Page 86 of Foundling

Not everyone was convinced, and the number of unhappy faces avoiding her gaze troubled Leita. She would have to trust that each of them cared enough about the security of the faelands and therefore Leita to abide by her command.

When no further arguments or questions arose, Leita took that as acceptance.

“Now, what are today’s matters?”

With her question, the usual rhythm of a council meeting took hold. There were details on the new prospective silver mines, as well as, finally, some heartening news that the silk weavers had not only met goals but exceeded them. The foodstuffs and cooks from Hallevale had arrived and were being deployed across Fallorian.

“I noticed an improvement already,” Leita remarked.

Charis grimaced. “It’s true that the output has improved, but sentiment remains divided, I’m afraid.”

“Then Leita must go out into the city, to be amongst the people,” suggested Attalus.

More than a few awkward glances and frowns met Attalus’s statement. He’d remained quiet once the discussion moved on from him, listening attentively, but it was clear that several on the council didn’t appreciate his input.

Leita cleared her throat. “We tried that already.” She’d told him before of the fae’s reluctance to eat and drink again, how the issue had become a true bane to her.

“Good, then there’s a precedent. Go out again, speak with anyone who wishes. Even if it’s a complaint, let them be heard.”

“We’ve thus far had complaints directed to me, the duana-daín of the city,” explained Lady Idrisil. “I take what’s most important to the Queen.”

“An excellent system, we wouldn’t want to burden our Queen. But we mustn’t hoard her to ourselves, either. Leita must become a familiar face. Talk to the orc merchants, eat more of the food, ask what the people are needing. Then deliver it. There’s no better way to build good will.”

“He’s right,” Charis agreed, having the grace not to look too smug about it.

Hmm, perhaps an alliance between the two of them might be more troublesome than Leita thought.

No one could find a true argument against Attalus’s idea, not even Leita. Reluctantly, she agreed, although without enthusiasm. It meant more awkward meetings and false smiles and disgruntled stares.

“I did have one more suggestion, my Queen,” Charis offered. “I’ve written to my brothers, both celebrated horticulturists in our province. They are able to come to Fallorian to help cultivate the gardens here. Mother and I thought perhaps some may be more open to adopting the old ways if they grew some of the food themselves.”

“Many find keeping a garden rewarding,” said Attalus, adding his support.

Troublesome alliance indeed.

“If they’re willing to come, we’ll gladly take their help,” Leita agreed. They had to try something, else it would come down to Leita’s idea of smashing faces into bowls of food and commanding them to eat. Cathartic perhaps, but not practical.

That decided, the meeting wound down, to Leita’s relief.

Attalus offered his hand and she took it. Once she’d stood, the council did too, bidding her farewell as she left on the arm of her dragon mate.

In the safety of the next corridor, Leita let out a big breath. “That was…less agonizing than usual.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I enjoyed myself to be honest; it’s always nice to sharpen the claws.” He patted her hand tucked into his elbow as he threw her a roguish smile. “Now, I think we’ve earned luncheon and perhaps a nap on that glorious big bed of yours.”

Introducing Attalus to the palace was a joy Leita hadn’t expected. While she’d rarely felt at home within its bare walls, showing them off to someone else did foster a kind of pride. She knew her way around by now, at least, guiding him through the kitchens, the storerooms, and the pavilions.

He liked the crystal pavilion most of all, his instinctual love of gems and all things that glittered apparent as he inspected every geode and rock. More than once, she found him lounging beneath one of the cypress trees amongst the crystals in the afternoon. For the sake of the staff, he kept his kilt on at least, although she’d overheard Tamerlan mutter, “Do they all have to be white?”

The linen and silks left little to the imagination about Attalus’s…contours, but Leita wanted him to be comfortable.

Attalus excelled at making himself so. It was quickly clear to not just her but all the fae within the palace that he was something of an expert in luxury. He knew how to pick the finest fabrics, wines, and gems. Whenever he dove into her closet, he always emerged with the prettiest gowns and jewels.

He was keen to discover it all, but when he asked over her favorite place in the palace, they didn’t have to travel far. It was right there, on her very own balcony overlooking the sea.

“I chose this room for its view,” she told him one evening, as they sat on cushions sharing a plate of cheese, grapes, and salted meat.

He made an appreciative noise, admiring the view. Leita couldn’t help admiring her own—that of him, propped up on an elbow, his other wrist balanced on his bent knee as he held his half-full goblet. He was the picture of male relaxation, even his tail curling and uncurling lazily.