“Why am I here again?” Bastian asked. He caught his foot tapping.

  Thirty-two people filed into the meeting room, claiming a seat in the back or standing against the wall. Anyone over Level 50 had the right to attend, and quite a few Elite enjoyed watching the drama.

  “Because Peldeep needs you,” Rowen replied with a grin, leaning against their podium. The host nation appointed a person to read the agenda, and a separate person to actually vote. Since Rowen was host, they didn’t count for quorum, and Peldeep required another royal or Elite to vote on the nation's behalf.

  That would be Bastian.

  Growling, Bastian rephrased his question, “But why am I here?”

  “Because you’re Knight Commander Bastian of Peldeep,” Rowen gave another answer that wasn’t the real answer. Seeing Bastian’s patience growing thin, the fox added, “And because I want you here to keep Sumbria under control. My children think I’m oversensitive on the matter, can you imagine?”

  Bastian closed his eyes and saw his fiancé clear in his mind, and every drop of blood in his body needed to go to her. Now. Every second somehow felt more unbearable than the last. How long could he stay before outright dropping everything and running back to Peregrine without care for the consequences?

  “I need you, Bastian.” Rowen pressed.

  “Fine.” Bastian snapped, accepting his fate, and went to find his seat.

  Witch Agatha of North Sumbria sat next to him, then Wizard Lorthar of the Mage’s Tower, Master Thomas of Servalt, and Earl Oakley of Sumbria. Commander General Rufus Triever of Nilheim took a seat at the opposite end, joined by an unexpected companion. Slake Drakeford, Adventurer Extraordinaire, and legendary grimalcat, lay draped over the beastman's shoulders.

  Slake was not supposed to sit at the head table, but he was a grimalcat. And no one lived long enough to reach Level 50 without learning a healthy respect for staying alive. No one except Earl Oakley, it seemed.

  “Infestations and barkrot!” The elf glared openly at Slake and Rufus, muttering under his breath. He didn't even bother to hide his displeasure.

  Everyone turned as an out of breath Prince Lucial Neftor of the Empire entered last, straightening his clothes and pulling out a chair next to Oakley. The seats for Drendil and Baldorin were empty, and Bastian wasn’t sure if it was because they were choosing to abstain - or the sudden change in date had prevented them from coming.

  “Welcome, welcome!” Rowen waved a hand across the room, “Thank you all for attending this meeting on such short notice.”

  Bastian barely heard the words. His heart beat louder and louder in his chest, starting as a soft drum until it pounded in his ears. He begged Shadow, patron god of Peldeep, to relieve even a tiny bit of the agony racking his body.

  The deity didn’t listen.

  Bastian settled on staring at Oakley while gripping the underside of the table with his nails so tightly that they pierced the wood. If he focused on the elf, he could think about Peregrine and why it was so important to keep Oakley alive long enough to sign the paperwork.

  “You’re lucky this is important, Rowen.” Witch Agatha snapped. “Don’t make it a habit.”

  Rowen shot the witch a dazzling grin. “Of course. Now, if everyone’s here, we may begin! I call the meeting to session, who will second?”

  Thomas of Servalt lifted his hand. The room settled, everyone eager to hear what topics were going to get covered.

  “Excellent,” Rowen nodded, “Then let’s get to the first order of business - last council's business. Regent Havork sends his regards, but he is too busy with reforms to attend this meeting. His newly appointed status has caused some stir, but only three official letters to the council.”

  The three letters were full of petty complaints and loose claims to the throne, none of which were taken seriously.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The second order of business was, to Bastian’s surprise, the relief response to the flooding in Lake Vayasa. Not because it wasn’t important, but because it wasn’t the Molten Ash Vane case.

  From there, they discussed Duke Lector’s escape from Servalt and different points from Madame Potts’ Casts, then opened the floor to personal issues.

  Bastian had a pressing personal issue. Namely leaving this place post haste. But he bit his tongue.

  After an hour, Rowen still hadn’t brought up the exact reason he’d summoned everyone early…

  Bastian voted as he thought right, but otherwise spent every minute of the meeting staring at Earl Oakley. The elf was everything Sumbria was known for. Ruthless, unfeeling, and voted against any call to aid. He was selfish, and vain, and made snide comments whenever he could. Over the course of the hour, however, Bastian’s steady burning gaze must have had some effect because his interruptions were fewer and further between - and he kept glancing between Bastian and Rufus with pure disdain.

  The feeling was mutual.

  Finally, when it seemed like every possible matter of business had been brought up and settled, Rowen said, “Now that all of that is out of the way, I would like to call Commander General Rufus Triever to speak."

  Finally! Bastian pulled his nails from the table and folded his hands in his lap. He could do this.

  He would make it through this.

  The golden canine beastman stood, Slake still on his shoulders, and walked to the podium.

  “As many of you know.” Rufus started, absently petting the grimalcat, “Molten Ash Vane is an illegal poison banned by the Continental Council in Section 208 in the Valarian Assassin Code of Conduct. MAV is an instant-death poison, and doesn’t meet the required Eight Seconds to Life time restriction under Subsection T3 of the Right to Life and Death portion of the Code. It used to appear once a decade, but now is turning up every month. Myself and Slake were each sent out to investigate the matter.”

  Slake’s tail twitched, “It is true.”

  Rufus continued. “After speaking with the Servalt Assassins Guild and the Peldeep Assassin Assemble, we have acquired proof that both groups are guilty of handling the substance. I have also discovered the primary operative delivering molten ash vane… and would like to state for the record that I had unknowingly been travelling with her throughout my entire investigation.”

  “Not Minstrel Bronwynn?” Rowen’s tone was harsh enough to shake Bastian from his fixation. The bard was a renowned half-giantess from Peldeep… and a musician beloved across all of Valaria. Bastian didn’t know if that would save her.

  “Not Minstrel Bronwynn,” Rufus replied, and a sigh of relief escaped many in the room - including the fox. The beastman explained. “It was Bronwynn’s animal companion.”

  Silence followed the beastman’s statement, until Witch Agatha demanded, “You would have us believe that a horse is to blame, Commander General?”

  “Belladonna Windrunner was simply a courier, Witch Agatha,” Rufus reiterated. “The molten ash vane, as I believe, is being added into circulation by a poisoner in the Dark Enchanted Forest and made deliverable through a contract with the Peldeep Assassin Assembly.”

  “So Peldeep is to blame? Or the Dark Enchanted Forest?” The Wizard Lorthar stamped his cane with a loud thump, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Well, Sumbria is innocent,” Earl Oakley huffed, his nose stuck in the air. Bastian wondered again why he was forced to sit here staring at this elf, when his elf was at home waiting for him.

  Or was she. The idea that something had happened to her scraped at the back of his mind, and Bastian’s resolve wavered - but he kept his face emotionless and clamped down the roiling ocean in his gut with an iron fist.

  “The situation is not as clear as it was when I saved you from an ogre,” Rufus said, making the earl’s cheeks darken. The beastman leaned forward on the podium. “No ruling nation has condoned, registered quest, or acted against the international treaties. In fact, the targets of each case were the nation’s own government. As such, it is with little doubt that I direct our attention to the individuals who are violating their respective sovereign law.”

  “Are you not saying that because the poisoner is from Nilheim and you don’t wish to face repercussions?” Master Thomas questioned, the half-elf’s tattoo’s glowing faintly.

  Rufus shook his head. “No. As I’m sure Jack Laverick reported in Servalt, the Assassin’s Guild took a contract from Duke Lector Yarrow for the hits on King Keith, the deposed King Simon and Queen Thalia, and Servalt’s own Queen Delia and King Astor. I’m of the belief he was attempting an insurrection to make himself king of Servalt, and using his connection with Marquess Dorset to assassinate the Drendil rulers so the marquess and the kidnapped Princess Henrietta would take the throne, effectively gaining control over two kingdoms at the same time.”

  This was why Peregrine had been poisoned, to further some grand scheme…

  Oh look, Bastian had accidentally transformed three fingers into draconic claws. He hadn’t realized that was even possible without consciously spending the mana.

  “We’re not fools; we were there for King Keith and Queen Henrietta’s report. Get on with it.” Witch Agatha’s harsh words dragged Bastian out of his spiral in time.

  He barely kept from echoing her words.

  There wasn’t anyone here to punish. The poison maker was still in the Dark Enchanted Forest, and Duke Lector was on the run somewhere, presumably with a pouch full of molten ash vane.

  Five minutes, Bastian decided. He could last five more minutes, and if this meeting didn’t end, he was going to leave by himself. Through a window, maybe.

  Four minutes and seven seconds later, the meeting was adjourned and Bastian was running as fast as he could through the palace. He had no cares for Rowen or Earl Oakley or anyone else.

  He had to find Peregrine.

  And he had to find her now.