Alpheo's fingers brushed along the edge of the parchment again. He turned the petition over once more, letting it pass between his fingers as though handling it differently might rearrange the words inside.
But no amount of turning would change the six wax seals still burned into its surface.
It had been hours since the letter was delivered. The Habadian envoy had long since been shown to his lodgings, forced, grudgingly, to accept Alpheo's offer of temporary hospitality while waiting for an answer.
Not that there was one to give. Not yet.
The news hadn't spread beyond the tent. Alpheo had been swift in silencing tongues, confining the knowledge of the petition to only his inner circle.
He still had to decide on what to do about it.
A month-long truce. That was the request. A clean halt to all operations against Turogontoli while the six princes prepared a peace conference. On paper, it sounded reasonable.
