Zayneth rose from his seat as if his whole life was dedicated to that very moment, he could feel that instant was the peak his prince had waited for his entire reign.
With the corner of his eyes he studied the chamber, catching the flicker of unease spreading across the envoys' faces.
Sorza, foolish and reckless though he was, had unknowingly cracked the surface of Alpheo's armor. And in that crack, Zayneth saw an opening wide enough to wedge and nail his prince's ambitions. Whether Sorza lost his mines, his title, even his very life, it mattered little. Oizen's survival was irrelevant.
What mattered was the seed Sorza had planted: fear. Fear of Yarzat's growing shadow.
Now all Zayneth needed was to stir that fear into a storm. If he could turn that brook into a river, the river would swell into a flood, and from that flood would rise the coalition he dreamed of. Not merely against Yarzat, but a force under Habadia's banner, from there he would have something to work with.
