The Point of A Dagger

Seven

"Cassandra!" someone behind me calls. I turn the same time as Ronan, handing him the plate full of the Prince's dinner I was on my way to deliver. Maeve hurries toward me, a parchment in her hand, her brow sewn with worry.

"What's wrong?"

"Urgent news from Azore, ma'am. I need you and the General in the study immediately. Helmer and the princesses are already there."

"I will be there after I deliver the Prince his food," I say, trying to hide my bubbling nerves.

"There is no time, ma'am. Their Royal Highnesses will be calling upon the spirits to have an audience." My blood runs cold. If Rion and Nalise, King and Queen of Azore, were calling upon the spirits to speak with me, something was dreadfully wrong.

Since the beginning, our people have been able to channel the spirit's energy, giving someone the ability to talk to another anywhere in the Realm. However, it takes so much power that the summoner usually falls ill and is bedridden for days at a time, and one can't hold the connection open for long. With both Their Majesties holding it open, we may have ten minutes at best.

I nod, handing the plate of food to the nearest guard, ordering her not to move, as Ronan and I follow Maeve into my father's study.

When we enter, my Uncle, Nova, and Erora stand around the table, waiting. "How long?" I ask, dismissing the rest of the guards.

"One minute," Maeve says before leaving the room. Ronan stays a pace behind me as I move to stand next to my uncle. He tenses, staring at the wood in front of him.

"Does anyone know what's happening?" I ask. Nova keeps her head trained on the desk, but Erora gives me a look, telling me everything I need to know. The minute passes in silence, ending with a shimmer in the air.

Slowly, an image of the king's face begins to form in the air before me, the queen next to him. With a golden glow, their dark skin appears, followed by their features: plump lips, wide noses, high cheekbones, pinnacles of beauty. Queen Nalise's hair curls around her head, an afro of dark hair, decked with gold sparkles, and a crown sitting atop it. King Rion's hair is in locs, gold pieces decorating his hair, too, a simpler crown on top of his head. Both of them wear traditional, tan, Azorian clothing.

"Nalise," I breathe, smiling at the woman only a few years older than myself, her husband only two years older than her. The Fara's just took over the Azorian crown three years ago, after both of Rion's fathers retired, wanting to spend the rest of their time away from the throne. They had found Rion when he was a baby, took him in, and raised him as their own. Rion fell in love with Nalise, and they were married just after he was crowned king. I became friends with Naliese, though we are not as close as I am with the twins.

"Cassandra," she smiles, her voice shaky.

"The princesses, Nova and Erora of Omadra," I gesture, quickly introducing them. "My uncle, Helmer, Duke of Blithe."

"Hello," both nod, a taught smile on their faces.

"What's wrong?" Nalise looks to her husband, whose face is grave.

"You heard of the conflicts in Setrid?" Rion asks.

"Hardly. Only that it required you both, and you would be unable to attend the ball." He nods.

"Setrid," Nalise begins, her eyes wide, "was burned to the ground." My heart skips a beat.

"What?"

"Nights ago," Rion says, wrapping his arm around Nalise, "there were reports of a fire in one of the taverns. We sent out aid immediately, but the fire had already spread, more quickly than I have even seen a fire spread before."