“Right.” I clasped my hands together and rested them in front of me on the table. Leaning over them, I speared Arleth with my hard look. “As I understand it, you are technically the queen, and Nyfain is technically a nobody. You just told the staff that he is not the heir. If we can’t hush it up, and they believe you, he no longer has any standing as a royal. I, as we know, am common. I technically have less than zero standing here. Regardless of how things went in the dungeon, most of the court dragons would be happy enough for things to go back to normal, and for me to resume my place at the bottom of the proverbial heap. Technically speaking, you hold all the power.”
I paused to monitor her face. She gave nothing away, her eyes dry now despite the tear stains streaking her cheeks. She studied me silently.
“I’m sure you know by now that technicalities don’t amount to dick,” I said, and she flinched. Sometimes a little crudeness went a long way. “The curse changed things. The old rules are broken. You could use that to your advantage right now, but we could do the same. And while you have more money, we have something more important: might. The dragons from your village seem intent to follow Micah or me, and I have it on good authority that Micah stands with Nyfain. Weston’s wolves will also follow us. We have the power to stand against the demon king. The hope of this kingdom rests on Nyfain’s and my shoulders, money be damned.”
She clasped her hands in her lap, her eyebrows lifted. “And what of the people? I am their favorite, not you.”
I huffed out a laugh. “You are their comfort blanket. I’ll make them realize they don’t need one. They’ll follow me because I’m more than a figurehead. I’m the hero of this tale, and I’ll promise them the glow of victory.”
She swayed back just a little. “My goodness. You burn as brightly as the sun, young Finley. No wonder my son is enamored with you.” She leaned forward just a bit. “It seems Gunduin’s advice registered after all. I had wondered, when you didn’t leave the everlass house.”
“He told you about that, did he? When I’m in one of those moods, it’s best to steer clear.”
“It was I who sent him in there. What would he know about the politics of the crown?”
“You sent Gunduin?” I pointed at her.
She sighed before reaching into her top to pull something out of her cleavage. “Sometimes undergarments are useful, Finley, remember that.”
She placed a little vial wrapped in paper on the stretch of table separating her and Nyfain.
“This is the spell breaker for the magic that secures the remainder of the gold,” she said. “I placed that spell right before I left, as you probably guessed. The gold was mine, and though I hoped to never come back, I didn’t want the kingdom to gobble it up. The king was spending frivolously, more going out than coming in. This was always a wealthy kingdom, with much to trade, but even a wealthy kingdom, mismanaged, can fall into desolation. I feared that was the way it would go. So I protected what was mine.”
“If you never thought to return,” Nyfain said, not looking at the vial, “why did you secure it? Spite?”
“For you.” She tapped the table next to the vial. “That spell breaker needs three to five drops of blood. Your blood, freely given. It then needs to be poured into the crevice indicated on that slip of paper. I had intended to give it to you in person after we both left the kingdom. After all this time, though, the original drawing has faded. It is barely legible. I went into the reserve last night to remind myself where the specific crevice is so that I might re-trace the lines.”
Nyfain’s shock mirrored my own.
“Wait…” I said, trying to wrap my brain around all of this.
“Why didn’t you say?” Nyfain asked, pulling the paper from the vial and examining it. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?”
The queen smiled sadly. “Would you have believed me? I knew you mistrusted me. I wanted this audience to thoroughly explain myself. I knew you would at least give me the chance to explain. You are your father’s son, and I don’t mean the king.”
“Probably too soon,” I murmured.
“Why did you keep yourself hidden from the court?” Nyfain asked. “Why didn’t you tell Finley who you were in the village?”
She sighed softly again and ran her hand across her forehead. “I have so much to answer for, I know that. And I know you need to hear all to see if you will allow yourself to forgive me, even in part. But I am also famished and tired and in need of getting drunk. Might we move our conversation to a more comfortable location, maybe in front of a fire, and eat like normal people? Like simpler people? I have been away from this style of dining for sixteen years. Happily, I might add. I never much liked it. And if Finley were any more uncomfortable here, we would be in danger of an extreme reaction, like her overturning the table or throwing a wine glass.”