Everyone’s feelings weighed on Felitïa: terror, revulsion, disbelief. The throne room was packed. Every noble who had been at the banquet was here, it seemed, lined up in haphazard rows along the side walls, the front wall, and behind the Bear Throne. Some of them wept openly; others proclaimed defiantly that they would not believe until they had seen with their own eyes; still others called for the bearing of arms to fight the menace. Many invoked the gods in some pointless hope that they would actually show up to intervene; many others cried that the gods had abandoned them. Even the guards spaced about the room looked uneasy. Their hands fingered the hilts of their swords, adjusted their bear sigil tabards, or fixed the positions of their helmets.
Through it all, Felitïa tried desperately to concentrate on her own feelings, on her own sense of identity. But there were so many other feelings invading her mind. Tears ran down her face from the exertion. This was a terrible time for her telepathic abilities to flare. Luckily, the tears would only make her fit in with so many others here.
At last, she found the focus she needed, and in her head, set the Room’s walls spinning, knocking away all the feelings she wanted kept out. Despite the actual noise in the throne room, it was like a blissful silence. For a brief moment, she felt calm. Then the weight of her own feelings came upon her. But at least those she could deal with.
Her sisters Annai and Sinitïa stood to her left, and a short distance past them, her father sat in the Bear Throne. He was slouched so low that the bear on the back of his throne towered above him. His hands clutched the armrests shaped to mimic the forelegs of the bear, while he shifted the weight of the rest of his body back and forth to different spots on the throne’s blue velvet cushions. Sweat trickled down his face and glistened on his beard. To his left sat the Queen, who was leaning over and patting her husband’s arms and whispering to him, apparently trying to comfort him. Felitïa had never thought her mother could be the comforting type.
On the other side of the thrones stood three of her brothers. Huge, muscular Thilin, whom she could hardly believe was the same tiny little boy she’d left behind fifteen years ago, was shifting about uncomfortably. Short and skinny Pastrin with his trend-setting shoulder-length hair alternated between licking his lips and biting the lower one. Malef ran his fingers through his thick bushel of dark hair.
Cerus stood in front of the two thrones, staring thoughtfully at the great double doors at the back of the room. He was the calmest-looking person there, though his fingers occasionally twitched at his side, and every now and then he shifted which leg he was putting the most weight on.
Garet, in contrast, paced back and forth in front of Cerus, grumbling and doing nothing that could be described as calm. He was one of the ones calling for taking up arms against the Volgs. As part of his show, he had his sword drawn and held out in front of him. “We mustn’t believe their lies of diplomacy! But we mustn’t show fear either! Forget the stories of their strengths and powers! Those are just stories! I’ve faced them before! They’re not unbeatable!”
The doors at the back of the room opened. A train of Royal Guardsmen marched in surrounding three Volgs. At the sight of them, the servants holding the doors backed away in fear. Several people in the room fainted away. Sinitïa was one of them, landing at Felitïa’s feet. Annai stared in abject terror. Felitïa bent down to help Sinitïa back to her feet.
Some people in the room drew their swords, and at a nod from Garet, they started forward. The Royal Guard raised their shields and linked them side by side, forming a wall of bear sigils that completely encircled the three Volgs.
Garet lowered his sword. “What is the meaning of this?”
“It would be really quite pointless to bring them all the way here just to kill them,” Cerus said. “We could have done that at the gates. They are unarmed.”
“Only because we disarmed them,” Garet said. “I say put them to the sword!” Several other people in the room responded with cries of “To the sword!”
Cerus raised a hand for silence. “My lords and ladies, please! If we truly believe that we are more civilised than they, then let us show our civility by treating them with respect until they do something to warrant otherwise.”
“Folly!” Garet responded.
“Garet, enough,” the King said. “Put away your sword.”
Garet grumbled, but did as he was told.
Throughout this, the Volgs had remained stationary. Two of them scanned the room with their eyes, watching everything. Guards. They were big, bigger even than most of the other Volgs Felitïa had seen. Their horns were thick and curled, their fur dark. Black eyes added to their menacing nature.
The third one was smaller than the other two, probably the smallest Volg she’d seen yet—although still easily as large as Rudiger. He had grey fur and his beard was white. Dressed in voluminous black and gold robes that dipped down low at the back to allow for the wings, he stood there with his head lowered, gazing at the blue carpet and scratching the back of his left horn.
The nobles were starting to quiet down. At a motion from Cerus, the Royal Guardsmen unlinked their shields and parted. “Please approach,” Cerus said.
The small Volg looked up and strode forward, his robes flowing about him. The other two Volgs followed behind, still watching the crowd for signs of trouble. When he reached the image of the bear on the carpet, the small Volg knelt and bowed his head. “Your Majesties, your Royal Highness, your Highnesses, my lords and ladies.” His voice was smooth and soft, yet the sound carried easily across the room. “I am Sidlove, son of Medrove of the Worker Caste. I come to you offering my services as ambassador to the Volganth people.” He paused, just long enough for the gasps of surprise to subside. “I also bring a request from my King, Festroff, the seventy-sixth of his name.”
The room fell quiet, a few whispers being passed back and forth by nobles the only sounds. Cerus looked to the King, who looked to his wife. She smiled at him. “You may rise,” the King said.
Sidlove stood up. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Ambassador Sidlove,” Cerus began, “how can we—”
“How can we be certain of your good intentions?” the Queen interrupted him. Cerus frowned, but regained his composure.
“Your Majesty,” Sidlove answered, “I understand your misgivings. However, there are only three of us, and as his Royal Highness so eloquently said before, we are unarmed. We would be most foolish if we bore you any ill will.”
“Liar,” Garet said. “I know only too well the tricks you can pull.”
“Garet, enough!” the Queen snapped.
“I am not offended by his words, your Majesty,” Sidlove said. He turned to face Garet. “Your Highness, it has been more than twenty-three hundred years since there was last regular contact between our peoples, and then it was in a state of war. It is only natural that there is fear on both sides.”
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“I do not fear you,” Garet grumbled.
Sidlove went on, unperturbed. “You have your stories about us, which I have no doubt make us out to be terrible monsters. Cruel, vicious, and evil. Likewise, we have the same such stories about you. It is these stories, however, which are our true enemies. We must learn to put aside the fears of the past and to work together for a better future for us all.”
“Fuck you.”
Gasps shot about the room at the intensity of Garet’s words. “Garet, I will not tolerate such language in this room!” the Queen screeched.
Then Garet was on Sidlove, grabbing a horn and pulling back his head. He raised a dagger to the Volg’s neck. In a heartbeat, one of Sidlove’s guards grabbed his wrist and wrenched the dagger from his grasp. Royal Guardsmen moved forward, swords pointed at both Garet and at the Volg who now held the dagger. The Volg flipped the dagger around to hold it by the blade and then offered the hilt to Cerus, who, looking surprised, took it.
“Your people kidnapped my fiancée!” Garet yelled. “Your people tortured her! And you come in here speaking of trust and a better future. Your trust be damned!”
“Escort Prince Garet from the throne room,” the Queen said.
Garet raged, but allowed two Royal Guards to show him out. As they left, Captain DeSeloön and his men slipped into the room. Rudiger was with them. She wondered where Zandrue, Jorvan, and Meleng were.
“Our apologies,” Cerus said to the Volg ambassador, who was rubbing his neck.
Sidlove nodded and scratched the base of the horn that Garet had grabbed. “My thanks, your Royal Highness.”
Cerus gazed at Garet’s dagger. “Did your people do such a thing to my brother’s fiancée?”
“No, your Royal Highness.” Sidlove scratched the base of his horn again. “At least, not as far as I know. If such a thing did happen, it was not under the sanction of our king. However, as much as we are loathe to admit it, we have a criminal element to our society just as you do. It embarrasses me no end to learn that such a thing might have happened at an inconvenient time as this.”
“I cannot imagine that there would be any time that could be called convenient,” the Queen said. She leaned forward in her throne. “Ambassador Sidlove, twenty-three hundred years ago, the gods banished your people to Vast, in the centre of the Great Ocean. There you were to stay. How can you expect us to open a relationship with you if you now tell us you have been allowing criminals to come here? This gives us little faith in your competence to control your own people. We have not allowed our criminals to go to Vast.”
“Your Majesty,” Sidlove said, “there is no proof at this time that is what has happened. I was merely postulating a possibility. However, for all we know, Prince Garet is mistaken.”
“That is not an easy thing to be mistaken about,” the Queen replied. “Few people are likely to mistake a human for a Volg. You must admit, we don’t look much alike.”
Sidlove nodded. “Perhaps, your Majesty. But perhaps the perpetrators were goblins or trolls.”
The Queen waved her hand in dismissal of the idea and shifted back in her throne. “Everyone knows what a goblin looks like, and there are no trolls in Arnor.”
Sidlove shrugged in a very human-like manner. “Then perhaps the prince’s fiancée is delusional. I am merely offering alternatives, your Majesty. I do not pretend to know the real answers.”
“Might I say something, your Majesties?” Ardon strode into the room, past the Royal Guard and straight up beside Sidlove. He bowed.
The King smiled. “Of course, your Grace. Your wisdom is always valued here.”
“Quilla Steranovist is not the only one to run afoul of Volgs recently,” the Patriarch said. “Your daughter, Princess Felitïa has also been harassed by them, which I’m sure she will attest to. Captain DeSeloön and all the others with her can vouch that she is not delusional.”
Felitïa stared at Ardon, but he didn’t even glance in her direction. They had agreed to keep that information from the court. Even DeSeloön had agreed that, for the time being, it was best to say that Stavan had died in an attack by goblins. Of course, the arrival of Volgs at the palace changed the situation quite a bit. People were far less likely to ridicule her with the truth standing right in front of them. Still, she would have preferred if Ardon had said something to her first.
“Captain, is this true?” the Queen asked.
DeSeloön came forward and bowed. “It is, your Majesty. One day out of Quorge, our group was attacked by a large mass of Volgs. We never got a clear count. Two of them were wizards. We dealt with most of them, but the wizards escaped. They kidnapped a young boy who was under her Highness’s protection, and inflicted terrible injuries on most of the rest of us. My man, Stavan Orcan, perished several days later from those injuries.”
“Ambassador?” the Queen said.
Sidlove scratched behind a horn with one hand while pulling on his tuft of a white beard with the other. He struggled for words. “I am speechless, your Majesty.”
The Queen stood up and looked down the steps of the dais at the Volg ambassador. Her face was one of grim determination and her stance rigid. Felitïa had to admit she could look commanding when she wanted to. “Ambassador, your people have committed two acts of aggression against us. We will have to discuss the situation amongst ourselves to determine how to respond. Guards, escort the ambassador and his companions to a holding cell. Keep them there until I or the King summons them.”
Sidlove bowed. “As you wish, your Majesty. However, please allow me to deliver the message from my king first.” He pulled a rolled, sealed scroll from his robes, and looked at the Queen.
The Queen nodded, and Cerus took the scroll from the Volg. After that, Sidlove bowed again and allowed himself and his two guards to be escorted from the room.
As soon as they were gone, the room erupted in a roar as nobles yelled out various suggestions for how to respond, mostly involving ways to kill them, from beheading to hanging to boiling in oil. Someone even called for a crucifixion in the same vain as the Volgs were said to have done to humans during the Great War.
The Queen had to motion repeatedly for quiet. Eventually Cerus yelled out, “My lords and ladies, please! Let us be calm and rational!” Slowly, the roar died down to a dull murmur.
“The King and I must discuss this in private,” the Queen said, looking to her husband.
King Wavon scratched his beard, then nodded and stood up from the Bear Throne. “We will adjourn to my study. Cerus, your Grace, Felitïa, join us please.”
“Not Felitïa,” the Queen said. “She does not need to be there.”
“Your Majesty,” Ardon said, “your daughter has had first-hand experience of the Volgs. I think her counsel would be invaluable.”
“Captain DeSeloön was there as well,” the Queen replied. “He may join us.”
“Excellent idea, your Majesty!” Ardon said. “It would be invaluable to have both of them there!”
“I meant only DeSeloön,” the Queen said, but Ardon looked to the King.
After a moment, Felitïa’s father nodded. “Both may attend us.”
“Then I wish Annai there,” the Queen said. “And Barnol Friaz.”
“My dear,” the King said, “if we bring too many, it will hardly be a private meeting.”
“I want them there.”
“But if we bring one provincial voice, we can hardly exclude the others.”
“We can and will,” the Queen said, descending the steps. The King followed after her, still protesting. As they followed the carpet to the doors, the ones named to go with them fell into line behind them.
“Why does Friaz get special attention?” a woman cried. “Rivalle demands the right to speak!”
“Forget Rivalle!” a man called. “What about the South? We’re always ignored. Let Lothal and Southal have a voice!”
“This is bound to get messy,” Cerus said to Felitïa as they left the room. Felitïa didn’t doubt him.