Conal pondered the response. It would be easy enough to verify. “And your son, Blayne? Is he here with you?”
Brody’s lips pursed. “He is dead, my Lord, a casualty of Pharyl’s treachery.”
“I am sorry,” Conal commiserated. Dismounting, he walked up to the wagon and stared at the man inside the cage whose look of fury told him he was unrepentant.
“Confine him to the dungeon,” he commanded.
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Brody said, again bowing. He flicked a hand at a man close by who leaped aboard and wheeled the wagon around. “Let me introduce you to some of the leadership of the city.”
He escorted Conal along with Storri and Lorkan to a group of men and women who had positioned themselves in a line. They stopped at the first person, a middle-aged woman with darting eyes and permanent sm
