Jackal Among Snakes

“Your Majesty…” Grimalt began, prompting Argrave to look into his amber eyes. “Why exactly am I here?”

The Veidimen officer was clearly uncomfortable in this luxury carriage—not that Argrave felt much different. But it seemed to bother him he was with Elenore, Argrave, Anneliese, Galamon, Melanie, and Orion—he felt his status was not up to snuff, evidently.

Argrave looked out the window of the carriage. “Did no one tell you, or does the marching army outside not give it away? There are a few other stops we’ll be making first, but I promised the Stonepetal Sentinels that I would send aid to secure the Low Way of the Rose, permanently. Galamon thought that some of the men should taste real battle in a challenging place,” Argrave pointed to his knight-commander, who nodded in confirmation. “The Low Way will be a vital line of trade between Vasquer and the Burnt Desert. You should be the one to lead the army into their first battle. This is a royal tour of sorts, to announce to the realm that I’m still present.”

“I understand that part, Your Majesty. But perhaps I ought to be… outside, marching with the men.” Grimalt gestured out the window. “The other officers are.”

Argrave scrutinized the warrior. Grimalt kept his head shaved, but Argrave could faintly see white hair emerging.

He relaxed his back against the upholstery and said, “We had a conversation a long while ago in the Bloodwoods. As I recall, you said that you were good at discerning people’s emotions.”

Grimalt nodded understandingly, but Anneliese came to closer attention.

“I thought Your Majesty may have forgotten about that,” Grimalt admitted. “But perhaps you ought to have. I am uncertain about putting it to greater use than I already am. It helps me lead your men well, but beyond that… what more can I offer?”

“Is it a family thing? Your empathy, I mean,” Argrave continued, and Anneliese turned her head to him, a fed-up look about her face.

“…I cannot say that I’ve asked. But all of my family members have been noted commanders, for what it’s worth.” Grimalt raised his white brows. “Might I inquire what Your Majesty would ask of me?”

“Argrave is merely attempting to learn one of his officers more personally,” Anneliese cut in. “But there are a few other matters to talk about, right?” She looked at Argrave sternly. “You may go, Grimalt.”

Grimalt did not need to be asked again. He left quickly, dismounting from the moving carriage with splendid grace. Once he was gone, Anneliese pulled shut the door.

“What?” Argrave asked her as she stared at him. “Clearly you get what I was driving at.”

Melanie, perhaps the only outsider in the carriage, glanced between the two of them in confusion as they spoke.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but that is unnecessary.” Anneliese shook her head. “Yes, we are probably related somehow. I don’t care to expose that fact. It brings us no benefit.”

their family can teach you. Maybe someone can explain what exactly happened with Onychinusa—you know, that whole impact you felt after your conversation. You said it faded after helping her, but you really had me worried back then.

seemed made up. “I do not care to connect with my paternal side. No one that did what my father did is worthy of

should have asked you first. Was probably

picked up a book and split it open. “But turmoil is the last thing we need. Perhaps it might not be so

across from Anneliese, questioned, “You never knew your dad, Your

adopted. In adulthood, as

that information?” Elenore questioned, gray eyes looking between

loyalties are settled. I do, too,” Argrave grabbed a book

I guess,” Melanie said quietly, brushing back some of her red hair. She seemed embarrassed to be vulnerable, and so quickly interjected, “Seems to have worked out for the

books that Garm had written before he gave his soul to Durran. His

of her

of the Gray Owl, yeah? Castro is quite the looker, and I know you’re a flirt.”

#####

one of the blood echoes that Argrave had projected. “Congratulations, Argrave. You invented your own A-rank

scratched

the vast room of the Tower Master. “Plenty of help. But there aren’t that many A-rank spellcasters, not really. Do you realize

that,” Argrave continued dismissing. “I’m no

think you were so insufferably confident when first we met… now you can’t accept praise,” Castro marveled, shaking his head. Reminded of something, he turned. “Anyway, while I have

it off to

for Dimocles,” Argrave nodded.

at Castro.

would not be forgotten. All of the guards at the entrances to Blackgard had been instructed to look for people with the blue-green eyes marking him as a polymorph, but no word had come. Dimocles was a player character, and therefore resourceful.

Dimocles’ guillotine, and

sees what currently is, not what will be, correct? When was this—when

him, vigor not at all indicative of his wizened body giving clarity to his eyes. “I’m not sure how much longer he can last. His visions grow clearer, yet his seizures rise in tandem. I will not

nearby desk. An idea came to him that turned his stomach. “I can help you now. But

“Risk?” Castro repeated.

“If we kill the god that gave Ingo the blessing he bears, it’ll dissipate. But… I can’t honestly promise he can

digested that. “The