A Queen This Fierce and Deadly (Kingdom of Lies)

13 PRISCA

Telean and Daharak settled into Rekja’s castle the next day. It was oddly disconcerting to see the pirate queen away from her ships, and from the nonplussed expression on her face as she stalked around the castle, she felt the same.

I’d wrapped my arms around Telean the moment I saw her. There was much we’d left unsaid, but I’d never forget the sick feeling of dread when I’d thought either of us would die with harsh words still between us.

She’d petted my back then stepped away to murmur with Lorian. Our relationship was still fractured, but it would be fixed. I’d make sure of it.

The word had gone out to all our allies. We would meet at Rekja’s castle to finalize our plans and prepare for war.

Four days later, Tibris, Demos, and Asinia arrived early in the morning. With them, they brought a man they introduced as Tor. Demos had found the only chance we had to weaken Regner’s wards enough for us to kill him.

I launched myself at Tibris, tears sliding down my cheeks as I hugged him. He clutched me to him, only letting go when Demos muttered something I didn’t catch beneath my breath.

Demos squeezed me so tightly, I almost couldn’t breathe. Had he somehow packed on more muscle?

Asinia looked healthier than she had in years. Her skin had darkened with the sun, and she moved easily—as if she’d reached a new level of comfort with herself. She wrapped her arms around me, and we held tight, rocking from side to side for long moments.

I glanced around. “Where’s Vynthar?”

A cloud rolled over her expression. “We don’t know, Pris. The last time we saw him was in Ardanor, and then… he hasn’t appeared since.”

My stomach roiled. Vynthar had terrified me the first time I’d met him. But now…now, I considered him a friend.

“Do you think he’s…”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Demos said.

If he was fine, then he’d just…left.

Perhaps he’d decided he had done enough. Given enough. He’d saved lives when the skyrions attacked the rebel village. He’d gone with Asinia and Demos to keep them safe. He’d done so much more than I could’ve ever hoped.

But I wished I could have thanked him. Wished I could have said goodbye.

Tor disappeared to take a nap, and the rest of us ate together, sharing stories and laughter. By some unspoken agreement, none of us talked of the horrors we had seen or the death we had dealt—that afternoon, we would meet to talk about war and plan our strategy. While we ate, Lorian told the others about the time he’d found Marth sleepwalking on Daharak’s ship, headed straight for the railing. Galon told them of the time we’d been training on the deck, and I’d fallen against an overturned barrel— disturbing a rat. The rat streaked toward me, and with nowhere else to go, I went up—scampering up the closest rope, which had swung wildly. Losing my grip, I’d used my hands to slow my fall, giving me a wicked case of rope burn.

Asinia told us how Demos had decided he was tired of lying around after he’d almost died. My stubborn brother had made it two steps out of the tent before falling unconscious. He’d dropped like a log, ensuring Tibris had to heal his hard head once more.

Tibris grinned, bringing up the time one of the rebels—a soldier who’d defected from Regner’s army— had loudly declared that women shouldn’t be seen on a battlefield. Asinia had calmly picked up her crossbow and shot the cup of ale straight out of his hand.

Hours later, when the others had returned to their rooms to rest before the meeting, Tibris found me. “When was the last time you took a walk?”

I frowned.

“You’re coming with me.”

I laughed as he grabbed my hand, pulling me through the castle. Several people approached, and he cut them off each time. “Ask Lorian,” he instructed.

No one looked pleased at his words. I couldn’t blame them. Lorian was doing everything he could to lighten the load for me, but he had a tendency to snarl when asked stupid questions.

And he considered a lot of questions to be stupid.

I shook my head at Tibris, but my brother had no hesitancy with taking charge when it came to the overall health of those he cared about. His healing instincts were often impossible to ignore.

Rekja’s gardens were a serene haven that felt worlds away from the strife and politics of the castle. As Tibris led me through the winding pathways, the lush tapestry of colors and scents enveloped me, pulling some of the tension from my muscles.

Tall, elegant trees formed a leaf canopy above our heads, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Beneath them, flower beds burst with a riot of purples, reds, and yellows. I sucked the earthy scent of damp soil into my lungs as we meandered along the cobblestone path.

I’d needed this.

By the time we made it to a private corner of the garden, Tibris was frowning down at a rosebush as if it had personally offended him. He glanced up, meeting my eyes.

Gods, it was good to be able to look at him again. To hear him. To see he was alive and unharmed.

“You scared me,” I said. “When I learned they were holding you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Tibris’s voice was oddly flat, and I peered up at him. “What is it?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

My heart thundered. His expression was guarded. Eyes grave.

“You can tell me anything,” I said. “You know that.”

Swallowing, he nodded. But he glanced at his feet.

My palms went damp. Was he sick? Had something bad happened to him at that camp?

Tibris met my eyes. And it was as if he was steeling himself to deliver news he thought I wouldn’t like. “While I was at the rebel camp, I met someone.”

The fist squeezing my heart unclenched. “Is that all? Gods, Tibris, you scared me.”

His gaze stayed steady on mine. “It’s not that simple, Pris. It’s Herne.”

“Herne…the camp leader?”

He nodded stiffly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

My chest tightened once more, joined by a sickly sensation in my stomach. I could see it now––from the look in his eyes, the longing on his face. My brother was in love. And instead of the supportive response he deserved, he expected me to be displeased by the political implications.

Was that who I was becoming? My eyes burned.

Tibris stiffened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan this. Gods… he didn’t either. I know it’s inconvenient, but he’s on our side, Pris.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. Tibris looked like I was torturing him. “If it’s impossible for us to be together, just tell me.”

“And you’d let him go? Just like that?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. No, my brother wouldn’t let Herne go. But if he thought I didn’t approve, he would remain torn between us.

“I’m sorry, Pris. I didn’t mean to fall in love with him. Just like you didn’t mean to fall in love with Lorian. I understand you’re angry—”

“Stop.”

He shoved his hand through his hair,

“I’m not angry. I’m not annoyed. I’m happy for you.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t seem happy.”

“I’m also…hurt,” I admitted. “Because you thought I’d put politics ahead of you. And at the same time, I understand why you would think that. I’ve made choices that will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.” My stomach churned. Those choices had ensured almost an entire village of hybrids had died. Those choices had left me without my power at this crucial moment during this war. I dropped my own gaze, unable to meet his eyes. “Why wouldn’t you think that?”

“Herne’s people shot me,” he said. “He decided to keep me as a hostage so he could make you do whatever he wanted.”

Despite his words, I smiled. It was as if he needed to get all of Herne’s bad deeds out into the open so I could decide if I would accept him.

I’d accepted Herne the moment Tibris told me he was in love.

My brother had never said that word before. Never even implied it.

“He kept the rebels alive and made it almost impossible for Eryndan to strike at their camp. He’s a good leader, Tibris, even though he almost got you killed. I still want him on our side. And…if he’s the one for you, I’ll support you both.”

His grin lit up his whole face. It hit me then. In the middle of this war, I was so, so grateful I could have this moment with my brother. There was still good in this world. Love still existed, and it was everywhere.

I grinned back. “Will I like him?”

He shook his head. “No. Not at first. He’s stubborn, arrogant, hotheaded… You know, he’s not unlike Madinia.”

I groaned. “Two of them. Just what we need.”

Tibris only laughed. “We’d better get back for the meeting.”

Which meant getting back to the reality of our situation. I sighed. “Let’s go, then.”

Tibris turned quiet as we walked back toward the castle.

“What is it?”

“It’s Vicer. Do you think he’s dead, Pris?”

“No. I think Vicer is smart, and he’s lucky. He’s managed to survive all this time, after all.” I’d gone straight to denial. But I truly couldn’t imagine Vicer being struck down in that village.

By the time we made our way up to the large sitting room we were using for most of our meetings, we were the last to arrive, and Lorian gestured at the seat he’d saved for me. He looked rested, almost relaxed, but he scanned every inch of me as I sat down.

Tor’s eyes were wide as he glanced around the sitting room.

I watched his gaze sweeping across the wood of the table between us—polished to a gleam, the thick curtains framing windows overlooking manicured gardens—held in place by jeweled ties, and the plates of dainty pastries placed on the table by uniformed servants.

The look in Tor’s eyes reminded me of my first few days in Lesdryn. I’d been torn between awe and disgust as I’d compared the differences between those lucky enough to live in the cities and those from villages such as ours.

When he finally glanced back at me, Tor’s gaze lingered on my gown, his expression tinged with disgust. There was no use telling him this gown was borrowed or that I felt just as uncomfortable sitting in it as he did looking at it.

Galon, Rythos, Marth, Lorian, and I sat on the long side of the table. Daharak, Telean, Demos, Natan, and Asinia sat across from us. Natan and Demos were speaking quietly, and the ghost of a smile drifted over Demos’s face. Madinia prowled the edges of the room, occasionally gazing out the window.

Blynth and Hevdrin were deep in conversation down at the other end of the table, with Rekja and several of his advisers across from them. Conreth had also sent one of his most trusted advisers—a man named Meldoric.

Tibris took a seat next to Demos, and I took mine next to Lorian. Everyone fell silent.

I took a deep breath. “Let’s get started.”

I told the others of the priestess we’d spoken with in Rekja’s castle. And how she’d turned on Regner. Daharak chimed in with the belief that if Regner was killed, all the stolen magic would be returned to those from whom it had been taken.

“You truly believe that?” Madinia asked from her spot near the window.

Daharak shrugged. “We have to try. The grimoire can’t be destroyed, so it’s our only hope.”

She told the others of the dark god Calpharos, and the importance of taking the grimoire from Regner and hiding it—before this world had no hope of peace.

“Well, that’s depressing,” Tibris muttered.

Rekja sent him an amused look. “Where are we with numbers?”

“I have less than fifteen thousand people in fighting condition,” Daharak said grimly. “Regner planned his ambush well.”

My heart sank. When I’d first learned of who Daharak was, my aunt had told me she commanded eighty thousand men. I’d since learned that number wasn’t quite correct. She’d had eighty thousand people before Regner’s attack, including women and children, along with those who were too old or young to fight. It took thousands of people just to move her fleet into place.

“We have approximately seventeen thousand fae and hybrids in the hybrid camp, ready to fight,” Blynth said, drawing me from my grim thoughts. “More are joining every day.”

Hevdrin nodded. “The fae numbers are fluctuating as Conreth works to negotiate with Verdion, Caliar, and Sylvielle. As it stands, we have almost twenty thousand fae readying themselves for battle.”

Twenty thousand fae. Hope stirred in my chest. Even with all the fae iron and stolen power Regner wielded, one fae would be worth at least two human soldiers on a battlefield.

All eyes turned to Rekja.

He sat straight-backed in his chair, his expression solemn.

“Now that Regner is marching on our lands, I will not be able to spare as many soldiers as I had hoped. We will need to ensure enough are well positioned to protect our people.”

My heart sank. Another reason why Regner had chosen now to march on Gromalia. So Rekja would have fewer people to contribute to our armies.

He nodded at whatever he saw on my face. “We will march with you to war. But I can only spare thirty thousand soldiers.”

“Just under eighty-five thousand total,” Lorian murmured next to me.

I didn’t enjoy talking about people as numbers. Each of these soldiers had a family and friends who loved them. And we were speaking of them as if they were tools.

Was this the reality of royalty? Of power? People became little more than pawns that were moved into place with no regard for the lives lost or changed forever?

The thought sickened me.

If we lived through this, I would do whatever it took to ensure this never happened again.

“Zathrian still has twenty thousand hybrids,” Galon said. “Camped near the Cursed City.”

“And Regner?” I asked into the silence. “What are his final numbers now?” No matter what those numbers were, they could have been worse, I reminded myself. If he’d allied with Gromalia, we would have been decimated.

“One hundred sixty thousand, plus however many creatures he can wield against us,” Demos said quietly. “I got the final estimate this morning.”

“Plus Zathrian’s army,” I said bitterly.

Demos nodded, his expression tight. Next to him, Tibris tapped his fingers on the table, a crease forming between his brows.

“One hundred eighty thousand soldiers,” Natan said. “It will be a slaughter.”

“We need Zathrian’s hybrids,” I said. If we could get our numbers to one hundred and five thousand, plus Herne’s rebels, along with any extra fae Conreth could negotiate for, we might have a chance.

“Whatever your elder said has helped. Orivan has agreed to read a message from you,” Blynth said.

Zathrian’s general, the one Blynth had said was a good man. A loyalist. Potentially our only hope at wresting that army from my cousin. And Tymriel had finally proven useful.

I stared at Blynth. He gave me a faint smile. “If you send him a message, he will keep its contents to himself.”

“I will write to him today,” I said. It would be the most important message I would ever send.

Blynth leaned forward intently. “Even if he will ask his men to stand down within your cousin’s camp, you’ll still need to be able to get through Eprothan waters and dock near the camp. If they recognize you, you won’t get within shooting distance of your cousin.”

“Leave that part to me,” Lorian said.

I turned to Tor. “Did Demos explain why we need your help?” I asked.

“He did. But your plan sounds thin.”

It was a fair enough summary, given that he would be expected to have one of the most important—and riskiest—roles in that plan.

“We’re out of options,” Madinia said. Her eyes flashed as she stared at Tor, disgust clear in the wrinkle of her nose.

“And I’m to be your last effort.”

“Would you like to hear exactly what Regner just did to an entire hybrid camp in Eprotha?” Madinia purred. “Would you like me to tell you about the small boy I helped bury, his pregnant mother who was so grief-stricken she had to be half carried through the forest while we waited to feel arrows in our backs at any second?” She stalked closer. Everyone had gone silent. “Perhaps I should tell you about the screams that echoed through the forest as the iron guard hunted any who thought to flee to safety.”

“N-no.” Tor swallowed. But he raised his head, staring her straight in the eye. “But you’re expecting me to risk my life, and you don’t know if it will even work.”

I opened my mouth, but Marth was already speaking. “No, we don’t. But we do know that if we do nothing, we are dooming every hybrid and fae on this continent to horror and death. If you can hear all of that, if you can lose your family and friends to Regner’s dungeon and know they were starved and tortured before they died…if you can know that there are people risking everything to save the lives of strangers…” His voice trailed off, and then he angled his head. “If you can hear all of these things and refuse to help—and still meet your own eyes in the mirror for the rest of your life, however long it would last—then you don’t belong in this room.”

Tor’s face flushed. I sucked in a breath, but Marth merely leveled the other man with a glare, folding his arms over his chest.

Demos stood. “Enough,” he said. “The fact that Tor is willing to hear us out is courageous in itself.”

Tor ignored him. And Asinia’s hand twitched like she might grab Demos’s.

Rekja stood, and Tor’s gaze jumped to him. “Make your decision fast. All our lives may depend on it.”

It wasn’t fair, what we were doing to him. No one deserved the weight of so many lives on their shoulders.

Rekja turned to me, his long red hair falling over his shoulders. “Two things. First, when my father met with Regner, he mentioned a deal with the ruler of the fae island close to the southern tip of our lands.”

It took me a moment to understand. But Rythos let out a strange sound from the back of his throat. “Quorith.”

“Yes. The ruler of that island made a pact with Regner. This was discussed at a dinner between Regner and my father before the barriers fell. My father wanted the island for himself after the war. Regner had told him he could take it.”

Hot fury pulsed in my veins. Verdion was a fool. A fool who was going to have the blood of thousands on his hands.

Rythos looked as if he had been punched in the gut. His hands began to shake, and he buried his face in them, silently removing himself from the conversation.

Rekja flicked his glance back to me. “I will take my leave to meet privately with my generals.”

I glanced at Demos. He was watching Rekja stride out of the room with his advisers, his expression thoughtful. When he returned his gaze to me, it was instantly evident that I wouldn’t like whatever he said next.

“You need to make a choice, Prisca.”

“What kind of choice?” Sometimes it felt as if my days were made up of nothing but choices. And each of those choices had brutal, often immediate, consequences.

“Vicer. At this point, we haven’t heard anything from him. The last time Madinia saw him…” His gaze flicked to her.

Madinia nodded, her expression blank. “He left to fight the iron guards. Alone.”

My eyes stung. “You believe he’s dead.”

“We need to assume he’s dead until we learn otherwise,” Demos said. “Vicer is smart, and he knows that area of Eprotha well. There’s a chance he’s still alive, wounded, or busy helping other hybrids get to safety. But we can’t rely on him until we know that’s the case.”

I forced myself to pretend Vicer was just another person. Not someone I knew. Someone who’d helped save hybrid lives for years.

If we were to assume Vicer was dead, then we would need to move forward without him. But for the hybrids we were attempting to save, Vicer was the person many of them knew or, at least, had heard of. They knew he had been fighting for them in the city for all those years, and his contacts stretched throughout Gromalia and Eprotha.

“Give me your suggestions for people whom his contacts would trust, and if we haven’t heard anything from him three days from now, we will choose someone to…”

I couldn’t say the word replace. Next to me, Lorian wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Someone to temporarily fulfill his duties until we learn more,” he said.

I glanced at him. It was clear he assumed Vicer was dead. But he was being very careful to spare me from that assumption.

Tibris cleared his throat. “Where do you want me to go, Pris?”

I’d already thought about this. “I want you to go to the pass. The hybrids who have already been fleeing toward the camp… I know Vicer said they have their own healers, but as soon as we have everything in place, we will be sending as many hybrids as we can off this continent. Many of them will need healing.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I knew what he was thinking. That I was sending him away to keep him safe. Because he was human.

I shook my head at him. “There’s another reason. I’m hoping that if you go to the Asric Pass, Herne will go with you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You want him there? Why?”

“From what you said, the rebels were exceptional about hiding their tracks and ensuring their camp was almost impossible to spot. As more and more people travel to that camp, they will begin leaving signs of that travel.”

Tibris’s expression cleared. “I’ll send a pigeon to Herne.”

A knock sounded on the door. Madinia stepped over and opened it.

“Message for someone named Marth,” the messenger said. He had a long cut across one cheek. “And your pigeon needs to be replaced. Almost took out my eye.”

I sighed. Trust Marth to have a vicious pigeon.

He slowly uncoiled his huge body, strolled across the room, and plucked the message from the man’s hand, giving him a gold coin. “Thank you.”

Marth read the message, and his face drained of blood. A chill slid over my skin, my heart stumbling on its next beat.

His eyes met mine. “I know what Rothnic has been working on. Our spies have finally learned the information. One of them was caught and killed. But two managed to escape Eprotha.”

Lorian tensed, and I could feel the impatience rolling off him in waves. Regner’s favorite Patriarch had a gift for creating horror with his magic.

Finally, Marth shook his head, as if attempting to clear it. “The weapon they’ve created…it takes down wards. All kinds of wards.”

Oh gods. The fae lands, Quorith, Lyrinore.

We needed those wards. Without the wards, the sea serpents wouldn’t attack, and the hybrid kingdom would be invaded. So would the fae lands. And our people would die.

It was as if history was repeating itself.

“Regner is going to attack us on all fronts, isn’t he?” I said, my lips numb. “He’ll split our forces, use whatever weapon Rothnic has come up with, and take down all of our wards. We’ll be so busy defending our lands, we won’t be able to strategize.”

Silence.

“I don’t understand,” Asinia said. “These wards are ancient. How could Rothnic have found a way to bring them down?”

“According to our spies, the wards won’t remain down. They’ll merely be temporarily shifted into another world.”

Madinia scoffed. “Another world?”

Demos raised one eyebrow. “You may imagine yourself the center of this world, but it makes logical sense that there would be others.”

I sighed. Just as the sky was blue, Demos and Madinia would always dislike each other. Next to Demos, Asinia gave him a warning look. His mouth twitched, his eyes heating.

Now, that was interesting.

“If I may reclaim your attention?” Marth bit out.

I looked at him, and something inside my chest cracked. Not long ago, it would have been Marth teasing the others, keeping the atmosphere light, not allowing us to give in to dread and fear. Since Cavis’s death, he was a grim, joyless version of himself.

“This is the ward.” He swiped an apple from a bowl of fruit on the table and placed it on a piece of parchment to his right. Our world. “Rothnic uses his weapon.” He placed the apple on the table, away from the parchment. “The ward still exists, but it’s no longer in our world. It’s temporary—power is always drawn back to its origin.”

“So Rothnic shifts our wards. How long will they stay that way?”

Marth shrugged. “I don’t know. It depends on the power of the weapon and the one wielding it. Likely, Regner will have infused both with as much stolen power as he can.”

Dread hollowed my stomach, and panic slid neatly into the gap.

Slowly, I got to my feet. “It’s time to clear the Asric Pass of Regner’s soldiers. And then we will begin moving any hybrids who want to leave the fae lands—or any other kingdom—toward the Pass.”

Regner would learn those soldiers were dead and instantly retaliate, but we had no choice. We had to protect the innocent.

Rythos swept a hand over his jaw, his expression grave. “Without the wards, he will take Quorith. If only to disable our ships. I need to go. I have to tell our people what my father has done—and what the consequences will be.”

I nodded, but my chest tightened. “I don’t want you to go alone.”

A hint of impatience flickered in his eyes. “Pris—”

“Please, Rythos.”

He frowned. “Fine.”

“I’ll go with him,” Madinia said.

She stood near the door, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Perhaps volunteering to go with Rythos was a way for her to avoid so much…togetherness. If I knew one thing about Madinia, it was that she preferred to be alone. And she’d been different since she returned from the hybrid camp. Before she’d left, it had seemed as if she’d softened in some ways. Now, her walls were firmly in place once more.

“Thank you.”

Rythos didn’t argue, just gave a stiff nod.

“I told you we should have killed Rothnic,” Madinia mused.

Lorian pinned her with a look. “If Rothnic had died that night, we wouldn’t have been able to free Jamic.”

Hevdrin had been mostly quiet up until now, but at that, he cleared his throat. “We need to split our forces.”

He was right. I knew he was right. That didn’t make me any happier about it.

Lorian nodded. “We need the last amulet. If we’re going to trust Kaliera—and we know for sure she wants her son—then we’ll need a larger group to go into the mine.”

Demos leaned back in his chair. “If it truly is where Regner has been breeding his monsters, we also need to find a way to wipe out as many of them as possible.”

“By now, he will have moved many of them out,” Galon said. “The attacks against both the rebel camp and Sorlithia made it clear he’s already using them.”

“Agreed,” Demos said. “But we can still deal him a blow.” His gaze met mine, and my stomach tensed before he even said the words. “I want to go.”

It would be so, so dangerous. “You don’t think you would be of more use elsewhere?”

He shook his head. “For now, our strategy remains the same. I’ll get the amulet and meet you after you’ve taken care of Zathrian. Because that’s what you’re planning, isn’t it, Pris?” One side of his mouth curved, but no humor glinted in his eyes.

The room had gone silent.

“Yes,” I admitted. “The time for wishing things could be different is over.”

Demos gave me an approving nod. “Hevdrin is right,” he said, glancing at the other man. “We can’t afford for Zathrian to turn our own people on us. But with Regner attacking on all fronts, we also can’t afford to just be on the defensive. Without the amulet, this can’t end.”

Surprising no one, Asinia got to her feet. “I’m going with him.”

Demos leveled her with a long stare, but he didn’t argue.

“Pick ten people to take with you,” I told them. “Powerful fae and hybrids.”

No one spoke. But a new energy had entered the room, and my skin prickled with it. It almost felt like the way the air crackled before Lorian used his power. It was a feeling of anticipation mixed with dread, mixed with something else. Determination, maybe.

“I’ll do it,” Tor said into the silence. His face was gray, and his lower lip trembled before he firmed it. “I’ll help you.”

I met his eyes. “Thank you.”

He just shook his head, turning away.

He’d made his decision. I shifted my attention to Blynth. “I need you to return to our army and ensure they are ready for battle.”

He nodded. “Done.”

Lorian got to his feet. The room went silent again.

“There’s another reason we wanted to bring you all here together. Even in the midst of war, it’s important to make time for joy. To allow hope to be our light in the dark. The day of the summit, I asked Prisca to marry me. We don’t know what will happen in this war. But we have to make time to celebrate our lives—or Regner wins.” Lorian looked at me then, and I blinked back tears.

“We want you to celebrate with us,” I said. “Tomorrow, before we all separate.”

Smiles unfurled, a few cheers broke out, and some of the quiet dread disappeared from the room. Warmth spread through my chest. This was why Lorian wanted to get married now. A chance to enjoy one another’s company one final time before we were all separated. To celebrate love and to celebrate one another.

Rythos and Galon slapped Lorian on the back. This announcement hadn’t come as a surprise to them, but they grinned at me.

Surprisingly, it was Marth who hugged me first. “I’m happy for you, Pris.”

“Thank you. And thank you for surviving Sorlithia and being here.”

He gave me a faint smile, stepping away to let the others congratulate us.

I’d asked Asinia and Madinia to stay, and they waited, one wearing a bright smile, the other a glower.

“Tomorrow, for our wedding…I want you to stand with me. Both of you.”

Joyful tears filled Asinia’s eyes. A cold rage filled Madinia’s. My heart sank.

“Of course, Pris,” Asinia said with a wide grin. “I’m honored.”

Madinia slowly shook her head, and my heart plummeted. “I never asked to be part of your little group. I’m here to win this war and leave. So stop trying to make me care about you. All of you.”

She turned and stalked out.

My mood was dark as I strode through the castle, searching for some distraction—a way to replace the image of the disappointment in Prisca’s eyes.

She had no business asking me for such things.

Darnis’s tiny face flashed before my eyes. And I was suddenly back in that forest, the weight of a child in my arms and the weight of the lives I was responsible for on my shoulders.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. I couldn’t linger on it. There were more important things to think about. Such as my plans after this war.

It was time to talk to the pirate queen.

Rekja had put us all in the same wing, but there were enough rooms to search that by the time I found Daharak, the sick feeling in my gut had almost dissipated.

She sat in an elegant sitting room with a view of the ocean. She stared at the water with longing. But her face was bloodless.

“What is it?” I asked.

Daharak’s eyes stayed on the majority of her fleet, anchored close to shore. “You mean other than the thousands of my people lost to the sea?”

I studied her face. Since the moment I’d seen her in this castle, she’d been quiet, solemn, withdrawn. But this reaction was different. She looked as if she’d been gut-punched, slapped across the face, and thrown into a cold lake all at the same time.

“I can’t use the weapon,” she said when I didn’t respond. Her voice was hollow, empty.

The memory of our conversation on her ship trickled into my mind. “You’re speaking of the weapon you used your blood vow with Prisca to find.”

She nodded. Daharak was usually someone who commanded attention. When she walked into a room, people noticed. Now, though, she seemed somehow diminished. Her shoulders slumped and she looked smaller, as if some of the life had been drained from her.

I sat next to her. “What’s so special about this weapon?”

Reaching into her cloak pocket, she pulled out a blue orb. It looked as if it was made of glass, but something about it made me shiver. I was both drawn to it and tempted to demand Daharak put it away again.

“Rumors are that the orb is gods-touched. My father searched for it, and his father before him. We have enemies, and the weapon can do almost anything. There are limits to its power, of course, but…with the barrier down, it is only a matter of time before our ancient feud is reignited.” Daharak lifted her hand, and the sunlight spearing through the window made it appear as if a blue fire burned within the orb. “It would have finally finished things.”

I listened to what she wasn’t saying. Daharak had clearly planned to use the weapon to wipe out her enemies as soon as we won this war.

“Why can’t you use it?”

“I made a deal with someone for the location of the weapon. After years of keeping the location from me, he finally told me—on his deathbed. What he failed to mention was that only someone pure of heart can wield it.”

I bit my lip, attempting to hide a smirk. “You don’t believe you’re pure of heart?”

Daharak gave me a poisonous look. “Pirate. Queen. The things I’ve done would give you night terrors. Which means I can’t use this unless I feel like sacrificing my life to it.” Her mouth tightened in a grim smile. “And as much as I’d like my enemies to pay, I plan on being around to see it.”

Moments like these made me certain the gods were playing with us. A weapon powerful enough that Daharak Rostamir had hunted it all these years and she couldn’t even use it on her enemies.

Worse, none of us could use it either. Pure of heart? All of us had killed. I’d killed and enjoyed it. Wished I could repeat it. Likely, I would again.

I sighed. “Don’t tell Prisca.”

That caught her attention. Daharak’s brow lifted, her gaze settling on my face. “Why?”

“Because the idiot will do something stupid like attempt to sacrifice herself for the good of everyone else, and Lorian will finally lose control and lock her away somewhere. I don’t want to have to deal with the dramatics.”

Humor flickered in her eyes. “Fine.” Daharak placed the orb back in my hands, and I frowned at her. “Perhaps your new life will give you an opportunity to find someone who can use this weapon for good.”

“We’re not going to pretend I’m pure of heart?”

Daharak snorted.

I sensed movement by the door. I snapped my head around, and Daharak launched herself to her feet with a curse. Asinia narrowed her eyes at me, and her gaze lingered on the orb in my hands. “Keeping important information from Prisca isn’t going to help us.”

Fury bit at me with sharp teeth. “Eavesdropping now, Asinia? Do you think the gods would allow Prisca to escape their wrath after she stole Lorian’s life back from them?”

The blood drained from Asinia’s face. She knew as well as I did that none of us could use the weapon.

With a curse, she kicked the chair in front of her and turned, stalking toward the door.

I raised my eyebrow. I hadn’t seen much of her temper. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure.

“Speaking of that new life, I want to talk about what happens after this war,” I said when Asinia had slammed the door behind her.

Daharak angled her head. “You really think we’ll survive?”

“Only idiots march into battle believing they will die.”

She laughed. “Wise words for someone who has never battled.”

I shrugged. While traveling through Eprotha, I’d come to a sudden, unwelcome realization.

I was penniless.

While I’d sold Kaliera’s jewels in the fae lands— something I hadn’t gotten nearly enough credit for—those funds had been gradually eaten away by the many costs of outfitting our armies. Lorian had contributed, as had his friends, and I was relatively sure even Conreth had dug into his own coffers at this point.

But the fact remained—wars were expensive. Armies needed weapons and food and tents. By the time this war ended, there would be little coin left.

I wanted a new life on a new continent. But I was most assuredly not suited for poverty.

“Now that’s a calculated expression,” Daharak mused. “You’ll need to work on that.”

I scowled. Not long ago, hiding my true feelings behind an expressionless mask had been second nature for me. Clearly, spending this long away from court hadn’t done me any favors.

“It’s not enough to set foot on a new continent if this godsforsaken war ever ends,” I said.

Daharak watched me, her dark eyes cool. “What is it you want?”

“I want to earn some kind of living. By the time I step off your ship, I need to have enough coin to start a new life.”

“Strangely, I can’t exactly picture you scrubbing my decks. You’d likely become irritated and set the entire ship alight.”

My nose wrinkled before I could control it. Daharak grinned at me. “Don’t fret. I have a need for someone of your talents. By the time you’re ready to start your new life, you’ll have a purse full of coin.”

This time, I let my lips curve. But Daharak’s grin disappeared. “Heed my words, Madinia Farrow, for I have a tiny drop of my mother’s sight. If you refuse to open your heart to those who would lay down their lives for you, you will not arrive on the eastern continent with just a purse full of coin. You will also carry with you a heart full of regret. And that heart will be much, much heavier than any coin you can imagine.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She gave me a sharp smile. “You think feelings are a weakness. And sometimes, they are. Sometimes, those feelings eat at everything you thought you were. But a life refusing to feel, to love? That is worse than a weakness. That is a travesty. To refuse to feel the full range of emotions, to deny yourself joy in an effort to protect yourself from the loss? I may not know much—may have no true glimpse of the future the way my mother does—but I know without a doubt that one day, the tiny moments of joy you keep turning your back on? They’re the moments that will keep you alive.”