Kalmir stood up and walked over to the king. The words he would hear should not be heard by others, and he knew that, currently, the walls had ears.
Artios poured himself some wine from the jar available on the table and pulled a piece of yellowed paper from inside his black jacket.
— Earlier today, an acolyte from the Peak of the Oracle arrived in Basilian — he said, his deep voice almost a whisper. He slid the paper across the table toward his minister and drank from his cup. — This is the message they sent.
— An acolyte? — Kalmir asked, his voice laden with skepticism. — Not a bird?
Artios merely shot him an indifferent glance and filled his cup once again. He had never cared how the messages arrived, only what they brought. Besides, with so much stress, even if it took time, he wanted to get drunk.
