behaviour, I shall be left with no option but to react. A sensible ruler, after all, can only stretch her tolerance so far.
’ Alberon stared at Wynter and Razi in disbelief. ‘I cannot believe it!’ he said. ‘That he thought he could get away with it!’ He started for the door, his face thunderous.
‘Alberon,’ tried Wynter, her voice scratchy with shock. ‘Perhaps there . . . there may have been . . .’ She jerked to a panicked silence.
Ashkr and Embla: it could only be them to whom Marguerite was referring. The beautiful, gentle and ultimately doomed pair whom the Merron had cherished for their entire lives – then sacrificed in the most savage manner. Wynter closed her eyes at the memory. Every single thing she wanted to say seemed wrong. Shockingly, her strongest impulse was to shout, No! She lies! They did nothing! But no matter how willingly Ashkr and Embla had gone to the grave, it did not negate the senselessness nor the brutality of their passing, and Wynter could think of nothing to say that would not paint the Merron in an impossibly dark light.
She looked to Razi. His face was cold and set. As he lowered his chin and moved to let Alberon out the door, Wynter knew he was about to reveal the Merron’s crime and use the distraction to return to his brother’s confidence. She could not bring herself to condemn him for it. After all, Embla had been his lover – no, more than that – she had been the woman he loved. Razi had every right to take his revenge. But looking up into his dark face, Wynter wished that it was not so. To her shame, she found herself wishing that somehow the Merron might walk free of the consequences of those horrible and pointless killings back in the forest.
For a brief moment, Razi’s cold eyes met hers. Wynter lifted her hands, she clasped them: please. Razi looked away. Her heart sank. But, just as it seemed certain that he would let Alberon stride past and summon his guard, Razi clenched his fist, squeezed his eyes shut, then put his hand out to stop the Prince in his tracks.
‘I think I know the people to whom Marguerite refers,’ he sighed. ‘The brother and sister she speaks of in her letter.’
Alberon’s eyes widened in anger. ‘For godsake, man!’ he cried. ‘Why did you not—’
Razi met his eye. ‘They were ill when I met them,’ he said. ‘The same disease for which I treated their leader’s right-hand man. I attended them myself, but there was naught to be done for them.’
Alberon deflated slightly. ‘Oh,’ he said.
‘Úlfnaor attempts negotiation with you only because he was entreated to do so by the envoys themselves. Before they died, they bid him to take their place. He comes to you in the innocent belief that he has been granted right of parley.’
‘Oh,’ said Alberon again. He looked down at the papers in confusion.
Wynter stared ahead of her, afraid to look at Razi in case some twitch of expression or some tic of posture might give away her shock at his smooth and believable lies.
‘Marguerite has misrepresented Úlfnaor to you,’ said Razi. ‘She portrays him as a savage and a brute, but I suspect that he is neither of those things. Try not to be offended by his manner. He behaves as a lord because to his people he is a lord. In his own way, Úlfnaor is a nobleman, and I do not think that you have cause to distrust his intent.’
This must have come perilously close to Razi offering his opinion, because Alberon seemed to remember that he was no longer accepting advice from his brother, and he dropped his eyes to the grip Razi had on his arm. Razi carefully removed his hand, and Alberon simply stood in expressionless silence until Razi bowed and turned to leave. Wynter followed stiffly on his heels. At the edge of the tent’s shadow, just before they stepped out into the cold sunlight, Razi turned back once more.
‘If you like, your Highness, you can send my word to Princess Marguerite. You can tell her that I can attest to the fact that her envoys were treated with all the care and devotion she could ever have hoped for. You can assure her that I was witness to this, and that they were tended to with great dedication and with much love, right up until the day they died.’