The Wyndshaper by Kate Argus

Author:Kate Argus
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kate Argus Literary Inc

With Fletch a few paces behind, Dreythan exited the royal garden, heading directly to the guest tower. Her footfalls didn’t make a sound as they brushed lightly over the cobblestone, no doubt an unconscious habit she’d learned in her years as Forester. He had to glance back once or twice to reassure himself she was still there, her green eyes flitting from side to side as her long legs swallowed the road in easy strides.

There was something about her that put his mind at ease, he reflected as they passed the throne hall. The way her gaze met his without hidden thoughts or reservation, how she inspected his face as if it could tell her more than his words could. When they spoke, she addressed him with respect, but it wasn’t the same sort of respect most others offered. He slowed as they approached the welcome hall, picturing her expression. Something about it felt familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

The mental image shifted to the moment she’d struggled to swallow tears, her fingers twisting on her knees as her face shadowed at the memory of her friend’s death.

Dreythan’s stomach hollowed.

Entering the welcome hall, they proceeded through the high-ceilinged chamber to the walled-in lower level of the guest tower within. The room was much the same as it had been three weeks ago. A polished mahogany table waited in the center, with well-cushioned chairs spread around it.

“My lord,” Anshwell greeted as they bustled in, arms laden with writing supplies. “I have brought copies of the original and secondary proposals. Thank Ivere for the advanced notice.” Setting their burden on the table, they began placing scrolls, clean parchment, quills, and inkwells in a tidy pattern where each chair rested.

“Indeed,” Dreythan agreed as Fletch stationed herself beside the door. “Hopefully the second shall not be needed.”

Self-consciously, he adjusted the crown and his robes, checking to ensure the brooch of his collar was perfectly centered under his collarbone. Though Ambassador Kekona was not royalty, she may as well have been with all her finery.

“Are you certain this is what the ambassador meant?” Anshwell shot a doubtful glance at him.

“Not entirely,” Dreythan admitted. “Her missive did state, ‘I shall wish to speak with Your Grace upon my return’. Being prepared as though her statement were a literal one is better than the alternative. In any case,” he added, “Ambassador Kekona does not strike me as the sort of individual who speaks in figurative terms.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, Your Grace,” a melodious voice said from the doorway.

Dreythan turned as Alicianna Kekona entered, the road-stained hem of her amethyst robes drifting behind her. She paused to dip in a curtsey, the simple gold chain over her brow catching the lamplight. Shadows marred the dark skin under her eyes, but her gaze was steady and her smile firm as she rose, inclining her head toward the table.

“It is unusual for my messages to be interpreted exactly as stated,” she said. “But greatly appreciated. As the Guild is ever so fond of saying, ‘Time is the greatest of all currencies.

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