Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(57)
Jovan stands there, a sizeable chunk of his army behind him.
The whores and cutthroats around me shuffle back. Shouting for a fight, and actually fighting are two different things, especially with the tension largely dissipated. The five freed hostages drag themselves toward their king, who ignores them. The butcher and my favorite dagger are gone. Damn thief.
I relax my face into blank lines as King Jovan addresses the masses.
“I have heard your pleas,” he calls. Somehow his voice carries out over the gathered crowd. There is a hiss at the word ‘plea,’ but I congratulate him in assuming control of the crowd. The word ‘demands’ would have given them too much strength.
“I am displeased to find this small assembly at my door,” he says, meeting the eyes of a group of scowling men. The scowls immediately disappear. His voice alone could cut through ice. Add it to a large, muscled frame with a deadly glare and you had the King of Glacium. I watch the poor. They’ve already lost, but they are yet to decide if they’re happy about it.
“Though perhaps you have no other way to voice your requests. I must say I wonder about your tactics.” He glances at the old man still lying on the ground. “Is it common practice to beat the elderly?”
I nearly beam up at him. The murmur of the Bruma is angry. But they’re angry that their King thinks they would do that. In one sentence Jovan has turned their fury to the four men and made them eager to prove to their king otherwise.
He paces along the wall. “I am your king!” he roars. “You are my people.” There are several cheers with this. I allow a couple of nods. I don’t want to seem too eager, but if people are watching they’ll be influenced by my support.
“As such, I will talk with one representative,” he says, scanning the hundreds in front of him. His subjects exchange confused looks.
“Who will speak for you?” he booms. I should’ve warned him to limit the number of syllables. My insides roil as I wait on tenterhooks.
“Frost!” someone shouts. I close my eyes. They can take my reaction however they want. I’m someone they’ve all seen. I’m really the only candidate available to them right now. It’s no surprise when the cry is taken up by others. Jovan holds up one massive hand. His people quiet immediately.
“Where is this Frost?” he asks.
I almost roll my eyes. A ring of clear space already surrounds me. The ring doubles in size as the threadbare Bruma step away from me. Or rather, away from the king’s attention.
“Here, m’King,” I call up. I cock a hip out. Sin would be so proud.
“You will discuss the troubles of the Outer Rings with me,” he says. It’s a statement, but I act like it’s a question.
I fold my arms and peruse him, giving a show of making a judgment. It’s important I don’t roll over. I drop my hands to my sides after a minute. “I reckon I will,” I say. “But I want my buddy Blizzard to come along.”
Hopefully, Jovan can deal with that last-minute change. Blizzard’s name is taken up with vigor alongside my own. The Outer Rings are happy with my choice. Many of them know Blizzard. Maybe some have been fed by him, or given spare clothing and blankets. I wanted to speak with my friend on the matter before he left the castle and then quietly introduce the idea to Jovan in a few weeks. Though, who knows if Jovan will listen to anything I say now. And I’m afraid Blizzard no longer has a choice—not by the enormity of the people’s response.
It’s impossible to gauge the king’s reaction from where I stand. Likely, his face is expressionless. The face he’s only just stopped showing to the assembly. The one he showed me again last night.
He nods regally. “It will be done.”
“Enter,” he orders me. “And someone pick up the old man,” he barks over his shoulder. I bite back a smile as I saunter toward the watch. Nice touch.
Several watchmen aid the Inner Ring hostages into the safety of the castle. Blaine’s men did a thorough job of beating them half to death. Malir braves the now-calmed rebellion to gather up the still unconscious old man and take him inside, probably straight to Sadra.
I walk through the high gates and look for Jovan. He’s ascended to the walkway atop the gate. He addresses the subdued crowd, arms raised.
“The outcome of this meeting will reach you through your chosen speakers. You will address any problems to Frost or Blizzard,” he declares. “You may all return home now. But know this. I consider it my duty as your king to hear your troubles. Now that the issue of communication has been dealt with, you can be assured any repeats of this,” he gestures at the crowd, “will be swiftly, and brutally dealt with.” He straightens and glowers until some of the bedraggled poor scamper away in fear.
He twirls, furred cloak spinning with him. I wink at those glancing worriedly at me through the portcullis. They grin uncertainly at my unfazed demeanor. I’m just glad the hard part’s over. Not that I’m out of danger. I hope Crystal is coping all right.
Jovan sweeps ahead of his watch, not sparing me a glance. It’s what he should do, but I wonder if he’s angry at my actions. It seems we’re taking turns being angry at each other at the moment.
I follow, herded by a group of watchmen. We march straight to the meeting room. Jovan points at the chair in the middle, ignoring the ‘Tatuma’ sitting in her normal spot. Crystal is probably pissing herself under my veil. Jovan’s advisors clap him on the back-even Blaine, though there’s a jerkiness to his movements belying his happy expression. Some of the council turn to me, glaring at me in disapproval. Like Frost would give a shit.