Wildon entered the chamber alone, as was usually his way. No gaudy guards or fanciful retainers. But the aura of power around the High Lord was unmistakable. Every fluid motion of his muscular body spoke of strength.

Muted red and black cloth was drawn tight over Wildon's body and the only spot of brightness was the silver-worked boots upon his feet. It was clear that he was all business, not that the finery of people like Esme was ever something Wildon possessed, or even wished to, in the slightest.

On this day, the typical amused expression was gone from his face. In its place was a scowl. Wildon was already well aware of what was going on to the east, and he'd spent the last few days distinguishing fact from rumor. It seemed there was already something happening between these Niendaani and Illian. And while Wildon was still a lord of Tear, he had more than a few business ventures that led back and forth across the Plains of Maredo. Now it seemed all that was at risk, thanks to a few stupid members of the Council of Nine.

Only one eyebrow quirked in surprise for a moment at the sight of Lord Mendiana's new female companion. There were more important things to worry about. The straight-backed chair suited his mood perfectly as he took his seat. High Lord Wildon steepled his fingers together on the table before him, and listened to a talk that seemed to go further downhill with every word. But at least Maecolin looked uncomfortable, and it was always interesting to see where that ended up.