“We'll join you as quickly as we can. Until then, keep your blade sharp and at the ready."

Cann gave his trademark wolfish smile. "Always."

King Dorian walked Rain to the council room doors. Bel, Gaelen, and Tajik followed close behind. "Assembling the armies and preparing the supply wagons will take a few days, but we should begin the march to Kreppes by the end of the week."

"Kabei. I will leave one hundred warriors behind to aid your fleet and protect the Points and Celieria City. The Fey already stationed on Lord Barrial's lands will do what they can to speed the preparations in Kreppes. Ellysetta and I will meet you there as soon as our business with the Danae and Elves is completed. I pray we will not come alone." They had reached the entrance to the council room. As Dorian released the privacy seal on the chamber and started to open the doors, the sound of a voice raised in anger made him pause.

"What do you mean, I can't go in there?" a deep, familiar voice demanded in outrage. "I am a Great Lord of Celieria and one of the Twenty! You dare deny me entry?"

"I'm sorry, Great Lord Sebourne. King's orders," a thinner, less bellicose voice replied, but a thread of steel underlay the polite response. "The king has convened a special council, my lord. The chamber is closed to all others."

Great Lord Dervas Sebourne, the border lord whose son Colum was wed to Cann Barrial's daughter Talisa, gave a rude snort. "Council? What council? There are no special councils convened without the knowledge of the Twenty!"

"1 am sorry, my lord. I am not at liberty to say."

"Why, you little—"

"Sebourne!" King Dorian shoved open the council room doors and strode out into the chamber where guests scheduled to testify before the council gathered before their appearances.

The Clerk of the Council was normally seated at a gleaming hardwood desk near the front of the chamber, working quietly and guarding the entrance to the council room. At the moment, however, he was pressed against a wall, standing on his toes, his neck cloth clutched in Great Lord Sebourne's very large fist.

"Release him at once! What is the meaning of this?"

Sebourne shoved the clerk to one side, sending the thin young man staggering into a nearby bank of files. His gaze shot to the king. '"What is the meaning of this' is precisely the question I have for you, Sire. Is it true you have called a council without notifying the Twenty?"

"You forget yourself, sir," Dorian exclaimed. "The king of Celieria is not the servant of the Twenty, nor must he beg permission to see to the duties of the monarchy."

"What duties could include a select handful of lords and yet be of no concern to the Twenty?" Sebourne shot back. His scathing gaze raked past Dorian and shot towards the open doors, only to freeze at the sight of the Fey. "Ah, I see." His brows rose with mockery and a sneer pulled back the corner of his mouth. "I should have known. For whom would you subvert the lawful ruling order of this country except the Fey?"

"Sebourne!" Dorian exclaimed. "You will beg my pardon this instant and apologize to the Feyreisen for your rash remarks."

Sebourne drew himself up to his full height. The rich velvet of his fur-lined robes swirled about him. "The Hells I will. Those immortal rultsharts can go flame themselves before they hear a word of apology from me. What are you up to now, Tairen Soul? Come to enslave more weak Celierian minds?"

«You sure you don't wont me to kill diSebourne after all?» Gaelen muttered on a private weave as Great Lord Sebourne continued his bombastic tirade. «I could do the father, too, while I'm at it. I'll wager plenty would thank me besides the vel Arquinas brothers.» The lethal tonelessness of his Spirit voice made it clear he was not joking.

For one fraction of a moment, Rain considered the notion. To be honest, the idea of cutting off the air to Sebourne's lungs and watching his face turn purple did harbor a certain savage appeal. The arrogant rultshart was the kind of man who made Rain grateful mortals were short-lived. Then honor reared its head, and with a sigh, he declined. «Not without cause, Gaelen. Besides, it looks like Dorian has reached the end of his patience this time.» He flicked a glance at the Celierian king, whose fists were clenched as tightly as his square jaw.

Dorian's chest expanded on a deep breath. His spine straightened, and his shoulders seemed to broaden nearly half again their width.

"Apparently, Lord Sebourne, you have misinterpreted my tolerance these last months, mistaking my compassion for the emotional distress your family suffered this summer as a sign of weakness. Because clearly you have forgotten who is the Great Lord and who is the king." Dorian leaned forward, faint green sparks of Earth magic flashing in his eyes. "How dare you insult your king, question his motives, and bark at him like an unruly dog because he did not beg your permission to call a meeting of his lords?”

Surprise and the first hint of wariness flickered across Sebourne's face, but prideful temper soon eclipsed it. "An unruly dog, am I? Because I dare to speak my mind? Because I dare object to my king being led about by the Fey like a trained monkey on a leash?"

"Enough!" Dorian smacked a palm on the desk. Green sparks shot out from the point where palm hit wood, and the desk shuddered. The inkwell and lamp rattled across several fingerspans of desktop, and a stack of papers toppled off the edge onto the floor. "Guards!"

Boot heels clattered against marble floor as the King's Guards standing outside the gathering chamber rushed to their sovereign's call.