Chapter 35 #2
“What do you think is the greatest risk to the lives of the people of Adreania?” I ask, bringing a spoonful of soup to my mouth. It’s bland, so bland. I miss the rich food of Ellova. I even miss the sweetness of its cuisine.
He has the audacity to look bored with the question, as if the well-being of his entire kingdom is as trivial as the weather.
“The sickness. Its effects on the reproductive health of the Adreanian women.” For a moment I am surprised by his answer, but he follows with “Sickly women cannot birth me soldiers.”
Pain bites into my hand. My grip on my spoon is so tense, my hand throbs. Of course that’s all he cares about. The power an army brings, not the lives of the women the illness has devastated, the mourning of sick children and empty wombs, bitter tears from the loss of motherhood.
Tavien will make more elixir and Viella can deliver it. As long as no one in Beggars’ Row says how we got in, it could be delivered. They have to bring it here anyway; maybe I can trade it for my release. “What if I told you I have the antidote?”
He sits up in his chair, putting down the goblet of wine he was lazily drinking moments ago. “Do it. Grow it!” he demands.
“I’ve already grown it, and if you release me, I will give you more, boxes and boxes of it in just a few short weeks.
A few drops to each woman and child who suffers from it, and you will have happy and healthy citizens again.
You will have no need to go to war with Kalvorn over it.
They don’t have anything that will help you.
You would fight a meaningless war over something I would hand over to you. What do you say? My release for it?”
He sneers at me. “I don’t believe you, nor do I trust you.”
“You do not have to trust me. I can prove it.”
The doors open, and Lyrora arrives in a cobalt-blue gown and the delicate sapphire tiara I made her the last time I was here willingly.
It looks as lovely on her as I imagined it would.
Grief knocks on the door to my soul with the realization that her tiara was one of the last times I was able to use my magic.
Her guard slides her next to me and bows before stepping away.
“Hello.” Lyrora gives me a half smile.
“Hello, Your Highness.”
Grayden laughs. “No need for such formalities.” He faces Lyrora. “Izadella here will be your new sister shortly.”
The color drains from her face. “But what of Erenia? Our alliances with her kingdom, her father?”
“Erenia is a traitor and not fit to be queen.” Grayden stabs his steak. “She has been replaced. I will announce it to the court tomorrow.”
“She ran off with your father’s healer to be together,” Everett announces gleefully.
She laughs at him, the delighted noise echoing around us. “I can assure you, they did not. What a lie to tell, Prince Everett, what a lie.”
I nearly choke on my wine as I cackle. “Did he tell you he was a prince?”
Everett’s cheeks have a tinge of pink to them as his eyes shoot daggers at me.
Lyrora glances between us, confused. “He said he was prince of the faeries.”
I laugh even harder. “There is no such thing. He has no ties to royalty. His mother is an elected Guardian of her court, but that gives him no title or birthright. He is what you would call a common sailor.”
Lyrora lets out a small giggle with me. “That is interesting.”
“When he helps me take Kalvorn, he can have whatever title he wants. He can be king of the fucking faeries for all I care,” Grayden says.
I lean toward Everett. “I cannot wait to tell Nueena and Tavien this.”
He leans forward, too. “You will be dead before you can utter a single word.”
It wipes the smile off my face and widens his.
“Who are they?” Lyrora asks.
“Actual fae royalty,” I say proudly. “My family.”
Everett snorts. “They aren’t her family. She was their little orphan pet. Her family was exiled for creating the very crown she wears now. It brought destruction to the fae realm, and the Forger was banished for it. Her family line is a shameful one.”
Everything he says is meant to hurt me, but I will not give him the satisfaction. “Yes, it is. Just like your family line will be shamed for your treachery.”
I could strangle Everett. I focus all my energy, calling to the crown to attack him, but nothing happens. He sits there alive and well.
Useless. Fucking. Crown.
I thank a servant who has come to refill my water, watching her add more to everyone else’s but Everett’s. She leaves only to return with a different pitcher to fill his chalice.
“Are you drinking water from home?” I ask suspiciously. Does he know of the healing effects of the Airvell River? Is that how he has been able to stay here unaffected by the loss of magic?
His sly grin before he takes a long drink is answer enough, and I hate him a little more.
Dinner is mind-numbingly dull. Grayden and Everett spend it discussing grand war plans that they have no means to achieve, like two dewlings with delusions of grandeur. Hours later, I am finally allowed to return to Erenia’s rooms.
Guards are stationed outside the doors, and the room is up on a high tower. With no faith in my ability to climb down, I accept this is my new prison.
At least it is warm.