COMMAND THE TIDES - Wren Handman Page 0,55

David was the best of them all at cooking, that Jeremy always had a story to put a smile on your face. Even Ryan, who spoke only a handful of words to anyone but David, let Taya quietly sit beside him and study his work as he whittled small shapes from scraps of firewood. These creations always went as kindling to the flames, but Taya got the sense that it was the activity that mattered, not the results. Darren, too, began to convalesce, and Taya once again shared laughter with her old friend.

Chapter Eleven

HE ADJUSTED HIS COAT in the mirror, turning ever so slightly sideways to ensure that it fell just right along his back. With an impatient flick of his wrist he motioned his valet to step away, and ran his fingers through his hair so it fell more naturally to frame his face. He eyed the effect critically, and then turned with a slightly raised eyebrow toward his wife.

“Well, Eneika? Will it do?”

She laughed, rising gracefully from her chair and moving to stand in front of him. Playfully, she reached up and readjusted his jacket, leaving it to fall almost exactly as it had before she touched it.

“White silk all the way from Sanitos and gold trim that matches my dress exactly?” She pursed her lips and eyed the ensemble. “I don’t know…I suppose it will have to do.”

He laughed and caught her around the waist, crushing her body against his and catching her lip between his own. She pushed him gently away.

“Now, Peter, you’ll crumple your clothes.”

He made a dismissive noise, but released her with a smile. “Very well. We do want to look our best.”

“Well, it isn’t every year our daughter turns sixteen, you know.”

“Ah, but we do have two others. They aren’t in short supply,” he countered, and she tsked.

“Now, don’t let Celia hear you talking that way. You know how jealous she is of her younger sisters.”

He snorted through his nose, but there was a hint of a smile behind his dark black beard. “Yes, yes. Women do get like that,” he told his wife with a hidden smile. He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket one last time, and turned at a knock on the door. His demeanor shifted slightly, and his voice, when he called out, was solemn.

“Enter.”

Eneika retook her seat behind him, demurely crossing her hands on her lap. In a gown all of gold silk, with her black hair braided through with matching golden chains, she was a sight to behold. Bearing three children had put matronly curves on her once willowy figure, but she carried it well, and he was always proud of how restrained and polite she was in the public eye. The door swung open and a messenger bowed to the couple.

“Forgive me, sire, but there is urgent news about the matter in Miranov,” the messenger explained, and Peter swore under his breath.

“Very well, come in.”

King Octarion crossed to the desk against the far wall, picking up a handkerchief and stuffing it rather violently into his pocket.

“There’s a missive, sire. From Lord Mendaci.”

The messenger held out an envelope, which King Octarion’s valet took. He checked the wax seal to ensure it was from Lord Mendaci, and then ran his hands carefully over the paper to check for any topical poisons or powders. Assured that there were no harmful residues, Adam handed the letter to the king, who took it impatiently. He ripped the wax seal off and snapped the letter open with a scowl on his face.

The trio in the room waited with baited breath. King Octarion’s face grew darker. A muscle bulged in his jaw. He took a calming breath, poised and perfect—except one traitorous hand, which slowly crumpled the missive into a ball.

“Thank you, that will be all,” Queen Eneika said briskly, standing and practically shooing the other two men out of the room. “You too,” she admonished Adam, who left only reluctantly, closing the door behind him. She had no doubt he was still there, his ear pressed to the door, but gossip was the coin of a servant’s life. There was nothing to be done about it.

Peter slammed both hands down on his desk, quivering with rage. There was a splintering noise, but the huge piece of wood held. Eneika quickly walked up to him and laid her hands across his back—not massaging, just letting them sit there, a quiet and simple warmth. He stood for a moment in silence, bringing his rage