Chapter 7
7
ROOK
R ook’s heart thundered in his chest as he strode down the corridor toward the great hall in a dream-like state. He turned a corner and passed through an open-air walkway lined with slats of buttery light. Elegant columns connected by open arches framed the corridor, each archway lined with alternating patterns of multi-colored marble. Rook stopped to catch his breath and leaned heavily against one of the stone columns. His abdominal wound throbbed under his gold-threaded tunic, sending pulses of pain through his body with each inhale. As much as flying that afternoon had lifted his spirits, he was feeling the effects of his exertion, every muscle in his back and abdomen tight and sore. He was out of practice to be sure, but Rook suspected Selussa’s mark was at fault. If one of the lingering symptoms of the stab wound was gradual atrophy to his wings, he was in trouble.
Rook dragged his gaze across the undulating Clay City. Ribbons of gold cut across the uneven cityscape as the sun sank low in the sky, gilding palm trees and seeping in through open windows. The flat, unending plane of the Shujaa Desert beyond the city met the darkening horizon like a stretch of ocean. The sun was halved against the skyline and the flush of sunset crept along the horizon, shot through with bolts of pink and orange. The dark whisper of night encroached with teeth-like stars that grew more opaque by the minute.
Apprehension hummed in the back of his mind. Rook had been summoned to join the war council just as Hasana had promised, but despite having all day to mull things over, he was no less uneasy about it than he’d been that morning. He dreaded the moment when his eyes would fall upon Saoirse again. He ran a hand through his hair and pushed out a long breath.
The last time he’d spoken to Saoirse formed vividly in his mind. He had just gained consciousness from the healing-induced coma Hasana had put him under. At the time, his body and emotions were equally reeling from the events of the last trial. When he’d come to, disorientation and lingering anger had clouded Rook’s mind and caused him to lash out at Saoirse. The image of hurt welling in her eyes was burned in his memory. But the worst part of her vulnerable expression hadn’t been the obvious sadness. The most gut-wrenching part had been the understanding and resignation that shone on her face. It was like she believed his frustrations were justified and his accusations well-deserved. He knew that expression: self-loathing. That same emotion tore at him daily.
No, he told himself. Do not feel sympathy for her. It’s what she deserves. Saoirse made her own decisions—misguided as they were—and she now must deal with the consequences. If she felt regret or self-loathing, it wasn’t his concern.
Rook pushed away from the column and straightened his spine. Adjusting his rumpled tunic and smoothing down his unkempt hair, he forced himself to lift his chin and proceed down the corridor with a languid, confident stride. If he couldn’t shake the anxiety that clawed at him internally, then he would at least try to look unaffected externally.
As he strode down the passageway, a time-worn mosaic captured his attention. He stopped to observe the multi-colored collage spanning the length of the hall. Based on the classical art style and the faded paint, the mosaic appeared to be several centuries old. Flecks of glass, ivory tiles, and other dyed stones were embedded into the terracotta, forming a mythical scene that sprawled across the wall. Rook’s eyes traced over the figures featured along the bottom half of the mural, surprised to see that it depicted people of every kingdom of Revelore.
Figures of various sizes and ages held their arms up to the sky, their palms open to the heavens. Those who wore desert clothing were marked by glowing beams of light that shined from their palms. Further down the mosaic, white-haired figures thrust their hands upward. Gray swirls spiraled around their forearms. Next came a group of individuals whose arms and cheeks shimmered with scales, clearly Mer. Ribbons of water exploded from their hands, framed by tendrils of sea foam. At the very end, he took in the winged figures that he recognized as his own people: Aurans. No auras of light or bursts of physical matter flowed from their hands. Instead, their eyes appeared to glow.
He realized then that the mosaic depicted the magic that was supposedly given to each kingdom by the Titans. Healing magic given to Tellusun, stone-singing to Terradrin, and water manipulation to Elorshin. The magic that had been given to Aurandel had completely vanished: Sight. Rook found himself reaching for the winged figures, tracing over their glowing, pupil-less eyes with curiosity. It was said Aurans once held the magical ability to see into the future. If the legends were true, the gift of Sight had once manifested every few generations, producing Oracles who could utter prophecies and forecast the future. But it had been an age since the last Auran Oracle prophesied.
Rook tore his eyes from the archaic mural and focused his attention back to the present. Now was not the time to ponder ancient myths when he was living in one of his own. At the end of the hallway, a door with a bronze handle sat in the shadows like a predator waiting to strike. Whatever the war council decided on the other side of that door would be irrevocable. Rook reminded himself that the only side he was on was his own. He was loyal to his people and to his sister, even if Aurandel was currently on the wrong side of the war. It didn’t matter if he agreed with Hasana’s cause or sympathized with Saoirse. In the end, he would do what was needed to preserve his kingdom, even if it meant fighting in the very resistance Raven had made into an enemy. That was the only reason he was here. Not because of Saoirse. Not because of Hasana’s mercy. For his people. Rook’s resolve tightened as he opened the door and strode into the great hall.
The ornamented vaulted ceilings swallowed the room whole. All the arched windows normally opened to the sun were shuttered, cloaking the great hall in darkness. Hanging from the high walls, bracket lanterns embossed with brass flickered with orange light. At the center of the cavernous room, a long table sat squarely under a giant brass chandelier.
Rook’s stomach churned at the sight of all the filled chairs. His eyes first snagged on the bone-white hair of the Terradrin captain, Neia Landum, whose back was turned to him. Her hair was unbound and flowing down her back like liquid silver, bright as a moonbeam in the darkness of the room. He recalled seeing the Terradrin captain sitting at another table not unlike this one only a few weeks ago at the Tournament banquet with her fellow tributes. It was strange to look back on that night in hindsight. The whole time, Neia had been secretly conspiring with Hasana and the resistance, working toward the end goal of overthrowing Aurandel and stealing the Crown during the final trial.
Two others hailing from Terradrin flanked Neia on either side. Rook identified the broad back of Adresin Vasalor, another one of the surviving Terradrin tributes who he’d allied with during the final trial against the hydra. Just as it had been in the Tournament, Adresin’s shoulder-length white hair was braided into a complex plait that fell to his waist. The individual on Neia’s other side was unknown to him. The male had the same shade of moon-pale hair as Neia and Adresin, but it was cropped tight against the nape of his neck. A newcomer, he suspected.
Across from Neia, Hasana sat with her hands steepled on the table, her expression stern yet brimming with enthusiasm. The gold beads in her hair and the circlet at her brow glimmered under the light of the chandelier, mimicking the fire in her eyes. Rook recognized the warrior to Hasana’s left as Noora Mir, the former personal guard of the royal family who had competed as a tribute in the Tournament. Noora had accompanied Saoirse and Aurelia to the Shujaa Desert, and he was glad to see she was unharmed. There were several other minor captains and leaders of Hasana’s rebellion from Tellusun and Terradrin that Rook didn’t recognize. As expected, there were no Auran leaders present.
There were, however, three Mer seated at the end of the table.
Rook’s sputtering nerves roared in his ears. Against his will, his gaze slid to the end of the table. It was the first time he’d seen Sune Kresten since arriving in Bezhad. They’d avoided each other like a plague until now. Rook wanted to believe it was because they both healing from their respective wounds, but in reality, their unspoken avoidance was due to Sune’s unwavering loyalty to Saoirse. The dark-haired warrior was dressed in his signature silver armor and looked the very picture of a stuck-up Mer captain, complete with an expression of pure arrogance that almost made Rook crack a smile. Sune’s spine was so rigid he imagined a slight breeze might send him toppling over. But any amusement Rook felt faded as he felt a pair of cold turquoise eyes carving into him like knives. Captain Aurelia Eleni glared at him as though he’d just committed murder right in the great hall, palpable scorn wafting off her in droves. Rook was not in Aurelia’s good graces after he’d rejected Saoirse. Fair enough.
Fleeing from the scalding contempt radiating from Aurelia, Rook’s gaze finally settled on the woman at the helm of his complicated emotions. He almost faltered as he took in Saoirse’s endearing features. The light from the chandelier’s geometric paneling cast one-half of her face in shadow. Golden light danced along the other half of her profile, skimming along her high cheekbone, and catching on the glimmering scales that flecked her skin like daubs of stardust. Her waist-length curls were gathered into an efficient braid draped over one shoulder, twined with a maroon ribbon. Even from across the hall, her pale blue eyes speared him through the chest. All at once, the invisible thread between them snapped. Acute longing accompanied by a rush of scorn gouged at his heart. He wanted to fold right then and there, but instead, he ground his teeth together and reined in his tempestuous emotions.
Like the coward he was, Rook tore his eyes from the magnetic pull of Saoirse’s gaze and instead focused on Hasana, who gave him an odd look. He hastily took an empty seat between two unfamiliar rebel leaders and all but collapsed into the chair before his legs gave out. His pounding heart felt like it could shatter out of his rib cage any moment. Polished gold goblets and bronze pitchers brimming with crimson wine were scattered on the table. Rook quickly filled a mug and drained it, desperate to diffuse the anxiety churning in his stomach like an unruly sea. The air in the room thickened with noticeable tension. He tried to ignore the shuttered expressions and poorly concealed suspicion on the faces surrounding him.
“Now that we have all arrived, let the war council commence,” Hasana began in a cool voice.
“Pardon my impertinence, Your Highness, but do you think it wise to share our plans in front of such…company?” a voice interrupted. One of the Tellusun leaders glared at Rook with unabashed skepticism, his hand blatantly placed on the hilt of his sheathed sword in a warning.
Hasana’s golden-brown eyes darted to the male. “Are you questioning my judgment, Arjun?”
“No, Your Highness,” Arjun promised, lowering his gaze respectfully. “My concern merely lies with the security of our assembly. I am not questioning your judgment, but I do question his motivations given his relation to our enemy.”
Hasana pursed her lips, a flash of irritation flickering across her face. “You believe Prince Rook to be a spy?”
“I am not suggesting such a thing,” Arjun countered. Rook nearly scoffed. “Perhaps the Auran princeling is loyal to our cause for now, but what if his allegiance changes? Would it be wise to disclose our strategies in front of someone whose family has been so famously volatile?”
Rook stiffened with offense and his wavering emotions hardened into iron. He should have waited for Hasana to put the male in his place, but he couldn’t help defending himself. “I can assure you that I have no intention of betraying the resistance or switching sides. Possibly more than anyone else here, I understand what’s at stake. I have experienced the dark powers we are up against first-hand. I owe my life to Hasana,” he bit out, gesturing to the wound hidden under his tunic. “I would never dream of betraying your cause.”
It was true that Rook had technically been brought to Bezhad against his will. It was also true he now willingly participated in Hasana’s rebellion with the ultimate goal of saving his kingdom. But even so, he would not jeopardize Hasana’s mission of creating a free world nor would he endanger the lives of the men and women here by sharing their war strategies with Raven. Rook would be a fool to believe Hasana was completely forthcoming with him— if she was a good leader, she wouldn’t lay all her cards on the table—but he was beginning to trust her and he meant every word that he said.
“How can we be so sure of your loyalty if you betrayed your kin? If you so easily turned on your kingdom, who is to say you wouldn’t do the same to us? Your allegiances seem to alter at even the slightest change in the breeze.”
Rook almost bit his tongue with fury. As much as he hated to admit it, the jab landed exactly where Arjun intended. He felt insurmountably guilty about siding against Raven as it was, and Arjun’s words burned like salt in a wound. He couldn’t even blame the warrior for coming to that conclusion. After all, Rook had quite literally been fighting for Aurandel in the Tournament only weeks ago. He understood that years of oppression and a legacy of bloodshed were not easily broken in the face of one person’s change of heart.
“Enough,” Hasana snapped. “You’ll do well to hold your tongue, Arjun. We are incredibly fortunate to have Prince Rook among our ranks. Our people may not have always seen eye to eye in the past, but we are all here for the same reasons. Rook’s presence here is evidence that our political feuds can be repaired and the future trajectory of continuous violence disrupted. If you are not able to believe an Auran prince can change, perhaps you shouldn’t be part of this organization. The core pillar of our beliefs is that the world can be reborn and Revelore can be united once again. If Rook’s ability to keep an oath is so beyond your comprehension, perhaps you do not believe in our cause after all. You all know that I am open to criticism and I am always willing to entertain unpopular opinions. However, if you must make your voice heard, do not undermine my competence and leadership in a setting such as this.”
Hasana’s words cleaved through the tension-drenched room like a knife. Her eyes blazed molten gold, threads of light pulsing under her skin and gathering at her fingertips. Rook got the impression that as much as her power could heal things that were broken, she could just as easily tear fragile things apart.
Arjun bowed, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Apologies, Your Highness. I am sorry for doubting your leadership and for suggesting anything other than total belief in our mission. I beg you to grant me forgiveness.”
The glowing light faded from Hasana’s eyes and her brown irises returned to their normal warm hue. “It is granted,” she said after a beat. “Would anyone else here like to voice any other objections?” The room was silent as Hasana looked around, daring anyone else to argue. “That settles the matter.”
She picked up a bronze pitcher at the center of the table and filled her polished goblet with crimson wine that shimmered in the light. “It is my pleasure to welcome our brave volunteers back to Bezhad after a successful expedition to the Shujaa Desert.” She turned to Saoirse and Aurelia, raising her goblet in a toast. “Against all odds, they not only survived the perils of the Soundless Oasis, but they also brought Tezrus the Scholar to us.”
For the first time, Rook noticed the small old man seated next to Saoirse. His back was stooped low with age and his bone-white hair was thinning into near-translucence. With a jolt, Rook realized the elderly man must be Tezrus the Scholar.
“I hope their success is the first in a long string of victories to come. To Saoirse, Aurelia, and Noora.”
The attendees followed suit and raised their glasses. Rook brought the cold metal of his cup to his lips, unable to look away from Saoirse out of the corner of his eye as she drank. He fought to maintain an expression of reserved indifference, but Rook couldn’t deny he was relieved she’d made it back in one piece.
Of course, you’re relieved, he told himself. The information they gathered is imperative for victory against Selussa, nothing more.
“Thank you so much for joining our cause, Tezrus,” Hasana said, turning toward the individual sitting next to Neia. The hunched old man gave Hasana a watery smile, the paper-thin skin around his sunken milky eyes creasing. “Your aid is truly invaluable for our mission.”
“The honor is all mine,” the old man replied in an earnest, reedy voice.
Rook listened intently as the scholar went on to describe his knowledge of the Four Kinsmen and the founding of Revelore. As each thread of the story was woven, the severity of what they were up against solidified into a dire picture. The table was grave as Tezrus described how the Order of Elders had been secretly been serving the Titans for centuries, biding their time until the right opportunity to resurrect their dead gods presented itself. The air was electrified and surreal, as though the mere mention of the myths drudged up ancient magic from the fabric of reality. The shadows cloaking the great hall seemed to darken with each unveiled truth. Rook’s skin pebbled as an eerie feeling crept over him, cold and silent as falling snow.
When the scholar explained how Selussa had heeded the Elder’s call a hundred years ago and rose from the Underworld, Rook’s stomach churned with nausea. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably as the wound in his abdomen burned like a thorn in his side. Had Selussa poisoned him with some Helish magic when she’d stabbed him with his own blade?
Tezrus continued to describe how Selussa devised a plan to infiltrate the Mer kingdom and steal Elorshin’s Relic by disguising herself as an Auran princess, which ultimately led to the War of the Age. Saoirse had already disclosed this information to Rook, but hearing it from the mouth of a former Elder gave the story new weight. Various expressions of slack-jawed disbelief and grim looks of horror were written on faces around the table. Like Rook, most of them had been taught the Myths of Old through the lens of folklore.
During the Tournament, Rook had an inkling bigger powers were at play. He vividly remembered flying with Saoirse to that floating pavilion after the first trial. He recalled how they’d speculated there was something more to the Tournament, a secret bubbling just beneath the surface they could both sense. They each told their sides of the story that day, sharing their interpretations about what happened between King Lorsan and Princess Yrsa all those years ago. Saoirse’s intuition had been right, but the magnitude was greater than their wildest speculations. The question he asked Saoirse that day echoed through his mind: What makes you so sure that what I’ve told you is false? Why is your version of the story correct and mine is a lie? It was horrific and astonishing that both of their kingdoms had been so wrong, pitted against each other for a hundred years over lies.
Silence fell over the table when Tezrus finished, each person mired in truths that had once been myth. Rook couldn’t help but think of Raven. Did she know the full scope of what the Elders demanded when she’d charged Eros and Veila with killing all remaining tributes in the final trial? Or was she so blinded by her loyalty to Aurandel she readily agreed to the Elders’ whims without question? Based on what she’d told him before the final trial, he didn’t think Raven knew the full gravity of their orders. His cunning sister wouldn’t indulge in the madness of the Elders if she knew the Order was trying to raise the Titans…Would she? Rook was now fully convinced he needed to find a way to meet his sister. She needed to know the truth before it was too late.
“Tezrus believes we can stop Selussa from resurrecting the Titans,” a voice broke the silence. Rook’s insides melted into a puddle, pooling in his stomach like soft candle wax at the sound of that voice. Saoirse stood from her chair and slipped out of the shadows. That familiar ache of traitorous longing sunk its claws into Rook’s heart.
He really was a mess, wasn’t he?
“Selussa only has two of the four Relics as of now,” Saoirse said. “Princess Hasana has diligently protected Tellusun’s Relic. To our knowledge, the Relic in the Under Kingdom is still safe from Selussa. Tezrus believes we can counter any resurrection spell she might create to free the Titans by enchanting the two Relics in our possession and using them against her.”
“We will set sail for Terradrin at first light,” Neia continued, picking up the explanation. “We’ll sneak into the Under Kingdom and steal the Relic before Selussa does.” As former commander of Terradrin’s army, Neia possessed invaluable knowledge of the Under Kingdom’s complex underground tunnels and cave systems. Paired with her aptitude for strategy and her inside knowledge of King Grivur’s guard postings, Neia would help find the Relic before anyone noticed it was missing.
“With the assistance of my right hand, Captain Rymir Barrow, our scheme has been completely laid out.” Neia gestured to the Terradrin male seated on her right. Rymir grinned in response, pearl-white teeth the same shade as his cropped hair. “Rymir’s contribution to our plan has been invaluable. Thanks to his connections with the underguards, he has made a way for us to sneak into the Under Kingdom undetected.”
Rook had heard of the Terradrin young captain on many occasions over the years. It was rumored Neia had taken Rymir under her wing after he’d been orphaned by a Wyrm attack on one of the outlying city quarters of the Under Kingdom. When he’d shown skill with a blade and a mind for strategy, he’d quickly advanced through the ranks during his teenage years in much the same way Rook had with the Aerials. Neia was perhaps a decade older than Rymir, and it was said their bond was akin to a sibling relationship. Though he’d never met Rymir in person, Rook had always felt an odd sort of kinship with the young captain, whose life mirrored his own in so many ways.
“Your praise flatters me, Commander,” Rymir smirked. Neia rolled her eyes, but the hint of a smile tugged on the corner of her mouth.
Rymir’s easy-going demeanor posed a sharp contrast to Neia’s sharp angles and stalwart countenance. Though his straight-backed posture spoke of disciplined training under Neia, Rymir’s face was less stern than his commander’s. A playful forelock hung over one pale eyebrow and his easy grin suggested he smiled often. Rook instantly liked him. But his smile faded when he realized Rymir’s obvious intelligence and carefree humor reminded him of Eros. His heart lurched as the thought of his former best friend.
“We have chosen to sail to Terradrin for several reasons,” Rymir began. “For one, it will cut our travel time in half. By sailing, we can avoid cutting through the jungled Isles of Mythos entirely. For another, Aurandel and Terradrin will be on high alert. Our sources have confirmed that both kingdoms have been gathering their armies near Mt Thalia, but their lands are crawling with spies and they’re ready to mobilize at a moment’s notice. To our knowledge, Aurandel does not know of the Relics and therefore will not be expecting us to steal the artifact from the Under Kingdom. However, they are watching our every move with scrutiny, and it would be impossible to travel on the continent without catching their notice.”
Neia’s face glowed with pride as Rymir described the plan, beaming like an older sister. Her obvious support came as a shock; Neia had never been one for sentimentality or tenderness. Rook felt a shameful prick of jealousy as he watched them collaborate across the table. Raven had never given him true power in the Aerial ranks. She’d allowed him the illusion of authority, permitting him to play the role of captain but never truly creating a space for him to express his ideas. She didn’t trust him, citing his empathetic leanings as a weakness.
Raven’s past words echoed in his ears: You have such a good heart, Rook. But to win, your heart mustn’t be good. A sour taste built in Rook’s mouth. In another life, maybe they could’ve had a relationship like Rymir and Neia’s. But it wasn’t this life. He washed down his pain with more wine.
Rymir unrolled a map on the table for Neia. She traced their journey across the Southern Sea, making a beeline for the Terradrin coast. “Though Aurandel might not know of our true motivations, Selussa undoubtedly does. The Sea Witch will be on the hunt for the next Relic soon if she hasn’t already started. This means we will be in her territory. Captain Kreston, would you kindly elaborate on the next phase of our plan?”
“As we have been preparing for the heist, we’ve also been watching Selussa’s activity in the Maeral Sea for the past week,” Sune Kreston’s voice cut in. “A few Mer volunteers and I staked out the northern coast of Fatima and gained insight as to what the Witch has been up to. Selussa has been spotted only once since she fled to Kellam Keep after the final trial. It is our understanding that she released all the nightmarish creatures locked away in the Fretum and has laid ruin to the imperial city. According to our reports, she is still occupying the northern half of the Maeral Sea and has not attempted to invade the Southern Sea yet. However, now that Selussa is ruling over the ocean, her freed beasts will be prowling every inch of the seas, waiting to devour any wayward ships that dare to sail her waters.”
Rook peered at Saoirse from the corner of his eyes. She had paled at the mention of Selussa’s conquering of her homeland. She was likely thinking of her father. No one had seen the Mer King since the Sea Witch had conquered Kellam Keep, but he was presumed dead. Rook’s heart lurched with sympathy. No , he cut in. Do not seek to comfort her.
Sune continued, “We have determined that a diversion will ensure the best sailing circumstances for us. If we can draw Selussa’s attention away from the Southern Sea, we may avoid being attacked by her beastly sea creatures and falling prey to her ire. A carefully timed diversion will not only keep Selussa’s eye trained away from our ship, but it will also catch the attention of Aurandel and Terradrin. We anticipate this distraction will ensure our safe passage and reduce the potential interference of all antagonistic forces, mortal or otherwise.”
Rook leaned back in his chair and took another sip of wine. The liquid warmed in his stomach, grounding him. The moving pieces of their already-risky plan were expanding. Each component would need to go off without a hitch to have any chance of success. If even one part of their scheme went awry, the plan would collapse. How did he fit into this grand scheme of theirs? There would be no opportunity for Rook to steal away and meet Raven in three days if they were sailing directly to Terradrin at first light.
“So what is the diversion you have in mind?” Rook asked carefully, running a finger along the bronze rim of his cup.
“I have volunteered to lead the diversion myself,” Sune answered. “While scouting the coast of Fatima, we learned that Mer refugees have fled from Selussa’s wrath by escaping ashore. Several Mer refugee encampments are forming on the Isles of Mythos. I will lead a large rescue party that will assist with relocating the displaced Merfolk to Tellusun. We believe our presence on the Isles will be unusual enough that Aurandel will turn its focus on us and allow the second group to sail to Terradrin unhindered. We will also be performing small relief missions to Kellam Keep and other Mer cities in the hope we can rescue even more Merfolk. This should be sufficient to capture Selussa’s attention as well.”
Rook couldn’t believe his luck. “I’ll go with you,” he offered. “If Aurandel’s spies see me among the volunteers, this will only strengthen the diversion. My presence will add weight to your rescue efforts and reinforce Aurandel’s focus on the Isles.”
And , he thought, it will allow me to secretly meet with Raven without raising any alarms.
Sune considered Rook for a long moment, folding his silver-plated arms across his chest. Something like annoyance flickered across his stony face, whether because he knew Rook was right and he didn’t want to admit it, or because he was irritated he hadn’t thought of it himself, Rook couldn’t be sure. “Yes, your presence would certainly catch Aurandel’s notice.”
“But it would also increase the chances of an attack,” Neia added, crossing her arms. “If your sister believes we have coerced you into servitude in some way, she may very well decide to level an attack on the refugee camps and punish the resistance.”
“It is a risk we must take,” Hasana replied soundly. “If it means securing safe passage in the Southern Sea, then we must allow Rook to assist with the rescue efforts. Queen Raven has doubtless been scouring every inch of Revelore searching for her missing brother. If we give Aurandel a glimpse of him, their focus will fall on the Isles of Mythos and at the very least distract their reconnaissance efforts on the continent.”
“Very well. Sune, Aurelia, and Rook will lead the Mer rescue efforts in the Isles of Mythos,” Neia relented. “I, Rymir, Saoirse, and Hasana will travel to the Under Kingdom. I have already contacted those loyal to the resistance who are waiting to smuggle us in. We should arrive on Terradrin’s shores within three days if all goes to plan.”
“I would prefer to stay by Saoirse’s side.” Each person at the table swiveled toward Aurelia. “I’m not leaving you,” she promised Saoirse fiercely.
“I’m inclined to believe that it would be in our kingdom’s best interest if you accompanied Sune and Rook to the Isles,” Saoirse said gently. “Our people are fleeing from the sea in droves. They’ll need to see two strong Torqen captains waiting for them on shore. There hasn’t been a mass exodus of Mer from the ocean in centuries, perhaps ever. As it stands, there are so few Mer volunteers among our ranks that your presence will further encourage the refugees to trust the resistance. I’ll be safe with Hasana and Neia.”
Unspoken words passed between the two and Aurelia finally relented with a curt nod, a frown biting at the corners of her mouth. Aurelia’s palms were splayed on the table and her knuckles were white with tension. Rook could tell Aurelia wanted to say more, but in the presence of the rebel leaders, she bit her tongue. He watched as Sune’s smallest finger grazed Aurelia’s hand almost imperceptibly. Rook watched with fascination as Aurelia visibly relaxed at the brief touch, both in awe that the emotionless Sune could exhibit such affection and surprised he hadn’t caught onto their affair sooner.
“After the Terradrin Relic has been stolen and the displaced Mer relocated to safety, we shall rendezvous at Raj’s Point to regroup in seven days,” Saoirse finished. “With both Relics in hand, we shall make for the Northern Wastes just as Tezrus has guided.”
Rook spared a glance at her. Her pale blue eyes blazed with determination. He’d seen that look on her face before. Once she set her mind to something, there was no stopping her from pouring every ounce of strength she had into making it happen. She was a gathering storm on the horizon: sharp and merciless as the salt-laden winds that skimmed the sea and as unyielding in her convictions as the pull of tides. It was one of the things he loved most about her.
What you did love .
As the table raised their cups in agreement once more, the light caught on their polished bronze rims like scattered coins, casting reflections on the walls. As he lowered his goblet, Rook couldn’t shake the anxiety lingering in his heart. For all their meticulous planning, he had a disconcerting feeling there was more to the story. Maybe it was just his newfound doubt that made him believe there was something they were missing. But he couldn’t bring himself to be fully hopeful, alluring as it was. He didn’t know if he ever could.
Over the rim of his cup, Rook watched as the attendees filed out of the great hall, ambling off to make final preparations or to steal away with lovers and friends for one last moment of revelry before the world’s end. From under lowered lashes, he observed as Saoirse bid Sune and Aurelia goodnight and stalked out of the great hall, heading toward the hanging gardens. With his nerves warmed with wine and his emotions mottled, Rook took only a moment of deliberation before he rose from the table and followed her.