Chapter 27
Ivy
Istride into the dining room turned resistance headquarters, waving a pamphlet fresh from the press. “We’ve got a new batch!”
The many figures crowded around the table look up. Petra smiles from her spot at the head, but I catch plenty of skeptical or even anxious expressions too.
I’m not sure yet how to feel about the way our resistance group has grown. Since we arrived at the summer estate of one of the court barons a few days ago, our numbers have more than doubled.
Tinom chose well, I can admit. Baron Cyris and his wife showed nothing but pure relief when the remaining Melchioreks arrived and immediately started venting about how awful Lothar and his Order of the Wild are. And this particular baron has a gift for illusions similar to Tinom’s, which means he can join the magic advisor in concealing signs of our comings and goings from the estate.
But he is a noble, and the others who’ve joined us are also nobles or the close comrades of nobles. Every time I see a lip curled in disgust aimed Alek’s way, my well-practiced will-power is strained resisting the urge to punch that face. I’m sure our allies who came all this way from Pima with us have noticed the upturned noses and uneasy mutterings just as I have.
Gods forbid anyone be in their presence wearing peasant clothes rather than embroidered silks.
Petra beckons me over, and I skirt the various nobles and staff to reach her. Most press closer to the table even though there’s plenty of space at the edge of the room for me to get by.
It’s obvious word has worked its way through our growing numbers about my powers as well. No one’s dared to speak against me, since I’m sure they’ve also heard that their future queen has defended my presence, but there’s no denying the tensed postures and lowered voices whenever I pass by them.
I can’t really complain. We need all the help we can get. The nobles have sway over their domains and plenty of staff they can call on.
They have access to resources we might need… including the printing press I heard the baroness mention she fiddles around with as a “hobby,” which gave me an idea for a new strategy.
A sense of satisfaction takes the edges off my nerves as I set the pamphlet I’m holding in Petra’s waiting hand.
My father always talked about how the press was the best tool for reaching people’s minds. You can put any message on pieces of paper and send it all over the realms in a matter of days.
We haven’t needed to win over anyone outside our kingdom, but we have to build all the support we can manage within it. I’ve spent a large part of the last couple of days working with Alek and Casimir, putting together simple messages and pictures to convey the threat the scourge sorcerers pose and the good Petra can offer the country instead.
The images will give the gist of the idea to those who haven’t learned to read. Those who can will explain the rest in the undercurrent of nervous chatter we hope to encourage throughout the country.
This afternoon’s set of pamphlets warn Silana’s civilians that a group that would murder the king won’t hesitate to kill others as well, prompting them to think about the acts of violence they’ve witnessed carried out by the Order. The stark letters at the bottom ask, What if they come for your sons and daughters next?
It’s pointed propaganda, but the scourge sorcerers deserve it.
As Petra scans the one I gave her, several of the more luxuriously dressed figures nearby stir restlessly.
The local countess who’s thrown in her lot with us clears her throat. “Are we really sure that tossing those papers around is the best use for our limited manpower?”
One of Voleska and Emor’s people speaks up before I have to. “It’s not like we’ve had that many other jobs to take care of. And you should have seen ’em in the square this morning when we launched the latest batch!”
The colleague next to her lifts his head eagerly. “Yeah, they were snatching at them and chattering away about it. Word is spreading fast. The tide’s turning in Queen Petra’s favor.”
We’ve had to come up with creative ways of distributing the pamphlets, since the Order members who’ve spread across the country aren’t going to stand by while someone shouts about their misdeeds in the city squares. With a combination of stealth and a few handy magical gifts our allies can bring to bear, we’ve been showering them over the crowds from the highest vantage points we can find.
If all’s gone well, some of the riders who headed out yesterday will have sent papers blustering down as far as Florian with the help of the Black Talons, as well as other royal cities like Zulina and Mipone.
It won’t be long before the scourge sorcerers can guess that we’ve relocated in the south end of the country, but we want to spread out our activities enough that it isn’t easy to guess what province, let alone county, we’re in.
If they find us again, I’m not sure where we’d be able to take shelter next.
A merchant friend of the barons raps an impatient hand on the table. “We need to ‘turn the tide’ with more than just words.”
Petra lifts her gaze to consider her supporters. She keeps her tone mild. “I think words are a very good start while we gather ourselves for a more intensive effort. This is perfect, Ivy. Do we have people ready to carry them out?”
I nod. “I just have to give them the word.”
As I duck out of the room, I catch a not-especially-hushed voice mutter, “Where did that one come from?”
Stavros’s voice follows an instant later with a hard edge of warning. “Ivy’s been protecting Silana from the scourge sorcerers from the beginning.”
I hurry to the out-building that holds the press, discomfort itching at my skin. I don’t like leaving my men or the future queen who’s accepted me to defend my role in the resistance, but I’m not sure how to speak up myself without making our new allies even more nervous.
I find my self-appointed assistants just finishing stuffing the latest batch of pamphlets into saddle bags.
“Queen Petra approves,” I tell them, and they flash grins at me before hustling off to the waiting horses.
I raise my voice to call after them. “Safe travels!”
Some part of me wishes I was riding off to carry out more capers rather than debating with the stuffy jerks around here.
Of course, the current caper might not be possible without those stuffy jerks and all their possessions. So I bite my tongue and march back to the meeting room.
I return to find the table debating the need for weapons. Princess Klaudia is just looking around at her companions with a worried expression. “I thought we were going to win over the people as peacefully as possible. We’re not like the scourge sorcerers. We can’t just kill citizens who’ve been deceived.”
Tinom shoots her a condescending glance. “We can’t be unprepared. It’s unlikely Lothar will back down without any fight at all.”
Stavros dips his head. “I’m sorry to say that I agree. I’d rather not have to draw any more blood, but it’s better that we have blades we don’t need to use than need them and find ourselves empty-handed. The scourge sorcerers and the most avid members of the Order of the Wild know what they’ve gotten themselves into by now.”
Petra sighs, her gaze sliding to Prince Jacos. Her brother is sitting next to Klaudia, his sleeve lumpy around the bandage he’s still wearing from the magical attack while we were fleeing the Temple of Tranquil Skies.
“We do need to be ready to defend ourselves,” she says. “And to strike at our actual enemies when we have the opportunity. The Order has hurt too many people to deserve our mercy. We’ll do our best to avoid any collateral damage.”
Alek pushes to the table from where he’s been hanging back from the discussion. His jaw looks tight, his posture a little awkward under the stares, but he hasn’t been so bothered that he’s returned to wearing a mask over his scars.
His voice comes out perfectly steady. “I may be able to arrange a large supply of new weapons. I can reach out to my family. They’ve handled a steady production and acquisition of quality arms for decades, and I’ve never heard my parents be anything other than supportive of the Melchiorek reign.”
My stomach knots at his proposition. His family might be loyal to the Crown, but they never supported him. I don’t think he’s been back to see them since he first enrolled at the temple school where he got those scars.
Petra aims a smile at him. “If you trust that it’s safe to reach out to them, I know you’ll handle the discussion well. The sooner we find out our options, the better.”
The scholar draws himself up straighter. “I’ll prepare for the trip right away.”
I watch him head for the doorway, my gut tugging at me to follow him.
Before I’ve quite made the decision to leave, Petra taps her hands against the tabletop. “Now I think we should discuss the possibility of the kingship trials.”
My gaze jerks back to her in the same moment as a few grunts and other disgruntled noises sound from around the table.
“Trials?” Baron Cyris says. “Isn’t that one of the bizarre ideas Lothar’s people have been babbling about?”
Petra inclines her head in acknowledgment. “It is. But I believe we can adjust the concept to work in our favor.”
One of the other nobles lets out a sputter of a laugh. “How could they possibly be a benefit to us?”
Petra’s eyes seek me out by the other end of the table. I’m the one who suggested this idea to her—but she isn’t singling me out or demanding that I justify the strategy.
Somehow that makes me feel even more compelled to step in.
I raise my voice to carry over the uneasy murmurings. “A lot of Silana’s citizens have shown that they don’t trust the Melchioreks to have their best interests at heart. We heard demands that the next ruler prove themselves worthy in both Florian and Tupno. And they don’t really know Petra. Even if they’re starting to doubt the Order of the Wild, that doesn’t mean they believe in her enough to risk their livelihoods and their lives on her behalf.”
Most of the heads around the table swivel toward me. The baroness’s lips curl with a hint of a sneer. “So you think our queen should put her life on the line to convince them?”
“Not her life,” I say quickly. “That’s why we’d adapt the idea. Nothing brutal or as dangerous as I’m sure Lothar is imagining—or as skewed in the Order’s favor. We’ll come up with tasks for Petra to complete that would make people feel more confident and prove her strength without taking too immense a gamble.”
“Exactly.” Petra folds her arms over her chest. “And there’s another very good reason to put on such a demonstration. We can call for Lothar to submit his own candidates. It won’t be much of a trial if I have no competition. If he wants to prove himself a fair player, he’ll need to show up. We’ll have our first real opportunity to expose his and his top followers’ treachery directly—and to address it as we see fit.”
With a sword through Lothar’s skull, preferably. But even as my spirits stir at the thought of confronting the villain on equal ground, my stomach flips over.
Petra never mentioned that element before. It wasn’t part of my initial idea. And it sounds as if…
Klaudia puts my concern into words before I can. “You’re talking about using yourself as bait.”
Horror tinges her tone, but Petra responds calmly. “I’m the only bait that would work. I trust that you all will ensure I’m never under more threat than is worth it to see our purpose through.”
No one quite seems to know how to argue against that statement. Our future queen gazes around the table. “Let’s get on with it, then. We need to brainstorm what our trials might look like, how we would spread the word, where we should hold them.”
Her call to action finally spurs the uncertain to speak.
Tinom frowns. “I’m not certain this is a wise tactic, Your Highness. Regardless of what precautions we try to implement, the risks you’d need to take?—”
“It’s absolutely inappropriate,” Countess Mirina breaks in. “Our queen, dueling against whoever the riffraff throws up against her?”
Petra gives a cough that might cover a laugh. “I don’t think we’d include any actual dueling, Mirina.”
Baron Cyris waves his hand dismissively. “A queen shouldn’t lower herself to that level. You have to think of how it would appear to your most devoted supporters, Your Highness.”
My hackles rise. Supporters like him, he means.
The words burst out before I can catch them. “Unless you can win the throne back for her—and keep it—all on your own, we need the support of the common people too.”
He turns to me with a huff. “What do you know about the ways of the court? I never saw you before three days ago.” He shifts his attention back to Petra. “You must heed our advice, Your Highness. Nothing good ever comes of giving way too much to the masses.”
A flurry of other voices follow his, most of them echoing his protest.
My magic shudders, prodding me to shut them all up, preferably by knocking them on their pompous asses. I clamp down on it instead and gather myself to jump back into the argument.
Then my gaze catches on Petra’s face.
Her mouth has tightened, her expression momentarily uneasy.
She isn’t totally committed to this course. They’ve shaken her resolve.
If she isn’t sure it’s the right plan, who am I to insist that it is? The baron isn’t entirely wrong.
All at once, I feel like I’m back in the bow of the oak tree in Slaughterwell, watching life happen beneath me from a distance. I’ve witnessed plenty, sure, but how much have I truly lived before the past few months?
Do I even really know what I’m asking of Petra?
The doubt rises up in me so fast it steals my breath. I step back from the clash of voices and then stride out of the room.
On a matter this immense that involves her so personally, Petra should make up her own mind. She has plenty of other people in there who can advise her from various levels of society, all of whom probably have a better idea what’s really at stake than I do.
I walk almost blindly until I find myself stepping out the front door. The cool air washes over me, settling my thoughts and leaving my mind clearer.
I take a few more steps into the yard, breathing deeply and getting a grip on myself.
I’m not used to being an active participant in Silana’s politics. I’ll get more comfortable with it in time. Just a few minutes to sort myself out, and I can go back in there and say my piece if I feel I need to.
The door squeaks behind me. I barely have time to turn before Stavros’s well-muscled arm has wrapped around me.
I turn to meet his embrace instinctively, soaking up his warmth and his smoky, peppery scent, even as the question I know I have to ask creeps up my throat. “Shouldn’t you still be in there with the rest of them, figuring out the best approach? You’re the only general we’ve got.”
“Former general,” Stavros mutters, and teases his prosthetic down my back in a gentle caress. “I needed a break from them too. It was either that or there’d have been several broken noses and a not particularly happy queen-to-be.”
The corners of my mouth twitch with the start of a smile. “I think she might have understood a little.”
Stavros hums to himself and eases back just far enough to peer down at me. “You’re not letting them shake your confidence, are you, Lady Thief? The Hand of Kosmel knows more about schemes and treachery than those nobles could even conceive of.”
My momentary good humor fades. “They know a lot about plenty of other things I’ve never experienced.”
“Which is why we’re all at the table together, weighing in.” He cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t let the horde of high-borns at the college intimidate you.”
I open my mouth and hesitate as I form a full answer. “I had Julita giving me an inside edge. And… I wasn’t there as myself. I was playing a role. It was easier.”
Easier not to care what they thought of me. Easier to drape myself in noble-style self-assurance like yet another fancy gown.
Of course, even if I’m not outright pretending to be someone else these days, I’m still not really being myself. I’m downplaying one of the most significant parts of me as much as I can, willing everyone around me to forget that I’m one of the riven.
Somehow that’s more uncomfortable than simply hiding my whole self away like I once did. But I’m going to have to get used to it.
Stavros dips his head closer, his voice dropping low with it. “I just don’t want to see you backing down. The woman I love has never shied away simply because a situation gets hard.”
A flush spreads over my body with his nearness, and I leap at the opportunity to focus on that heat rather than my worries.
I trail my fingers down his brawny chest, appreciating every ridge of sculpted muscle I can trace through his tunic. “I suppose that’s true. Certain things I particularly appreciate when they’re hard.”
The suggestive note in my voice clearly isn’t lost on the former general. He chuckles and catches my mouth with his.
As Stavros worships me with his kiss, our bodies press closer together. Desire pools low in my belly with the image of him pushing me right up against the side of the house, plunging into me without regard for noble sensibilities.
I’m not sure either of us would actually go quite that far. But before I get the chance to find out, a current of magic tickles across my skin from across the yard.
My back goes rigid, and Stavros yanks back. “What’s wrong?”
I pull back from him, scanning the landscape around the estate. “I felt… Someone extended magic this way…”
As I move forward, his hold on me loosens. We stalk over to the gate together.
The whiff of magic keeps drifting around me. I don’t sense anything aggressive about it, but that doesn’t mean the caster has good intentions.
Stavros tilts his head as if pricking his ear. “Someone’s coming.”
I hear the distant hoofbeats a moment later. Only one set, from the sounds of it. Not anything like an army.
Still, we stay braced and waiting as they approach the estate. If it isn’t an ally, we don’t want them seeing me or Stavros here under Baron Cyris’s roof.
My own magic unfurls through my chest, reminding me of how easily it could spring to our defense if need be.
The hoofbeats slow. The guard posted on the other side of the gate calls out. “Who are you, and what business do you have here?”
A dryly feminine voice replies. “I’m looking for a woman named Ivy.”
The tone is so familiar and yet so unexpected that for the first second I remain frozen. Then I reach to open the gate.
It swings open to reveal the last person I’d ever have expected to see outside her home. The woman who taught me what I know about controlling my riven power—and who insisted it would never be safe for people like us to return to society.
Sulla meets my gaze with a tentative smile, her hands tight around her horse’s reins. “There you are. I thought… I thought it was time I came down from my mountain.”