Free Unbound (The Griever's Mark series Book 3) by Katherine Hurley Page A

time.”
    “Really?”
    Oh, dear. Have I just made a promise? “On the right occasion. Not today.” Hopefully that’s vague enough.
    Her lips tug up in a smile. “It’s a deal.”
    Fingers walk up my spine at the word. Of all the deals I’ve brokered, surely this one is the most harmless. “Deal,” I echo, letting the word mean nothing more than it really does.
    I walk down several hallways, moving steadily toward the infirmary. With any luck, the Healers won’t be there yet and I can get a good supply of sedative from Heborian’s physician, Renald. It’s not that the Healers wouldn’t give it to me, but they would ask questions. I don’t want to lie to Logan’s mother, but Logan should choose what he tells her.
    The quickest route takes me past the yawning double doors of the throne room. The hum of voices from within makes me pause. I lean against one of the ornately carved and gilded doors, which stretches to a sharp peak some twenty feet above me.
    I’ve never been inside the throne room, nor have I known Heborian to use it. He is perhaps a little too Runish to make use of such an imperious space. The huge, rectangular room with its vaulted ceiling is lined with columns. Morning light, bright from yesterday’s rain, filters through the high, stained-glass windows, casting amber, blue, and yellow light over the gathered Earthmaker Council. Several dozen Earthmakers sit on long benches set in a semicircle, taking up less than a quarter of the room’s space. Behind them, a dais rises several feet to elevate an ornate, gold-leaf throne.
    Heborian has granted permission for the Council to use this room for its sessions. Such sessions, I’m told, are public by Earthmaker law. However, their definition of “public” is that other Earthmakers may attend, though they are not to speak unless addressed by a Council member. Heborian insisted that, in his castle, public would mean anyone could listen, and I spot Heborian and his advisor, Wulfstan, on one of the benches.
    Of course, Heborian allotted the Council this particular room for a reason. Even though he sits on the benches with everyone else, the throne oversees the discussion, reminding the Earthmakers who really holds power here.
    I’m told the Council room in the House of the Arcon is circular and has stone benches that rise level by level to overlook a round speaking floor. No doubt that would lend the whole enterprise a bit more grandeur than can be managed here with the mismatched benches and everyone craning their necks to see the speaker of the moment.
    I don’t recognize the man in the center of the semicircle. He turns as he speaks, addressing everyone. He wears a typical Earthmaker under-tunic and loose cross-body robes gathered at one shoulder.
    “We need information,” he proclaims. “How can we make decisions, how can we guide our Wardens to proper action when we know nothing of what the Unnamed plans?”
    Aron speaks from a bench. “And how should we discover his plans, Counselor Argos? The Wood has burned. We cannot reach Avydos, not in secret, not even openly.”
    Polemarc Clitus stands from beside Aron. “I will say it again: we must put ourselves under King Heborian’s command.”
    Those around Heborian stiffen, and Counselor Argos argues, “No disrespect, Polemarc, but are you so eager to abandon your authority? No disrespect to Heborian either”—he notably leaves off Heborian’s title—“but we are allies, not subordinates.”
    “You are missing the point, Counselor,” insists Clitus. “We have not the luxury—”
    Someone behind me says, “Eighty-five years since I’ve see this, and nothing has changed.”
    I spin to find the Earthmaker from the whaling ship standing with his arms crossed, scowling over my shoulder at the gathering. He is dressed like a sailor in salt-stained sandals, loose linen trousers and a billowing shirt, but there’s no mistaking those eyes or that particular stillness of the face that even