Chapter Seventeen #4
I move to pick it up for him, and his eyes snap towards me, filled with a rage that drains immediately the second they meet mine.
I reach for him and stroke his hand, gently guiding him back into his seat.
“What if we destroyed the supplies instead? Soak them in water so they rot. No one will die immediately, but it would still force Adria to return to Nithyria. Or maybe she would order Felix to bring more grain in, but she’d have to find a way to get it through the harbor. It could leave his navy vulnerable.”
“It takes a while for grain to spoil,” says Typhon. “But fire?”
“A risk,” says Cyrus. “For the infiltrating team. Fire is far more noticeable than poison or water.”
“But it’s effective,” admits Quinn, flicking a flame onto her fingertips. “And grain loves to burn.”
“Ronan?”
His face is pained when he turns to me. “It’s what you accused me of when we met. Starving Nithyria.”
“Which means the Nithyrian legions already hate you for it. You won’t win any new supporters, but no one will be surprised by it,” says Quinn.
Ronan hates this, but it’s better than Seth’s war crime of a suggestion, and even if it doesn’t severely impact Adria’s forces, it will give us the breathing room of the winter to gather our own to prepare for her next attack.
Slowly, he nods. “Cyrus, Taran, Quinn. I want names for each team. Vet them personally; only your most trusted will do. We can’t have anyone turning coat behind enemy lines.
Typhon, get word to Admiral Nauta. We have the Pegasus, but we need at least two or three more vessels like it if we’re going to pull this off.
Seth.” He turns reluctantly to my brother, unwilling to look him in the eye. “Any thoughts on timing?”
“Tomorrow would be good.”
Quinn laughs. “You’re joking.”
Seth’s glare at her could cut through steel.
“Once Adria realizes I didn’t die in a tragic tent fire and that I’m missing, likely captured or dead, she’s going to change her plans.
I don’t know as much as the legendary General Quinn of House Horatio about Selaran strategy, but I’d imagine stopping anything she might do is more important than whatever useless sorties you had planned. ”
Quinn tries to pull herself to her feet, and to her shock and the shock of everyone in the room, she partially succeeds.
It’s difficult to see from across the table, but from the way she lunges up and then tilts to the side, one of her legs does something, even if it’s not the exact thing she was hoping for.
It’s enough to light her entire face up in a huge, shit-eating grin.
“I don’t know as much about Nithyrian logistics as the legendary asshole Seth of House Fuckfaces, but here in Selara, we prefer not to launch half-baked schemes that get our best and most loyal soldiers killed immediately before they can achieve their objective. We need a week to prepare, at least.”
“Take your week, then,” says Seth with venom in his voice. “You can launch your scheme through the gigantic hole Adria will have punched through your walls.”
I look at Larus, and I know he knows what I’m thinking. He pleads with me not to say it, but I shake my head ruefully. It has to be done. “I can go tomorrow. Octavia, if you could take me close to where we left last night, I can get to the supplies.”
“Absolutely not,” says Ronan. “We just got you out of there.”
“Exactly. They may not have even realized we’re gone yet. The tent burned, but the camp is huge. They’re probably still looking for us. I’ll try to stay unseen, but if I’m spotted, we can pretend I’m under guard again and being taken to Adria.”
“No,” says Ronan again, taking my hand. “I have other shadow-born.”
“That you trust?” I ask. I think about the shadow-born spies Ronan keeps.
Nico is far too young for this kind of mission, but Vesper could be helpful.
It would be good to have another shadow-born around to help keep us concealed.
“Send them too. And if you have anyone who has Nithyrian heritage that can pose as a guard, a fire-born ideally, although we could always bring flint—”
“Sylvie. My love.” He pulls my hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to wrist. My face flushes as I realize everyone in the room can see us, but when I see the hurt in his eyes, when I feel it through his feelings, I can’t bring myself to care what they think.
“I’m grateful that you want to help, but…
I just couldn’t bear it. Forgive me. I just got you back. ”
I hate it because I know he’s right, but I can’t stand feeling so useless.
“Ronan, I want to help you. All I’ve managed to do so far is make things worse.
I didn’t stop the war. I nearly got you killed when Adria used me to get you to the throne room.
And then I got kidnapped, forcing you to risk everything again to save me. ”
“You saved my life in the throne room. And saving you wasn’t a risk. It wasn’t a choice. It was the only thing that has kept me going through this.”
Seth groans. “Gods, you’re so cheesy. Really, Sylvie, I don’t see the appeal.”
“We know what you think,” I snap at him. “Gods forbid you ever keep a single thought to your damned self.”
“I was going to say, before you so rudely interrupted, that the city would have fallen by now if it weren’t for your little betrayal of your entire home and family.
I had a very good plan that you royally ruined by literally fucking our enemy, so thank you for that.
You’re not entirely useless, at least not to Selara. ”
“Get him out of my sight,” says Ronan, seeing red, “before I take the first step towards making Sylvie an only child.”
“Oh, what a dream that would be,” I say, smirking at Seth as Taran removes him from the library.
“We’ll need more out of him on how and what to attack, you know,” says Quinn.
“Let someone else suffer to get that out of him. You all have your orders. Let’s finish this fight before it truly begins.” He suppresses a yawn, but everyone notices. I doubt he’s slept well since I left, and I’m exhausted too after spending a good part of last night enjoying each other’s company.
Not that I would complain if we spent tonight the same way.
As we’re preparing to leave, I pull Ronan close. “Give me a moment,” I say, looking at Quinn.
He nods. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Fuck off, Sylvie,” says Quinn, pushing back from the table and wheeling towards the door. “I don’t want to talk.”
She’s halfway into the hall before I reach her. “Just let me say what I need to say, and then you can go right back to hating me.”
She turns her wheels as fast as they’ll go down the hall, which isn’t very fast. The wheels look like they were taken from a carriage rather than being purpose-built, and they don’t glide well. “Imagine I’m storming away from you in a hurry.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Come on, Quinn. Please.”
“Gods, you even sound like him now, laying on the guilt.”
I walk around her chair and stop in front of her, blocking her path.
“Fine,” she says. “I guess neither of us is going anywhere anytime soon.
“Let’s hear it.”