Fantasy of Fire by Clare Kelly St

Author:Clare, Kelly St. [Clare, Kelly St.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2016-01-14T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

I sit next to Jovan that night. My brother remains several seats down between Drummond and Gerden. The advisors look distinctly uncomfortable and I quietly applaud my brother from where I’m placed. I swing my legs beneath the seat as I chew through the crunchy goodness of a pear, wishing I could see to the back of the room where the barracks are sitting. But it’s enough knowing nearly all the people I love are here. If Aquin and the twins arrived, it would be perfect. I throw a bit of meat to Kaura, who lies by my feet.

I only see him when he is up on the throne platform.

“Excuse me, m’King, could I have a word?” Ice asks.

“You may,” Jovan accedes. I lean in with interest.

Ice comes in close. Right up to Jovan, but on my side, so I can hear. Jovan tenses, not liking Ice so close. He’s certainly pushing the boundaries of appropriate behavior, but I imagine my friend has his reasons.

“Third table back, closest row, second from right,” he says. Ice followed my two tags back to see who they reported to. He’d said the person looked like assembly or Inner Rings. The person is in this room.

“Jovan, who is it?” I ask. Damned veil. I resist prompting him again in the short pause.

“Sole,” he says curiously. My jaw drops open and I sit back in my chair, unable to help the reaction.

Sole.

I lean back in, giving instructions in a low voice. “New target while you’re in the castle,” I order. Ice jerks his head in acquiescence.

“He’s not the type to run it,” I say. “Find who he’s answering to.” I already know who the source is. But who will believe a Solati? Even Jovan won’t believe me and he kisses me on occasion. Ice bows to the king and moves back.

Several minutes pass until the disturbance has been forgotten and the hum of the food hall has resumed.

“We need to talk,” Jovan says in my ear.

Finally, he’s listening.

“I agree. And you’re too close.” I look nervously at Roscoe over his shoulder. Roscoe looks tired. I assume, as the king’s right-hand man, he’s been working day and night for some time now.

“I’m not close enough,” he disagrees in a heated voice. I shudder as yearning ripples through me once again.

“Meet me at the baths tonight,” he says. “Late.”

I open and shut my mouth twice before saying slowly. “An odd place for a meeting.”

He gives me a slow smile. The kind I’m embarrassed other people might see. “Well, if you’re scared…” he says. Warmth unfurls in my stomach. I know what the baths mean: no clothes. That would go directly against what I’ve decided to do.

“Clothes stay on.” I state my terms, cheeks burning under my veil.

Jovan booms with laughter, slapping a hand on the table, making the plates around us jump and clatter.

“Hush!” I scold. There must be many curious eyes on us because he waits another few minutes to return with his next proposal.

“How

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