” He gestured to the jovial room around them. “If anything, a dance with Princess Sloane.” He watched the captain’s eyes, never far from the princess, snap back to his erstwhile charge. Those hard eyes softened when they beheld the young woman, who laughed and twirled about. “It would do her good to have your support,” Banlor finished.

Bale snapped up his wine cup. “She already has it.” He took a deep draft, which finished off its contents. He turned his head from side to side but said nothing more.

Banlor stood with his drink and looked down at the captain. “Well, it was just a thought.” Turning, he bowed to Lady Harristone and gestured vaguely to the throng below with his cup. “I see one of my agents whom I must speak with regarding matters of state. Please forgive me for abandoning you both.”

Myka nodded her assent to his departure and he quickly lost himself in the milling crowd. Finding an unobtrusive place to linger, Banlor watched the high table and waited.

Galen wolfed down another butter-coated biscuit and licked his fingers as he made his way around the crowded room.
These Basinians know how to throw a party
, he thought. Sweat still beaded on his forehead from exertion; the dance had been most entertaining, and the women even more so.

Diversions aside, he was becoming concerned. The journey to get here in time to participate in these events had been rigorous and costly. He had lost a dozen men crossing the open reaches between Haden’s rock and Waterfall Citadel. Encounters with the Wildmen were an epidemic in both countries, it would seem. Hardships to worry on, for certain, but not the heart of what currently nagged at him. He had dragged Renee along through the turmoil in hopes of surprising his youngest sister, but he had yet to set eyes on the girl. Every time he had tried to inquire after her, there had been an interruption.

Sacha was
not
at the reception, he was fairly certain of that. He had searched high and low but had found no sign. Since the first dance he had been pressed into, he had begun seeking her in earnest. He had even asked a few passersby if they had seen her, to no avail. It was time to inquire closer to home to find the answer he sought. His cousins would know Sacha’s whereabouts; they pried into everyone’s affairs.

Scanning the sea of people, Galen proceeded forward with purpose. The four girls had been placed at a table near the head, and he had only been given the opportunity to kiss each on the cheek briefly before ascending to his hastily prepared spot. The group had been immediately consumed by a crowd of eager young men, and they were now specks bobbing in the turbulent, dancing crowd.

Something bumped into him. The people standing nearby gasped, and the sound of breaking crystal followed almost instantly. He stopped and looked down to see the minister of trade sprawled on the floor before him. The man looked up, dazed. “Forgive me, Prince Galen.”

“Nonsense, Lord Graves, I am to blame.” Galen reached down and hauled the toothpick of a man off the floor. “I should have been watching where I was going.” He left his hand on Banlor’s shoulder to steady him. “Are you all right?”

Banlor rubbed the base of his skull and nodded slightly. “Just a bump to the head. I appear to be fine. Thank you.” Seeing that no harm had been done, the onlookers resumed their conversations.

“Ah, good.” Galen patted the thin man lightly, so as not to bruise him further. “I’ll be on, then.”

“Prince Galen? Might I ask what you are looking for so intently?” Banlor inquired. “Perhaps I can help—and prevent others from being trampled.”

Galen arched a brow at the man’s audacity, then barked out a laugh. “Perhaps you can, Minister. I’m looking for my cousins. They all disappeared after the feast started. I barely even had a chance to see them when I arrived, much less exchange words.”

The little man frowned. “Unfortunately, I have not seen them, but I’m sure they will be easy to find, as all women of beauty are.”

Galen grunted and resumed his scanning of the ballroom.

“Lovely as they are, they pale before your sister. The princess has been such a delight since her arrival. No other could possibly match her beauty or charisma,” Banlor continued.

“None but her twin,” Galen replied absently.

“Oh. Yes, of course, Lady Sacha must have been a beauty herself...”

Galen’s brow came down sharply and he turned to look at the minister. “What do you mean, ‘must have been’?”

The gaunt man’s eyes grew wide and he stammered, “I... I only... I’m not at liberty to say, My Lord.”

Few things had stricken fear into Galen’s heart since he had reached manhood. But the words spoken by the man before him doused him with a chill that all the hordes of Skelris had failed to inspire. Without thought, his hand was on Lord Graves’s shoulder once more. “Speak plainly, little man. I will not trifle with word games when my family’s wellbeing is in question.”

Banlor winced under the pressure of Galen’s grip. “I thought you knew,” he blurted. “I shouldn’t say, My Lord, but Princess Sloane...” He looked to the dance floor.

Galen frowned and followed the thin man’s gaze. His eyes fell upon Sloane, who was dancing with Captain Tigon, both smiling and laughing as if nothing were amiss.

“My Lord, please—”

“Your slip of the tongue is safe with me,” Galen interrupted. His blood turned cold as the chill that had gripped his heart traveled down his spine. He released the pleading man and stalked toward his sister, half dazed.

They didn’t notice his approach until he was practically on top of them. Sloane looked up, pleasantly surprised, but the look on his face must have been telling, for her smile faded quickly.

“I would have words with you,” Galen began, then turned to look at Bale. “Both.”

Prince Galen took his sister by the arm and escorted her, with Captain Tigon following in their wake, to a somewhat secluded alcove. The giant prince corralled the two and began speaking. They were too far away to be heard, but the prince’s aggressive posturing and the other’s rigid stances spoke volumes.

Banlor moved through the clusters of people toward the not-so-private confrontation like an eel through tall reeds. He noted Prince Alexander’s location as he moved closer to the trio. The Citadel’s royal son was currently engaged with several nobles on the opposite side of the hall. It would be good for the Basinian prince to witness the siblings’ argument, but it must be at the
right
time. Alexander’s smooth tongue might settle their squabbling before it bore fruit.

The minister stopped within listening distance of the three Pelosians but not so close that his presence would interrupt them or draw their attention.

Princess Sloane’s voice was strained as it drifted to Banlor’s ear. “... we were beset on our way here. It is still unclear who wanted to kidnap us, or why, but—”

“Us?!” Galen interrupted sharply. “What in the pit-cursed name of Mot do you mean by ‘us’?” His voice began to rise. “You’re telling me you
both
were targets?!”