“Act like the daughter of Cornwall Lawrence,” she said, “and all will be fine.”
She opened the door, and Laurel stepped into a massive circular room, painted red. There were no decorations save the Conningtons’ golden hawk’s head banner, which hung on the far wall, as large as life. In the center of the room sat a single table, stained a deep burgundy, on which there was a giant carafe of red wine. Three chairs circled the table, and Romeo and Cleo Connington, two plump men wearing draping frocks the same color as the room, sat in two of them. Numerous rings adorned their fingers, and their heads were shaved and powdered. Laurel smelled the distinct and bitter odors of lemon and menthol combined with rosewater. She remembered that scent from the many times they’d come to the Council begging for some favor, and it was overwhelming in such a confined space.
“Miss Lawrence,” the brothers said in turn, taking her in with icy blue eyes that were near mimics of their mother’s.
“Romeo, Cleo,” she replied. “Or should I refer to you as the Masters Connington?”
Both giggled at that, an unseemly and disturbing sound.
“Our first names are fine, Miss Lawrence,” said Cleo.
“Call me Laurel.”
“Fine,” Romeo said. “Take a seat, Laurel. Have some wine. Perhaps unlace your bodice. You appear to be…somewhat hindered.”
She frowned and glanced down at herself. She was wearing the same revealing ensemble she had worn the night she’d met Quester, the one that had been meant to seduce Trenton Blackbard into listening to the king’s pleas. She suddenly felt dirty, though she had done her best to bathe in a stream the previous day. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, covering her breasts.
“Such a shame,” said Cleo.
“Though it does seem odd to present yourself in such a way for a matter of business,” added Romeo. “Tell us, Laurel, why did you dress like a whore? Was it for us?”
She rolled her eyes. “Certainly not. It was for Trenton Blackbard. I never had the opportunity to return to my home to change before your Crimson Sword whisked me away.”
Cleo grinned, exposing his perfect, pearly white teeth. “Ah yes, Quester is a fine one indeed. Very talented in all we ask him to do, even the…unsavory matters.”
“Especially the unsavory matters,” Romeo added. “As for your outfit, Laurel, may I ask if that scandalous outfit served its purpose?”
“Unfortunately, no,” she grumbled, wishing the conversation would move on.
Romeo nodded. “I thought not. A foolish act, dressing that way to sway a man like Blackbard. His business is flesh. Products are to be used, not bargained with. It would be the same as petitioning a farmer while dressed as a cabbage.”
“Though I would give good coin to see that,” said Cleo, leaning in toward his brother.
Laurel blushed. Keep calm, she told herself. They were just trying to unnerve her, tear down her confidence. It helped little, though, that she felt so stupid now, like nothing more than a damn foolish girl. Instead of defending herself halfheartedly, she sat down in the third chair and grabbed the carafe of wine. She poured an ample amount into the cup on the table before her, smiled sweetly at the brothers, and proceeded to swallow it down in one huge gulp. The mixed tartness and sweetness infused her throat and her sinuses, effectively diffusing the brothers’ off-putting smells.
“A girl after my own heart,” said Cleo. “A strong man accepts an insult with a swig and a smile that promises retribution later.”
“I am no man,” Laurel snapped, placing the cup back on the table.
“Obviously not,” said Romeo.
“I much prefer you to anyone else our lovely king might have sent,” added Cleo.
“I was not sent,” she said. “You retrieved me, remember?”
Cleo clapped. “Oh, Brother, she plays the game so well!”
“We’ll see about that,” said Romeo, his usually shrill tone lowering an octave. “Yes, Laurel, we sent for you, but only after discovering you were about to seek us out.”
“Is that so?” she asked. “How would you know? You haven’t been seen in Veldaren for months.”
“Ah, child, we have eyes and ears everywhere,” said Cleo, almost singing. “There is much we see and know, even in places you would least expect.”
“Such as where?”
Romeo waved his hand at her. “Forget that. The king wanted a meeting, and so he has one. Tell me Laurel, what does dear Eldrich want from us?”
She cleared her throat. This was it, the sales pitch, the same one she’d given all the others.
“The gods’ war is upon us,” she said. “Despite all promises to the contrary, our king does not think Karak will so easily defeat his brother. Should the war drag on, or in the horrible event that our Divinity loses, we must be equipped to provide for ourselves. In the event of that-”
“Stop.”
Laurel’s lips snapped shut, and she gazed from one brother to the other. Romeo was shaking his head, Cleo laughing silently to himself.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked.
“Do you trust Karak with all your heart?” asked Romeo.
“I believe in him completely, yes.”
To that, Romeo chortled.
“Of course you believe in him, girl. He is a god among men, just as real as my brother and myself. To not believe in him would be to deny reality.”
“Yet if we are to speak of belief,” Cleo chimed in, “tell me, do you believe in Karak’s actions, his laws, his love for you?”
“Yes,” Laurel said. “I thoroughly trust in the grace and wisdom of our beloved Karak. He is without error, without-”
Romeo slapped the table.
“I think we are done here. Cleo, fetch Mother to escort the councilwoman back to the village. Tell her to have Quester bring her back to Veldaren as soon-”
“Wait, stop,” Laurel said, accidentally knocking over her empty cup in the process. “Don’t send me away, please.”
“Then give us the truth, Laurel,” said Cleo. “Not practiced lies.”
Both brothers stared at her, seemingly without breathing. Her hands shook and her words caught in her throat.
“I doubt,” she said. “It hurts to say, but it is true. I doubt.”
“What do you doubt?”
“Everything.”
“Explain.”
She wavered for a moment, trying to think of what to say. Finally she gave in and hung her head.
“I don’t know how.”
Romeo leaned back and smiled, and Cleo clapped his hands once more.
“Excellent answer,” the older of the two said. “It is best to be honest about one’s feelings, especially in matters such as these. Otherwise you will be taken for a craven or a fool. We don’t think you’re either.”
Cleo took a sip from his cup, the wine staining his lips a sickish shade of purple.
“The truth is, Laurel, we understand how you feel. You might think otherwise, but it was difficult for us too when we discovered our god did not have our best interests in mind, as he has proven time and again.”
“How so?”
“Karak created Neldar,” said Romeo, “and all the people within its borders. He gave us all the knowledge we could ever wish to have, helped build our greatest city, spoon fed us his laws and decrees, and told us to name a king. And then he disappeared. Our young race was left alone with vast amounts of knowledge we could not truly understand or build on, expected to govern ourselves using contradictory notions and ideas we hadn’t the experience to justly value.”
“Karak either does not understand our plight,” Cleo continued, “or he does and he is simply curious as to how we will react. That means he is either unqualified to rule us, for he does not understand us…or that he is like a youngster who’s curious how an ant will walk if he tears off half its legs. Every bit of Karak’s doctrine is a negation. He says our hearts are unbound, yet if he is not first in those hearts, we are blasphemers. He demands we exercise our freedom, yet every principle he preaches leads to servitude in his name. It is ludicrous.”