Emberhawk - Jamie Foley Page 0,100

tart and motioned for Ryon to sit beside her.

He complied. “Are you . . . okay? You seem . . .”

Brooke grunted through a mouthful of purple-stained tart. “You must’ve missed the big announcement while you were gone.”

Ryon frowned at the sloppy way she ate—more like a stressed mother of twins than a royal monarch. Except he couldn’t imagine her having any children. “Does it have something to do with the Malaano princess? Or the Darkwood?”

Brooke muttered something about mead and morning. “I accepted his offer.”

A long moment passed before the pieces connected in Ryon’s mind. Surely she didn’t mean that offer. “You’re going to marry the Darkwood prince?”

Brooke winced as if the tart were rotten. “Assuming he lives long enough.”

Ryon stared at her. She’d been refusing to marry for years. Especially that Darkwood scumbag. What had suddenly changed?

Brooke slopped a spoonful of jomoco jelly and stuffed it in her mouth. She didn’t meet his gaze.

Ryon ducked his head, trying to make eye contact. “Don’t tell me you believe in that stupid curse.”

“I don’t. Neither did either of my fiancés before they . . . died.” Brooke swallowed hard. “Neither do my own people who call me a witch.”

“Well, the prince obviously doesn’t believe it.” Ryon glanced at the handmaiden, who gave a slight shake of her head as if to say she’d had the same conversation with no results. Ryon lowered his voice. “Why did you accept, though? Our relationship with the Emberhawk tribe is so much worse than the Darkwood.”

“The Darkwood chief doesn’t see much benefit in the Alliance for him—you know how arrogant they are, but their warriors are invaluable. And they’re furthest from Malaan, so they don’t feel threatened by war.” Brooke took a swig of water. “And you know Queen Deirdre has no interest in wedding me with one of her sons. Coriander married for love, so there’s no way he’d want a second wife . . .” She trailed off and turned a greenish hue.

Ryon chewed on the inside of his lip. His cousin Coriander had been out of the question for a couple of years, anyway, after he’d picked up the mantle of the Emberhawk rebellion. Ryon hadn’t understood why he’d do such a thing against his own mother until it became apparent that the creature that called itself Deirdre certainly wasn’t his true mother.

“What about Lysander?” Ryon murmured. “He’s the oldest, anyway.”

“Yeah, a real charmer, that one,” Brooke grunted.

“And the Darkwood prince is any better?”

Brooke grimaced. “Well, Deirdre just rejected my proposal—again. Lysander’s not in the running for the throne anymore. Illiana will inherit the Emberhawk crown.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want to make a claim for it.”

Ryon choked on his own breath. “N-no, I—”

She waved him off with a coarse chuckle. “Good, ’cause I’d rather marry a toad than you.”

Ryon narrowed his eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

Brooke’s chuckle burst into a laugh. “I wish.” She looked down at the food as if it had rotted into pond scum. She sat back and gave a deep sigh. “Sorry you have to see me like this. Obviously it’s not my best day.” Her features seemed to settle into their normal rigid stance as she crossed her arms. “So, tell me where you ran off to before I charge you as a traitor.”

“There’s too much to tell.” Ryon stared into the jomoco jam, wondering how much each spoonful cost. “And you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He felt Brooke’s eyes boring into him. “Show me, then.”

Ryon braced himself and met her dark gaze.

Umber irises seemed to bleed outward and reach toward Ryon, enveloping him in a swirling void. The Great Hall darkened into pitch until all he could see were the eyes of the Jade Witch. Weightlessness buffeted him as time ceased to exist.

Start from the beginning. Brooke’s voice echoed through his mind. Did you make it to the border to begin scouting?

Ryon summoned memories of Kira’s arrow, the barn, and Sa’alu. Of the d’hakka and Waelyn and Sylendrin. Of the Roanoke and Deirdre—no, Zamara. Each scene replayed itself in his mind’s eye, and Brooke’s surreal presence watched and sifted through details according to her will.

Finally she retreated and the grand table splayed out before Ryon once again. The gilded floor solidified under his feet, and the bright atmosphere returned with the scents of roasted venison and incense. He gripped his chair to steady himself. He’d never get used to that.

“Zamara, that close to the city?” Brooke’s tan face paled. She