Page 32 of Obsidian Throne
Not just for the militant aspect, as I had suspected—as Iiro had assumed—but for this. I wasn’t sure why it surprised me when he planned for literally everything else, but I had only ever seen him focused on his soldiers.
He nodded. “A united Socair wouldn’t be the worst thing, if it were under someone who actually gave a damn. Unfortunately, the only one I could be reasonably certain meets those requirements is Arès, and after keeping to himself for so long, I doubt he could garner the support even if we could rid ourselves of Iiro.”
Evander sighed, but the arrival of yet another report via Kirill stopped any further discussion on that.
* * *
The following morning, his gaze lingered on me, and a happy, purring Boris snuggled against me in our bed, as he dressed for the day.
“I have to act in my father’s stead at a meeting with the lords in our territory,” he said, casting me a speculative glance. “It would be a good idea for you to accompany me.”
“Are women allowed at these meetings?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Not generally,” he admitted. “But this is the first one since our wedding. It might be prudent to start as we plan to go on.”
A smile spread across my lips. Somehow his invitation to something as mundane as a meeting with the lords was, dare I say,romantic.
“All right, then,” I said, narrowly avoiding Boris’ spiteful nip at my decision to leave the bed.
He went into my closet and emerged holding a dress that was similar to the style I usually wore, but in a more formal, brocaded fabric. “Wear this.”
I raised an eyebrow but obliged him. Taisiya came to help me with my hair, then Evander and I were off.
I could tell this was different from Lochlann’s council before I even sat down. For one thing, it was, predictably, all men. It was also all lords, with no one to represent the common people.
Where the Lochlannian Council had long since ceased to rely on ceremony, everyone at the rectangular table stood to offer a bow when we entered. Evander nodded back, his face a mask of arrogance.
Not one of them dared to question what I was doing there, but they cast me dissatisfied glances all the same. All except for Taras, who merely looked...wary, as he gestured for the Lord closest to the head of the table to move down.
With obvious disgruntlement, the entire right side of the table shifted, and I took the proffered seat. That was my first misstep, apparently, given the looks I received.
No one else sat until Evander did.
I examined my husband’s features, noting how well he played this part. It was hard to believe he was the same person who had been in our bed this morning. There was no trace of softness on his features now, but then, I supposed that’s what being a ruler in Socair was.
In any event, at least he didn’t appear to be fazed that I sat down before him.
Evander called the meeting to order, and the lords brought various issues to his attention. He considered them all with that same aloof face, asking pertinent follow-up questions before giving a decisive response.
It was impressively efficient, and I had to wonder how he felt about Lochlann’s council style of rule. Things that took days of discussion to decide on there, were settled in a matter of minutes here. From what I could see, Evander’s judgements were fair, if a bit…exacting.
Most of the conversations surrounded food distribution, though a few touched on disputes with one another’s lands. Taras’ father, Lord Lehtinan, brought up issues with the Unclanned and a few instances of theft, while another Lord mentioned raids on food stores.
I followed along, trying to glean any information I could about my new home and the people I would be partially responsible for, the same way I would have my holdings in Lochlann.
A couple of times I voiced a quick, clarifying question, and Evander would give me the barest approving nod before answering. Other times, he or Taras offered a low explanation before I even needed to speak up.
All in all, the meeting was going better than could be expected until the lord next to Taras spoke up.
“My lord, we have a situation with three dissenting soldiers.”
Evander gestured for him to go on.
“They were firstmen, ages fifteen, fifteen, and sixteen.” He paused, irritation flashing across his features. “They set fire to piles of gunpowder, frightening the ladies nearby and destroying some of the shrubberies.”
He looked a little uncomfortable using the word shrubberies.
“Was anyone harmed?” Evander asked coolly.