Lady Leila was the first to arrive in the library, her velvet skirts muffling the sound of her footsteps. Walking between the bookshelves she ran her fingers along the titles, smiling fondly at one or the other as she recalled the journeys she had been on through their pages. With a wistful sigh at The Dragon Came to Tea - Tactics in Politics she made a turn towards the children’s section.
Again, she ran her fingers over the titles, although this time her passage was deliberate, her fingers searching. When her hand rested on the spine of Broccolino The Brave, a children’s story about the adventures of a broccoli stalk, she traced the letters and looked around. The library was silent. Reaching beneath the shelf the book was on, she found a loose wooden peg. She pressed it firmly and the bookcase swung open.
Lady Leila slid through quickly, the bookcase swinging shut moments after it had opened. The hallway was dark behind the library wall and she pressed her hand against the stone on her right to keep her balance in the pitch black. She had memorized the way but walking blind was still unnerving.
Her outstretched left hand touched thick fabric and she felt around until her fingers found the edge between the thick drapes. Carefully, she peeled aside the curtain and stepped through into a dimly lit chamber. Light was shining from beneath a doorway and she procured a key from her bodice. Unlocking the door, she flooded the small room with light before slipping inside.
It was only then that she breathed a sigh of relief and looked around. The meeting room was unchanged from the last time she had been here, save for perhaps the chairs being rearranged into a half circle. A decanter full of a burgundy colored liquid held court with 9 squat glasses on a silver platter. Picking up the decanter she recognized the contents as one of Lord Raidnar’s cognacs and shook her head. It must be bad if Lord Maren had brought this out.
As if thinking of the man was a summons, the tall, dark haired lord swept through the door behind her. He was walking purposefully, with none of the unease she had exhibited. But then, he always seemed to carry an air of confidence she envied at times.
He looked up as if he hadn’t expected to find her there and blinked. “Lady Leila,” he said with a belated bow. She returned the greeting with her own bow.
“Lord Maren. Is it really that bad?” she motioned to the glasses and cognac. He gave a shrug of his shoulders, something she had identified a long time ago as his only tell when he was concerned.
“We shall see. Let’s wait for the others to arrive shall we?” In answer she poured herself a glass and gave him a toast before taking a mouthful and savoring the taste. It wasn’t ladylike or appropriate, but she wasn’t in the mood to be ladylike tonight.
The room they were in was large enough for her to pace as they waited, though Lord Maren chose to sit opposite the door so he could see each Lord and Lady as they entered.
In due time, the door opened, admitting lords and ladies in pairs or alone until the room was full. Nine total, counting Lady Leila and Lord Maren. There was a heavy silence that no one was willing to break and yet something had to be done.
Just as Leila started to clear her throat, Maren stood up, draining his glass and setting it down on a table with a distinct clink, as if he had come to a decision.
“The time for formalities is past,” he said by way of introduction. An uneasy murmur started and he silenced it with a stern gaze that took in each member of the room. The whispers halted as quickly as they had started. Maren had a way of commanding the room with his quiet presence. Leila wished she could emulate the man but knew there was something otherworldly about him that she could never hope to accomplish. Not unless she was willing to lose a piece of herself forever, and she wasn’t there just yet. She hoped she never would be, but the days were growing grim.
“The princess suspects.” The murmur intensified and Maren allowed it to run its course.
Leila looked around, her brow furrowed. “Surely she couldn’t,”
“Either she suspects, or she has been turned against the Resistance.”
“I thought you were careful,” a thin elderly man with an eye patch allowed a hint of accusation to color his tone. Maren turned his gaze to the man until the elder shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. Maren inclined his head as if accepting an apology that was never uttered.
“We were all careful.” Heads nodded around the small gathering and Leila took note of the ones that looked a little more relieved than the others. One plump young man with a bowl hair cut was sweating profusely, but she couldn’t tell if that was due to the fact he was wearing a woolen shawl wrapped around his neck, or other reasons. He took the most imperceptible sip of his cognac, looking around the room before lifting his glass to indicate he wished to speak.
Maren acknowledged him. “Jerimiah, please speak.”
“Why doesn’t someone speak to her directly? Surely she can’t-”
“No.” Maren gave a brusk shake of his head. “Do you think the General would not find some way to ferret out information if she had information to share?”
“But perhaps if she had known she wouldn’t have…” the plump man trailed off uneasily, his face flushing scarlet.
Maren’s face turned into a scowl. “We don’t know what she would or wouldn’t have done.”
“You can’t honestly think she wanted to-”
“Enough.” Maren’s face had turned stony and he took a deep breath as the other man clamped his mouth shut.
“It doesn’t matter if she wanted to or not. We cannot trust that she wouldn’t give over information right now. Under duress…. Or otherwise.” The advisor kept a stony expression and the room murmured anew.
Would the princess really give them over? Why not? The spectacle during the wedding certainly didn’t garner her any fans.
The gathered people looked at one another, no one really sure where to go from here. Leila cleared her throat.
“So then the question becomes, what do we do if she IS giving over information?”
More murmurs. Uneasy glances. Jeremiah used his scarf to mop his face, this time taking a larger drink of cognac and coughing.
It was Lord Raidnar who spoke. He was the youngest lord in the group, though the scar across his face and neck spoke to his trials in combat. It was his drink they were enjoying, though Leila noted he was not imbibing this evening.
“The choice is clear. We must give her false information and see if it gets relayed to the general. Then, we can figure out if the princess is being coerced, or if she is providing the knowledge freely.”
Leila had expected Maren to object. In fact, several of the others in the room were doing just that. But it was Lord Maren who silenced the group again.
“Raidnar is right. We need to know where the princess stands. There is too much at stake to let emotions sway our decisions.”
“And if she has joined him?” this from a fair skinned woman Leila saw only rarely. Lady Krystiana was always calm and kept to herself. She would side with Maren when no one else did and stand against him when everyone else sided with him. Leila could not understand why she was part of the council, except that Maren wanted her there.
Now, Maren was regarding her cautiously and when he spoke he did so in reserved tones. “If she has joined him, then we will have no choice. If we are to survive, they will both need to be removed.”
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