The Heirs of Death

8. The Gathering

THE GATHERING

I had been sitting for a few minutes by my own already, staring blankly at the untouched cup of steaming tea and piece of chocolate croissant laying on the oak table before me. Warm light poured from the crystal chandelier, reflecting on the silver patterns decorating the edge of my plate and filling the small room I was in.

There was close to half an hour before the second meeting started, and as I had nothing better to do, I sat there, waiting Father and Ramos to finish their duties and join me here to rest a bit.

The only thing that perturbed the silence was the ticking of the ancient clock behind me accompanied by my breathing. And I hated it. That muteness left me to my thoughts, playing on my nerves as I ran from plan to plan on how to tell them about what discovered.

The fear was driving me utterly insane, twisting my emotions altogether. How? There was no gentle way to let him know, no smooth talk to tell him that his daughter was going to die. No way to evade the heartache.

I would have screamed in frustration if I hadn't sensed their presence coming closer, two or three minutes until they reached this chamber. I pushed the darkness away, steadied my heartbeat as best as I could, and put on the mask of neutrality I had faced the servants with.

I was about to dig my fork into my croissant for the sheer act, my stomach not so eager for food, when the door opened.

"Oh my," said Ramos, closing the door and resting his ivory-carved cane against one wall. "I didn't believe I would see even more beauty in my entire lifetime than what I've seen last night.''

He pulled me in a bear hug and I wrapped my arms around him tightly. At least, the smile I was giving wasn't feigned. "But here you are, looking divine."

I pulled back from the hug, keeping the smile plastered on my face as I turned to my father, throwing myself in his embrace. He kissed my forehead and it took me everything, everything, not to cry in that very moment.

"How was it?" I asked as I stared at my king, shielding my aura from anything that could give away the fakeness I was wearing like second skin.

They took their seats, my father on my immediate right, Ramos opposite us. Two cups and plates appeared magically, resting in front of them. They didn't touch it, most likely having already eaten before attending.

"Fine enough. Based on Claurod's words, Arelesia is faring well,'' replied Ramos, fingers in his beard. ''Of course, some problems here and there, but overall, our grip on the continent is better that what it has been a few years ago."

"That's great,'' I said, half the enthusiasm not a lie. The other half was dreading each ticking of the clock.

"It is. Eziara, from what Sorcha told us, is''--Father paused for an instant, weighing what word to say--"decaying, for the lack of a better fitting word. What she, and your phoenix, told us was nothing from what we'd already pieced last night."