Page 139 of Obsidian Throne
“Danil,” I greeted, with Arès following suit.
He nodded in return, fixing his features into neutrality before we entered the throne room.
The first thing I did was carefully assess the surroundings. Guards lined the room, the allotted ten each clan was allowed to bring plus the hundreds from Elk and Palace.
I would have been frustrated by his clear favoritism in allowing his brother to bring an actual regiment if it wasn’t working in our favor.
Iiro perched on his ostentatious throne, predictably wearing his oversized crown, ridiculously ornate robes, and that obnoxious, arrogant expression he favored.
Even knowing how this day would end for him, I could still hardly stand to look at his face.
He had a smattering of Elk guards around him, but more than half were his own, which was unfortunate. At least Korhonan had apparently been successful in convincing him Inessa would be better off holding tea this morning, since she was nowhere to be seen.
“My good dukes,” Iiro began, gesturing to the room. “Thank you all for attending our first annual tithing.”
Arès and Danil shifted uncomfortably on their feet, and they weren’t the only ones. The dukes from Bison and even Viper looked just as uneasy about being here. Bear’s taxes might have been the worst, but no one was coming out of this unaffected.
My gaze shifted from them to the window, looking for the telltale sign that Rowan was close, but still, nothing. When I caught Kirill’s gaze, he subtly shook his head to confirm he saw nothing from his vantage point either.
I didn’t look at Korhonan, not wanting to give his brother any cause for suspicion.
Without preamble, Iiro got straight to the point, his gaze locking on me and the dukes at my side.
“Sir Stenvall,” he said in an overly pleasant tone. “Why don’t we begin with you.”
He gestured for me to stand before him, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I nodded, casually sliding my hands into my pockets as I stepped forward.
We had known that he would likely single me out first, to make an example of me. To encourage the others to cow to his whims once he forced me to do the same.
Before Iiro could utter a single word, a dense mist settled over the palace, obscuring the morning sun that had lit up the room only moments ago. A few of the dukes exchanged startled glances at the abrupt wave of fog uncharacteristically high in the air, but there was no real alarm.
Until a burst of light flashed through the air, punctuated by a sharp crack directly over our heads. Iiro barked a few orders for the guards stationed near him to make sure that no major damage had been done, shooting cautious glances out the window.
“You were saying,” I prodded, wanting his attention on me and not the courtyard, just in case.
He slowly turned back to me. “Yes. I assume you’re ready to accept the taxes on imported goods, for the betterment of our great kingdom.”
I pretended to consider it while I took several steps closer to him. His guards had been well trained, though. They stepped in as well.
“Tell me,” I said conversationally. “Will you be collecting nearly half of all dowries going forward, or is that treatment limited to Bear?”
Iiro’s eyes narrowed. “When those dowries are moved in from another kingdom, I will.”
It was the wrong answer. Even the dukes on his side murmured in disagreement.
But I didn’t really care what he said, just that we conversed long enough for me to be the closest one to his throne, and that he remained distracted until Rowan got here.
“I see.” I let a facetious note enter my tone. “And the taxes on food, what do you plan on doing with the surplus?”
Iiro huffed out an irritable breath. “I hardly see how that is relevant for you to know.”
“I would like to know as well,” Arès spoke up. “Surely you believe the clans have a right to be told where their tithes are being used?”
Ignoring their back and forth since it would hardly matter in a few minutes, I took the opportunity to survey the room again. Everything was as we expected it to be.
There was no reason for anything to go wrong. Except…
Except that anything could go wrong in a battle. My wife was more than capable, but as she was fond of saying, it only took one good opening for someone else to best you.