And indeed, the old man chewed long and hard upon the bait, like a starved child eying the feast on his lord's table, desperate to grab a piece yet terrified of the whip.
Just a little nudge, Alpheo thought, his face a mask of calm, royal disinterest.
"Tell me, Your Excellency," the King asked, his tone so disarmingly innocent it gave no hint of the web he was spinning. "Is there anyone sitting on the Council of Archons from Kakunia?"
The Archon shot him a sharp, venomous glare, but the politician in him answered all the same. "Aye. One. Lorino Laccenili. He is older than even I am, constantly afflicted with a sour stomach and a failing heart. It is likely why he never declared his own bid for the White Barb. He certainly possessed the seniority, and he carries few enemies in the Curia."
"Laccenili?" Alpheo mused, tilting his head. "He must be kin to Arrion, Lord of Grass Plains."
"A cousin, yes."
