We are family, and that is enough. Now is not the time to be getting caught up in feelings. Clearing my throat, I nod and try to act like what he just said hasn’t thrown my mind into a tizzy.
“What happened?” He winces slightly at my question.
“Let’s just say I don’t think the priests will be very helpful from now on,” Pierre comments sarcastically.
“Grayson reacted the same way any of us would if our family was threatened,” Merrin jumps in, his usual pleasant expression turning into a frown at the other magician’s flippant remark. “Unfortunately, some of the priests got in Grayson’s way.”
“I killed them, and I would have continued to kill a pathway straight to you if my fellow magicians hadn’t helped.” He sounds completely unregretful as he speaks, meeting my eyes. I should be scared, horrified, and repulsed—this man killed other people. I’m feeling a whole plethora of emotions, but none of them are any of the above. The death of the slaves? Yes, that horrifies me, but not the deaths of the priests. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I can’t even find it within me to be upset at their demise. The priests are the ones behind my suffering for the last twelve years, after all, and they’re responsible for the deaths of all those slaves.
“Good.” I hardly recognise myself as I speak.
Something flutters in my chest, but I don’t think it’s from me—the connection I have with Grayson is making itself known. Someone coughs as we continue to stare at each other, and I’m pretty sure Ellis murmurs, “Awkward,” under his breath. Blushing, I pull my gaze from Grayson, who’s smiling ruefully. I shift in my seat before I turn to the others like nothing happened, trying to resist the urge to look back at Grayson.
“What happened next? Everyone had been called to watch the queen’s execution. Was everybody still in the courtyard?” I inquire, pulling their focus back to what happened when I was in the underground room. What I really want to be asking is if he’d seen Mage Wilson or Tor from the mountain tribes. Something tries to spark to life within me, but I push it down. Now is not the time to start examining those feelings.
“No, a few of the nobles were there, but Wilson was helping them escape,” Grayson explains, and I feel a huge weight leave my shoulders. Wilson’s okay. My eyes sting as tears threaten to fall, but I can’t cry now, not while there are so many eyes on me. I’ll save that for when I’m alone and I can process everything that’s happened.
“The tribesmen were fighting with the guards.” Grayson’s comment distracts me from my tears as my eyebrows shoot up. I hadn’t expected them to fight our people while they were here as diplomats. “I think we might have lost their support,” he continues dryly, and Pierre chuckles, but it’s devoid of amusement as he shakes his head.
“I can’t say I blame them.” Merrin sighs, leaning back in his chair as he strokes his beard. “Mass genocide is not usually a sign of a stable country.” The others murmur a wordless agreement and a heavy weight seems to fall over the room.
“After that, Grayson knew where you would be and led us to you,” Ellis finishes after a few moments. I know they have other questions, and queries about my relationship with their colleague, but they don’t know me well enough to ask, and I’m grateful for that. Shuffling forward in my chair, I reach for the forgotten mugs on the small table, enjoying the warmth of the drink through the ceramic. The magicians follow suit, humming in appreciation as they sip the drinks. I realise then that they must have travelled a long way without time to stop for rest or refreshments. This must be the first time they’re able to sit, although they don’t look that tired. I suppose one of the benefits of having magic is being able to restore your energy.
“What happens now?” I ask after they have settled back in their chairs. “Will Grayson get in trouble for killing those priests?”
“We will need to discuss that and talk with the other high magicians, but we need to make it clear that we do not support the mass slaughter of slaves,” Merrin answers in a tired voice—they’re more exhausted than their outward appearance shows. Or perhaps the deaths of the slaves and the queen have affected him more than