Daughter of Darkness

Chapter 7

"Perhaps a simple introduction would be a good way to start," the old man says. "First though, I'd like to apologize for the secrecy of this whole situation. I'm sure it was more than disconcerting to have the general of the royal army show up and attempt to whisk you away." A nod to Willow. "With, what would be considered a weak explanation, at best. It is unfortunate it had to be that way, but now that you are here, you'll realize why many of the things we are about to tell you is not common knowledge."

He pauses as if expecting one of us to say something but we are silent. If he is expecting me to accept his apology, he should prepare for disappointment. But his small smile never wavers.

"Well then, with that out of the way, I suppose we'd better move on. My name is Mortimer, head librarian and, more importantly, keeper of the records on Melora's Blessed." He gives us a shallow bow of his head.

"You've already met General Wyngard so we can just skip over him." A dismissive wave of his hand makes the general huff, but he blessedly keeps silent.

Next, Mortimer gestures to the young man who nodded at me earlier, his black hair slicked black, posture straight. My suspicions are confirmed when a second later, Mortimer says, "This is Captain DeGray, in charge of handling the new recruits and head of defense here." The captain gives Willow a kind smile, making me feel bad for assuming he was being condescending earlier. I offer him an tentative nod as an apology. 

"And Lady Liliana Bedivere, who had the pleasure of being Queen Evelyn's lady-in-waiting. I'm sure you'll find her skills will prove... useful." A cryptic statement that perfectly matches Lady Bedivere's cryptic smile. But I won't give her the pleasure of asking and when Willow looks like she's going to, I kick her under the table. She glares at me but keeps her mouth closed.

Moving on to an older man with a large blonde mustache and ruddy looking cheeks, Mortimer opens his mouth to introduce him, only for the man to speak right over him.

"Lord Korbin Navarre, at your service." Willow and I look at each other in surprise. The queen had been Evelyn Navarre.

"Yes, as you may have guessed, Queen Evelyn was my sister. Unfortunately, my nephew Darius couldn't be present for this, but I'm sure he'll be thrilled to meet you."

I knew where we were going but I hadn't even stopped to think that the royal family would be here. Since the right to rule fell to the women of the royal family, technically Korbin Navarre was only a lord. Thinking about it now, I have no idea who's in line to be the next queen of Lumor. As far as I know, Queen Evelyn had no sisters or female children, with her husband passing away shortly after their first child was born. Perhaps they are waiting for Prince Darius to marry and his bride will become queen. But in the fifteen years that the queen has been deceased, no one new has been named, so maybe no one else knows what to do either.

We reach the final person, the bald man who had questioned the general outside.

"And Edwin Ransford, I suppose you could say, is in charge of our... overseas relations. With things being as tense as they are with Dragare right now, he keeps an eye on everything happening and applies little pokes and prods where they're needed."

"I'm confused," Willow admits and I'm just glad she said it first.

"I suppose a term you'd understand better would be spy master, although I personally hate that title," Lord Ransford says, looking slightly bored. "I send spies throughout Lumor and Dragare to gather information, infiltrate places, and on rare occasion, kill someone."

Though his voice and expression don't change, I detect a hint of a challenge in his gaze. He is clearly playing a game of intimidation, trying to get a feel for us, whether we'll balk at the idea of him killing people or not. I have no doubt that it's true, but he has obviously given us this piece of information to unnerve us. And from the jerk of Willow's body back into her chair, he can see that it's worked. I hate him.