Heir of Cinders [FADING EMBERS #1] - ON HOLD

9.2 - Vargs, Witches, and Warriors

Amade took the initiative to start the discussion. The Yhlifan man rose from his seat, the legs of his wooden chair scraping against the stone floor. Daud kept his eyes glued on him whilst his fingers fiddled with the pommel of the sword that leaned against him. He had developed a habit of toying with the object ever since it was bestowed upon him, finding it a calming habit. It also brought to mind the amusing memory of how he'd gotten it in the first place. The man bit his lower lip, suppressing the smile that threatened to form on his lips. Sir Brendan Ahlonn had confronted him on the great pommel incident, but they've made their peace.

"We do not wish to cause any enmity between the folks of the Glein and the Coven." The baritone dispersed Daud's thoughts, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand. "But, for the sake of my people, I beg you to allow us shelter within the borders of your great nation."

Eleanora stood up quite abruptly, cutting through any words Amade might further have to say. A wry smile stretched her lips, but no humor danced within the olives that sat on her high cheekbones.

"I- we sympathize with Yhlifa's predicament, having been through somewhat of the same situation ourselves," she said. Although her voice remained sweet as a little bird's, the hard edge of steel lined her syllables. "But we are both merely looking out for the wellbeing of our people. Forgive me for being frank, but Glein is limited in resources... and I believe the former king Reghan had already allocated any surplus for the Coven, as we were here first."

"I don't believe Althewyn's law regarding refugees is 'first come, first serve'," Zote remarked from his seat, coldly. He turned his head towards Aidan. "Unless I am mistaken."

Aidan shook his silver head. "Althewyn as a state tries its best to provide refuge to those all who require it," he said after a small pause. Daud noted the careful way that the nineteen-year-old king phrased his sentence, as if he was trying to choose his words. "However, on a realistic viewpoint, we do not have a boundless supply of resources. The recent influx of immigrants has also put a toll on us- we are struggling to distribute our assistance to everyone."

"Which is why this conference is being held, is it not?" Catriona added, bold and spontaneous in comparison to Aidan's cautiousness. "To decide what to do with all of you."

Yves looked up. "With all due respect, you make it sound as if this is a trial."

"It is."

This earned the Faolahn lady a disapproving glare from her father, which she seemed to pointedly ignore. Zote and Zoya exchanged uneasy glances with each other. Daud swallowed back a groan, wondering why Lord Cathal had brought his third offspring into the meeting. There was something refreshing about Lady Catriona's brashness- it almost reminded him of Jonathan's grandmother- but such frankness did not have a place in diplomatic hearings.

The wizened varg of a lord cleared his throat with a cough as coarse as sandpaper. "What my daughter meant to say is that we are holding this discussion to come to a middle-ground that would best satisfy all parties concerned."

"Which, let me tell you beforehand, is not going to be able to please everyone," Catriona added, still ignoring her father's silent rebuke. She turned towards her father with exasperation written all over her face. "I don't see the point of mincing words if we're going to go anywhere with this conversation."

You could afford to be a little more civil, Daud thought, but he refrained from voicing them aloud.

"Then, do tell me this, Lady Faolahn," Eleanora said. Her smile had dropped away from her face. Finding no reason to remain standing whilst the black-haired lady stayed in her seat, the witch sat down. "Why have you not said anything whilst your people mistreat mine? I thought we were supposed to be granted asylum in your dominion."