Chapter 19
Kyrja slipped into the room, careful to keep to the shadows for now, so that her arrival didn’t halt the chatter of the dozens of guests she’d invited to the palace this morning.
It was, on the one hand, a strange thing to choose to do today, when she had to give Stefanos her answer this evening, with anxiety swirling as to whether he’d accept Elianne’s offer to take her place.
It was, on the other hand, the most urgent thing to do today. To prove to the Aflame on her High Council, to the Blessed vying for the other six seats, to the Fjorders, to the thanes, to herself that she wasn’t just an upstart princess who’d out-iced her competition.
She was a queen. One with a vision for Fjordlandi. More, one with a vision to give everyone a voice in Fjordlandi.
Her gaze scanned the room, not at all surprised to find that, with a few exceptions, the crowd was segregated.
The Aflame stood in their black-clad cluster in the corner, Daemon surveying the group as if he might set them all ablaze with his glare.
The dozen Blessed who’d been hounding her congregated as far from them as they could get, wearing their gauzy pastels and looking superior.
The Fjorders, all students or recent graduates, clustered around Dania and Sven as he said something to them in an animated tone—always the professor.
The thanes, the same thirty-six who had given her the roses at the Coronation Ball, tried to blend into the walls, and she had a feeling they’d only had the courage to show up at all because of the smiles of encouragement that Dania, their trusted family physician, kept sending them as she tried to wave them closer and they pretended not to see.
Kyrja drew in a long breath. Triremes encircled her land. None were in her territorial waters, but all were as close as they could come without drifting over the line with every wave.
She hadn’t even known Ellas had so many warships.
And in this case, she didn’t think it was just her own ignorance.
The Ellesians were at constant war with themselves—their four tribes hated each other even more than the Fjorders and thanes did—and how a single king ruled them all and yet brought no peace was an eternal mystery to outsiders.
But a blessing, so they didn’t ever try to intervene. Why would they? Peace within Ellas would mean the warriors would turn their attention outside their own country.
Like now. Apparently without even knowing it, she’d given the feuding groups a reason to unite.
Sixteen days. That was how long she’d been queen.
And in that time, she’d managed to dismantle centuries of tradition—corrupt tradition, granted, but still—and deliver her people to the brink of a war that could annihilate them.
If those triremes aimed their cannons at Fjordlandi’s domes, it would mean extinction, unless other kingdoms intervened.
Those who weren’t killed outright would starve when the crops failed.
And the other kingdoms couldn’t intervene. Not if Fjordlandi broke an international Accord.
Without the domes to capture the geothermal heat from the vents, there was no agriculture. Banishing the clouds to allow sunlight on the open spaces wouldn’t help. Without the insulating cloud cover, all of Fjordlandi would be too frozen to allow for life.
And yet, Stefanos wasn’t the true threat. The true threat was Fjordlandi tearing itself apart from within, which was exactly what would happen if she didn’t step up. The time had come for change. The time had come for her to lead, not just hide in her office all day.
She took another step into the room, her gaze shifting of its own will back to the cluster of Aflame. To one of them specifically. Nik looked over at that moment too, spotted her, and strode away from his family, toward her.
His approach felt like a magnet, pulling her with more strength, the closer he got.
Did he feel it too, this need to be near?
She wanted to think so. It couldn’t always be her, could it, that reached out?
That shifted until they touched? She was fairly certain that at least some of the time, it was him doing the moving.
Half the time, she wasn’t even aware it had happened until she realized her hand or shoulder or arm or back was no longer cold. That it hadn’t been for a while.
It felt so right, being beside him. And yet not enough. One of these days, she wanted to actually wrap her arms around him. Nestle against him fully.
Press her lips to his and see if his fire shot through her veins like she suspected it would.
Thoughts she pushed aside, yet again, for another day. Another time. And summoned what she hoped was a merely-friendly smile as he slid to her side.
His hand came to a rest on the small of her back, making her forget what she should be focusing on instead. At least until he murmured, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Not them, this, whatever it was—but the greater them, the more important this, whatever that was. She surveyed the groups, so distinct, so unyielding, and nodded. “If we’re going to forge a new Fjordlandi, it starts here. Now.”
Another door opened, on the side opposite the one Kyrja had slipped through, and Perla strode in without any of the stealth Kyrja had employed.
But then, the Daryatlean princess had made her mark on the world with boldness.
And sure enough, every eye turned her way as she made her entrance, even Sven halting his lecture to watch her move with unerring aim toward the line of chairs at the front of the room.
Ivar—who was here solely because he represented the ranks of Blessed Kyrja most needed to convince—stepped into Perla’s path, a slight sneer marring his perfect face. “And what are you doing here?”
Perla, of course, didn’t look at all perturbed as she drifted to a halt, her blue skirts swaying around her. She lifted her manicured brows. “Who, me?” She splayed a hand over her chest. “I guess I’m just very special. Isn’t that right, King of the Daemons?”
Though the words were obviously aimed at the cluster of Aflame and loud enough to reach them, Perla didn’t take her gaze off Ivar.
Nik’s hand tensed against Kyrja’s back. No doubt he, like she, wondered what response Daemon would make. If he’d ally himself with Perla or pit himself against her presence—even if that meant siding with Ivar.
Daemon folded his black-clad arms over his chest. “If by ‘special’ you mean there’s no one else like you, then we can only pray so.”
Kyrja’s breath released in a small whoosh of relief. He was playing their familiar game. And familiar, today, seemed good.
Perla looked away from Ivar long enough to blow Daemon a kiss. “Such flattery’s going to turn my head, hot and handsome.”
Daemon rolled his eyes. Ember buried a snicker in her husband’s shoulder.
Ivar’s nostrils flared. When Perla shifted to walk around him, he moved to block her again. “We are here to discuss matters of Fjordlandi, not international law or relations with Daryatla. You have no right to be here.”
Enough. Kyrja stepped forward, out of the shadows, glad when Nik matched her movements. “She’s here because I invited her. Just as I invited each of you. If you object to her presence and don’t wish to have a say in these proceedings, Ivar, you’re welcome to leave.”
He went stiff as he turned to face her. But the tic in his jaw was his only response.
There was no way he’d give up his own seat in this room, she knew that. Hence why she could walk with complete confidence to the center of the seven chairs arrayed at the front of the room. “If everyone would take your seats.”
Shuffling commenced, the six she’d invited to sit up here with her quickly taking their places.
On her right, Arne, Sven, and Perla. On her left, Nik, Daemon, and Laila.
Ivar, looking none too pleased not to be on the dais, glared as he took a seat in the front row, directly in front of Kyrja.
Perhaps that would have bothered her more if Dania, bless her, didn’t take the seat right beside him, where she could offer an encouraging grin.
Kyrja smiled back, then directed it to the group at large.
“Thank you all for joining me. In the interest of avoiding chaos, my chosen representatives for each people group are few, though everyone will be given a chance to ask questions and make their thoughts known. Laila and I represent the Blessed. Arne and Sven the Fjorders. Daemon and Nik are representing both the thanes in general and the Aflame in particular, and I’ve asked Princess Perla to weigh in with her outside perspective. ”
“And by what authority are the two daemons to represent the thanes?” Ivar asked. “Last I heard, Nikanor Tristansson stood accused of treason as a co-conspirator with his father, the known leader of the Red Hands.”
Beside her, Nik went stiff.
But Kyrja only smiled again. “You will refer to them as ‘the Aflame’ or by name, Ivar, not as daemons—unless you’re speaking specifically to the primal and using his chosen name.
But to your point, Nik had no knowledge of his father’s attack.
You’re correct, however, that he’s familiar with the complaints of the thanes that Tristan brought before the Two Councils no fewer than three dozen times over the years.
Which is one of the reasons I wanted him beside me.
We will be satisfying their requests once and for all.
Giving them a voice on the Great Council proportionate to their population, which means twenty-four seats instead of two.
Allotting them resources also proportionate—wood, food, medicine. ”
“What?” Ivar shot to his feet, outrage slipping between the fissures of his usual ice. “You would negotiate with terror-makers?”