by Mary Weber
“You look perfect.” King Sedric’s low voice carries past the councilmen and soldiers dotting the balcony.
He’s smiling and bounding over in his rather unkingly way. I try to feel more charitable toward him.
“A symbol of victory.” He gives a lavish bow. “Thank you for wearing it.”
“I’ll admit I’m not sure how my dress choice matters much, but if it lends to inspiring the Council to war, then so be it.”
His grin widens. “You read my mind. These people—” He glances over the balcony’s railing to the mingling High Courtiers below who are talking and, if I’m correct, looking a tad confused. “They respect the language they can speak. And whether you or I approve or not—that language tends to be style and power. Both of which you clearly wield tonight.”
“Smart.” I search the balcony for Eogan.
“Sire, I believe the Assembly is complete.” Rolf comes up behind us.
“Good. Please tell King Eogan we’re set to begin.” Sedric starts to follow him, but stops and pats my hand. “Are you prepared to say something for the Court tonight?”
I nod. “Let me know when it’s my turn.”
“You have my gratitude for assisting us—assisting me—once again, Nym.” With that he turns to go.
He steps toward the balcony’s center and onto a slightly raised platform and gives a hand signal that prompts an instant blaring of trumpets, calling the room to order. A glare of light bounces off the wall mirrors to settle their glow on Sedric just as a bump against my shoulder alerts me the Cashlin, Gilford, is standing there along with both Luminescents. I nod to Mia and Mel and they smile politely back, their eyes lit up like red fireflies, before swerving my gaze away to scan the room again for Eogan.
“My friends.” King Sedric’s voice echoes across the banquet room.
“I have a request,” I whisper to Mia.
Her reddened eyes are on the king as His Majesty expresses gratitude to the High Courtiers for assembling on such short notice before beginning a rundown of the horrific events from the past week. Although, from the sound of it, Sedric’s only giving necessary details—and none that include Eogan’s shape-shifter occupation.
“Let’s hope it has to do with Princess Rasha,” she murmurs. “For I confess my time here is beginning to feel wasted on Lady Isobel.”
“I swear that will become part of it.”
She grunts as King Sedric’s regal voice continues to expound upon Faelen’s dire situation.
“As you know, I am to visit the villages throughout Faelen over the next few days to rally volunteers for the war. I wonder if you’d be willing to join me.”
“You’re thinking to take Lord Myles,” she says with only slight surprise in her tone.
“I suspect he’ll become uncontrollable soon, which will lend a danger King Sedric and his men are unprepared to handle. Not that I feel much confidence to stop him, but—”
“Without Eogan’s block for Lord Myles, you would be the best option for controlling him.” She nods. “And yes, if you leave him here, he will end up endangering the palace. If your king is approving of my attendance, then I will come. As will Gilford. Particularly to act as a scouting party once we hit the northern region, as I assume that’s what you’re planning,” Mia whispers. “To pursue the princess’s whereabouts?”
I purse my lips but don’t disagree.
“Might as well kill two birds with one stone,” she says.
“Might as well give ourselves every last advantage.”
She tips her head in agreement. “I agree you will need the princess to win the war—especially seeing the state Lord Myles is in. Your Uathúil ranks are already too few.” She looks over at the other Luminescent, who nods. “Mel will stay to assist your king with Lady Isobel if necessary, as Queen Laiha intended.”
I chew my lip and look back toward the king. Only to realize the audience is applauding and he is stepping down, his speech done, and from between a unit of Bron and Faelen guards, Eogan has emerged and is striding for the low stage.
His eyes spark green in the light, matching his pants and doublet that were clearly picked for him to wear to this occasion—to dissolve all hint that he is anything but in full support of Faelen. From the approving expressions on the sweaty faces of those around us, it’s working.
“My friends,” Eogan says as soon as the clapping has died down. “Nearly two weeks ago I stood before you, swearing my commitment to work side by side with your king and country as partners and brothers—both in times of peace and war. If I’d known then how quickly the latter would come upon us, I admit I may have been more inclined to hide out a bit longer during my recent trip to Bron.”
His offered humor at a time like this elicits a roar of grateful-sounding laughter from the crowd. He gives them that half smile bound to make every person here swoon and makes that craving inside me for his company flare.
“However, as promised, I commit to you—to all of us—Faelen, Tulla, Cashlin, and Bron—what few resources are at my disposal at this time to help wipe out this scourge of the Hidden Lands once and for all.”
The crowd’s cheering forces him to pause, and for a second there’s a hint of desperation in the sound of it. As if they know what we’re truly up against as well as the strength that Bron can give. And the power that will be required.
“Tomorrow I will take my leave and return to my own people for a brief few days—to set things in order. My hope is to bring back more ships and troops to aide in your protection as well as in Draewulf’s final desolation. However . . .” His voice deepens. “I confess I covet your prayers and well wishes for good speed, good winds, and good news upon my return.” He nods and lets his emerald gaze flash in the mirrored lights, igniting his handsome face in a promise of confidence and peace.
I swear it also brings half the women near me to sigh, and, drat it all, I may have just sighed too. Bleeding bolcrane.
“Thank you.” He steps back amid the rabid shouts and clapping of the entire Assembly.
“The people love him,” Mel says near me. I tip my head in agreement as a swell of affection and pride and irritation blossoms to leave pink patches on my arms and heat on my face. I’ve rarely heard this loud of cheering from this Assembly of over three hundred councilmen and High Court citizens in any of my past months attending Adora’s banquets. Eogan waves a hand at them, then casually steps off the stage and bows to King Sedric.
Sedric’s gaze catches mine and he nods.
“I believe that’s your cue,” Tannin mutters from somewhere behind me.
“Apparently.” I scrunch my cheeks and swallow. “Wish me luck.”
“Don’t trip,” is all he says as I stride over to ascend and stand beside King Sedric.
A nervous energy runs down my skin and around the memorial tattoos on my left arm and the top of my chest that suddenly feels far too exposed in this tight bodice.
There are a lot of people.
They’re all staring at me, waiting for what I will say that will empower them further than Eogan and Sedric already have. If that’s even possible. I feel out one of my knives through the folds of my dress as Sedric leans in and raises his voice.
“My comrades and friends who’ve known my father before I was even born. I promise you that we will move forward against Draewulf in a show of force and fierceness. We will take Faelen’s people of every class and ability and gender and show the monster that not only are we not to be trifled with, but we have not even begun to fight this war. We are about to unleash on him every weapon and person and ability that has been created through the greatness and passion of Faelen
.”
The crowd roars with approval. Whistles ring out amid the stomping of feet and cheers. And then the wall mirrors flash the candlelight on my face.
“Beside us will be our champion and salvation from our last struggle. I give you Nym.”
It’s like a bomb from one of the airships just exploded for how loud the audience cheers. King Sedric drops his arm and indicates me. Then steps back.
Suddenly I can’t breathe in this dress, in this air, in this claustrophobic room of expectation. I swallow. Shoulders back, Nym. And spit out something.
How do I start? Do I call them “my friends” like Eogan and Sedric? Because they’re not.
Breathe.
Do I tell them it will be all right? Because it won’t be.
Breathe. And speak, you fool.
I peer around at their anticipating faces that are uplifted and glowing in the light.
“Good people of Faelen’s High Court.” I pause to firm my voice as the words continue to tumble out. “As one who has spent time among all classes and citizen castes of our beautiful kingdom, I have never been more confident in what we as a people are capable of doing.”
Yes. Good. Both true and gracious.
“Nor have I ever been more confident of an imperative time to band together as one people, as one class and caste, than this time in our history. Do I believe that, in doing so, we will succeed at this war? I’ll be honest with you—I don’t know.”
Lovely. The room just fell so quiet you could hear a beetle scuttle.
I clear my throat. “But what I do know beyond a shadow of doubt is that if we fail to come together and commit to fighting this evil, side by side, by utilizing our own energy—as politicians, leaders, and pontificates—rather than relying on those in the lower classes . . . then we will not survive at all.”
I stop.
Only to realize after a second that there is still no hint of cheering. The crowd seems to be holding its breath, as if expecting more.
Litches. Um . . . “Also,” I add feebly. “I will be with you at the front lines of this battle—should it come to that—doing everything I can to slow Draewulf and ultimately stop him. However, I humbly admit that I can expend my energies better if I know each one of you is standing with me, lending me your strength. The strength that Faelen has been famous for since the creation of the Hidden Lands.”
Now the cheering starts. Quiet at first but quickly building into a wave of hollers and shouts. Then bubbling over into a burst that sounds like fireworks.
I peer back at Sedric and find approval in his face.
Suddenly he’s beside me again, holding up my arm like a symbol of victory, and the crowd’s applause becomes a frenzy. Except my stomach is ill and all I can see is the desperation in their reaction, and all I can hear is my own heart whisper that just as I am a symbol of victory, I am also a symbol of death if we do not stop Draewulf. Because when he takes me, he will own all of us.
I swerve my gaze around for Eogan. And he is there. Ten feet away, watching me.
My heart’s a sudden flare of aching to peel past that outer shell of kingly stiffness. To reach him. To tell him I’m sorry for my anger, but, good hulls, I’m still angry. To ask him why he seems frustrated too.
I swear there’s a flicker of something—fear? nausea?—except the next moment it’s gone and the look on his face says he’s gone too. Restrained into his official mode that’s meant to protect the world and me from himself.
I raise a brow and mouth, Why? Why hide yourself, Eogan?
He merely smiles, then turns to the people crowding around him.
CHAPTER 22
WITH THE SPEECHES DONE AND THE CHEERING fading, the room quiets a moment before coming alive again with a different sort of energy. It’s like an eclectic mix of fear and anticipation smoldering through the atmosphere and pouring off the guests in waves so thick I can almost crash into them.
Servants move around the balcony serving hot ale and soft fruits as voices rise and high-heeled shoes clip clip clip their way to where King Sedric and I are stepping off the platform, their owners jutting pointy chins and fascinated gazes at us.
“Your Highness, when will the Dark Army arrive?”
“What is Draewulf coming for? And how will we know it’s him if he can shape-shift?”
“Better yet, how do we know Draewulf’s not already here? And if he’s not, then, Nym, how about sending a storm north to deal with him?”
“What if the peasants refuse to support the war efforts?”
Sedric holds up his hands for quiet even as I’m edging backward to avoid their pressing hands and words. Litches, I can’t breathe in this dress. I look to slip away, but rather than allow me, Sedric passes off the first three questions to me—as if I could answer better.
Why? I eye him and can almost sense the answer in my head. Because these are my people.
How well does he realize that? Whether he understands the history of Elementals, I don’t know. He merely nods to indicate I should reply.
Fine. “As King Sedric said in his speech, we believe the Dark Army will arrive in nine days,” I tell the first man wearing a poofed-up hat shaped like an oliphant. “It’s why we’re swiftly putting together as many tactical units as possible—to stay their hand until we can route an army to the coast.”
I turn to the second questioner—a woman dressed more decently to the situation in a black mourning gown with glitter around her eyes. “We have Luminescents with us who, together, with effort, can see inside a person if Draewulf has taken them host. And we know he’s still in either Cashlin or Tulla because that’s where I last saw him, very much alive and in his shape-shifter wolf form.”
“And what about attacking first with your storm abilities?”
I shake my head and shirk away from the gangly man’s uncomfortable leer. “We’d risk destroying all of Cashlin and Tulla as well—or what’s left of them. Plus, we’ve no guarantee my powers stretched that far would destroy Draewulf.”
“But your powers can destroy him, right? When it’s time?” The man presses closer, his face and damp breath invading my space.
I’m tempted to show him my powers to get him out of my face. I reach a hand toward his cravat and let the air between us crackle. He steps back with a muttered curse.
“She can absolutely destroy the beast.” King Sedric jumps in with full confidence.
I give a caustic chuckle and drop my hand. And refrain from telling the poor man the method of defeating Draewulf may not be quite what he’s imagining. Turning to run my eyes over the room again in search of Eogan, I let Sedric take over while more courtiers flock our direction. All hungry for answers from their facial expressions. My rib cage feels thick again with not enough air . . .
It’s not until I rise on my tiptoes to peer above the sea of heads that I finally locate Eogan centered among another group who appear to be just as rabid as ours. Until abruptly the people in mine are growing louder, pushing for clarification from Sedric and me. Clarification about what, I don’t know, because I’ve stopped listening. I’m watching Eogan’s gaze flash around the faces in front of him and then over them to snag on mine.
My heart trips.
He smiles as if he, too, is bored as hulls. I stick out my tongue and his quirk of a smile turns into a full, gorgeous laugh. And for less than a second his gaze is open with a look so familiar and beautiful.
So . . . sacrificial.
I pause.
It’s the same look he gave before he let me go that day at the Keep.
I frown as my caged chest squeezes
my lungs that are crammed in there too small, too tight, and suddenly his expression is replaced with a flash of hunger—of wildness—and I instantly recognize that too. It’s the desire to escape this place and these people and to inhale the open air, perhaps back at Adora’s where there was more space and less obligation.
My mouth sours with how badly I want it, too, right now, and my desire must show because for a moment his gaze is all mine, sparking with suggestions and rebellion as that half smile he owns and works so well curves the full of his lips.
Bleeding oaf. My chuckle is loud enough that someone nearby slips an arm out as if to steady me—and effectively breaks the magic.
Eogan glances at him, then turns back to his conversation with the mob surrounding him.
For one hour.
Two hours.
Two hours and ten minutes go by and I am as dead on my feet as Sedric and Eogan look to be.
Sedric has spent the whole of the time ushering me from the balcony to the floor level and back again as we meet and greet and reassure the High Court members that yes, we believe this is our best course, and no, there are no other options, and yes, we’re convinced we’ll come out victorious.
And through it all I’ve watched Eogan.
Until Sedric finally seems satisfied with the work we’ve done and waves Rolf over to replace us. “If you don’t mind,” he says to the courtiers we’ve been speaking to, “I believe Rolf can answer the last of your queries. I need to speak with Nym.”
I perk up at that. Why?
He beckons me to the side at the top of the balcony staircase where we’re fully exposed to prying eyes, yet the space is open enough to speak privately.
