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“Curious times call for direct communication.” My silver rings tap the table as I take my seat. “The weather patterns shift along our borders. The blight spreads. These matters cannot wait for formal summits.”
The youngest delegate, a sprout just past blooming based on the shallow roots at his temples, blinks rapidly. “We have noted no spread of blight at the borders we share with the Wild Wood.”
The careful wording pricks my ears. Not at their Wild Wood border, perhaps, but at another. Their sithe shares borders with the Dark Sithe, the Bloodstone Sithe, their brethren in the Earth Court, and the Agate Sithe of the Tidal Court, from whom I have heard nothing in recent years, though we once shared a bond through the moon.
The eldest delegate shoots their youngest a sidelong glare. “We are as diligent as any sithe in our watch on the blight, but its presence is not new, nor urgent enough to warrant meeting outside the designated time.”
“Perhaps.” I brush the constellations embroidered on my sleeves in a subtle reminder of my lineage. “Or perhaps we perceive urgency differently.”
Pleasantries follow, rehearsed and empty. I gift them a seedling of the lunaria flower, only found in my sithe, as thanks for their time. We speak of trade routes, dwindling grain deliveries, and the migration of magical beasts. Nothing fresh. These delegates arrived with their answers ready. Nothing I say will move them from their script.
“And how fares Prince Elionn?” The question comes from a delegate whose hair tumbles from the top of his head in spiraling vines. “Word has reached us of his journeys outside your sithe. We had hoped to be included in his visits.”
My pulse jumps, but centuries of practice keep my reaction hidden. “My brother seeks the same thing we all do. An end to the blight. If you have not yet seen it on your borders, then he had no reason to venture into your kingdom.”
His lips purse, the branches tattooed across his cheeks shifting at having tipped their hand. If they had heard of his travels, they had also heard of the reason why. “Of course. We look forward to seeing him again at the All Summit.”
The pleasantries act as a confirmation that they have not seen my brother, which means he disappeared within the Dark Sithe.
“To matters of substance,” I say, steering the talk back on track. “The Silver Sithe proposes an expansion of grain trade along the western ridge. Your court has excess from the autumn harvest, while our mountains produce minerals long coveted by the Earthen Court.”
The delegates shift in unison, a rustle of leaves and fabric.
“The western ridge,” the eldest repeats, heavy with meaning.
I do not look away. “The established routes have served us well for centuries.”
“Yet those paths have grown unsettled.” The delegate touches his vine-wrapped wrist. “Our traders report fluctuations in the boundary magics.”
Another lie, dressed in enough truth to pass. Our borders are stable, but they have offered the same excuses for the slower and slower food deliveries for years, while our mineral shipments reach their border without incident.
“The Silver Sithe maintains its boundaries with care,” I say, ice in my words. “Any fluctuations would be noted and addressed by our patrols.”
“Of course.” The eldest’s smile reveals teeth ringed with moss. “We meant no criticism of your vigilance, King Theron.”
Hours pass, and words flow between us like water over stone, wearing away nothing. The obsidian table reflects our faces, mine composed despite the cold growing inside.
When it’s clear they have no intention of helping us, I rise, silver robes settling around me in a hush of magic. “It grows late. We shall continue these discussions at a more opportune time.”
The eldest Earthen delegate stands, roots retreating from the floor. “The Jade Sithe remains open to further dialogue, when conditions prove more favorable.”
“Favorable conditions arise from mutual effort,” I return, the phrase bitter in my mouth.
No documents await signature. No agreements sit on the table. The entire meeting has proven fruitless.
The five Jade delegates form a line and bow, each to the degree demanded by my status.
“The Dark Sithe thanks you for your journey,” the mirror-crowned courtier announces, his reflection fracturing across the shards in his hair, each one presenting a different version of him, none of them sincere.
Other Dark courtiers drift in, whispers passing between them.
“Our hospitality remains yours for as long as you wish,” a female courtier adds, her skin patterned with shifting constellations. “The Silver Flame honors us with his continued presence.”
“Your hospitality sustains us,” I reply. “We shall continue to impose upon it.”
The Jade delegation files out, backs straight, heads high. Their passing leaves the scent of crushed leaves and damp soil.
The Dark courtiers follow, liquid in their movements, scheming among themselves, and the chamber empties, leaving only Thalindor and Amalia at my side.
