Chapter Eleven
Ronan
Kira’s panic fades as we break through the clouds.
The only silver lining to be had in this fucking disaster of a situation is that the arrow that hit her was somewhere I could reach to remove and heal.
She’s uninjured, but she’s frightened, far too frightened for me to force her back to the camp, no matter how badly I want to.
Gods. Fucking. Dammit.
The air is bitterly cold up this high, even colder now that Taran isn’t with me, but we can’t risk diving, not with the entire camp alerted to my presence. There’s nothing to do but fly back to the palace.
I spend the entire flight back thinking of nothing but what I can do to free Sylvie and Taran.
My mind travels to dark, violent places it hasn’t been in years, playing out scenarios in which I blaze through their camp like my ancient forebears, annihilating their soldiers with cleansing light.
I forget that they’re my own people. I forget that most of them are not to blame for Sylvie and Taran’s captivity.
I forget everything but my rage, everything but my desperate need to see them safe again. To hold Sylvie in my arms, to stand beside Taran like a brother. The love of my life and my greatest friend, held by people who will do anything to them if it means getting to me.
There’s an even darker thought at the edge of my mind that I haven’t allowed to linger since the incident with Zara.
Being with me is a danger to them both. It’s a danger to everyone around me.
They’ve all chosen to be with me. Many of them have sworn themselves to me, sworn their lives to protect my life.
And for what?
What do I have to offer them? War? The promise of violence? The constant threat of kidnapping, torture, betrayal? All of it so I can cling onto power I’m not sure I should have, power I did not earn and rarely feel I deserve.
I’ve spent my life believing I could be what the people needed. But these are the people. I glimpse them in endless tents through breaks in the clouds. There are so many of my people gathered here to fight to the death against me.
What if I’m wrong? Everything I’ve done has been predicated on the belief that my father’s sundering of the land has made it so that only the phoenix cypress ash and the gold it provides can keep all of us from starving. But what if there truly is another answer, and Adria has it?
Am I depriving my people of a life they deserve due to arrogance? Am I dooming them to war because of my pride?
And Sylvie. Gods, it hurts me to think of her down there with them. Alienated from her family because I couldn’t stay away from her. Because I chose to pursue her, knowing what it would cost her, what it had to cost her.
And then I failed to protect her. I failed not once but twice, letting her slip through my fingers. And now I’ve put Taran in the same situation through my recklessness. My desperation.
She loves me. They love me, and I failed them.
The light of dawn is just beginning to touch Faros by the time we return. We had no choice but to divert from the most direct route to the south to avoid being seen as we drew closer, and the extended flight time forced me to heal Kira to avoid injuring her wings.
She’s exhausted. And I’m exhausted, and I’m furious, but the worst of my self-loathing has passed. Whatever responsibility I have for what has happened, it’s something I’ll figure out how to deal with later, after I have them back.
“General Orinsen, your majesty?” Marta asks as I lead Kira back into the stable.
I shake my head. “Captured.”
Marta looks at me in shock and pity but holds her tongue.
“It was a tough ride. Give her extra care, will you?” I look into Kira’s golden eagle eyes. They’re strained, unused to seeing in the darkness. It’s a shame she isn’t part owl.
“Of course, sir,” says Marta, bowing as I take my leave.
“Your majesty!” calls Lord Cyrus from the steps to the palace’s main building. He sweeps down the stairs, his long white beard and white robes blowing in the morning breeze. “Letters arrived from House Orbius and House Grana. Where is General Orinsen?”
“Captured,” I say again. I’ll likely be saying it a lot today. “Convene the war council. And bring me all of the options. All of them.” I stop before Lord Cyrus and give him a meaningful look.
Yes, those options too. I have done him a disservice by ignoring his counsel.
It’s time to consider every possibility. I need someone to find me a reasonable option before I burn this kingdom to the ground to get them back.
“Right away, sir.” He bows, but before I take my leave, he stops me. “Sir?”
I nod for him to continue. It’s unusual for him to wait for permission at all, so whatever it is, it must be important.
He regards me with a rare display of sympathy. “For what it’s worth, we agree in this matter. I’d like to see Miss Sylvara returned to you as soon as possible. And General Orinsen, of course. For your sake, and for the sake of the realm.”
I’m taken aback. I’ve never known Cyrus to show even the smallest token of compassion, not even to his own children. Not even about Quinn while she was unconscious, when it wasn’t clear she would ever wake.
“It’s Sylvie,” I say. My hand trembles when I say her name, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “Her name is Sylvie.”
“Right you are, sir. We will get Sylvie back.”
He bows again and leaves me there on the steps, feeling unsettled.
Does he fear what I’ll do on her behalf? I can’t imagine what his motivations are, which unnerves me. I need to be able to trust the people around me now more than ever before.
But look at what trust has given me. Look at what it has cost.
Before I meet with the war council, I stop in to check on Quinn and give her the news about Taran. She’s managed to leave the bed, but she’s in a wheelchair made from wicker.
“Any progress?” I ask her, gesturing to her legs.
“Not a fucking bit. But I couldn’t take being in that bed for another second. Where’s Tare?”
I explain to her what happened, waiting for her reprimand, but it doesn’t come.
“So what are you going to do?” she asks. As mad as she is about Sylvie, at least she still has faith in me.
“Whatever it takes.”
“About damn time.”
I move to take the handles of her chair, but she stops me.
“Don’t even think about it. I swear if one more person tries to fucking baby me—”
“You’re injured. No one thinks you’re incapable. They’re just trying to help.”
Flame flickers in her palm involuntarily. She looks down in surprise and then snuffs it quickly before the chair ignites. “I didn’t ask for help.”
I don’t argue with her. Honestly, there’s a part of me that takes comfort in her anger. It makes me feel less alone with my own rage.
The war council is waiting for us by the time we arrive at the library.
Lord Cyrus and Typhon; my grandmother and head of House Juni, Queen Claudia; Admiral Darius of House Nauta; my aunt General Nona of House Alta; and Commander Elia of House Grana, the second in command under Taran, taking his place.
“Where is Larus Adama?” I ask.
“In his chambers, under guard,” says Cyrus. “Should I summon him?”
“Please do.” His knowledge of Nithyrian strategy could be critical to our success.
I take my place at the head of the table, feeling as unworthy of it as I ever have. But there’s no time now for self-pity. “The war has just begun, but we’ve already reached a turning point. Due to my own poor decision-making, the enemy has two high-value prisoners.”
This information isn’t news to the council, who would have already heard the same from Cyrus, but I feel for their reactions anyway. It’s as I suspected: disbelief, sympathy, and more than a small amount of disdain from everyone except Typhon and my grandmother.
“I want to hear all options to ensure their safe return. Nithyria is aware of their value to me, so I’m certain getting them back won’t be easy. We are going to consider every possibility, no matter how drastic.”
“I don’t believe there are any viable naval options, your majesty,” says Admiral Darius.
He’s a lean man of Enezian heritage who inherited only their looks and none of the flamboyance of their culture.
He can be a difficult man to read, even for me, but he’s an excellent strategist. “A small boat moving in stealth may be able to traverse the Mara as Guardian Adama demonstrated, but it’s not without risk.
And I can’t spare the ships in the harbor to take the river back. ”
“What about flying a false flag?” asks Queen Claudia. “How many of their vessels have we captured?”
“Six, though only one of those could make it over the boom and up the river.”
Darius’s navy is doing better than I expected. Perhaps Larus’s interference has given us an advantage after all. “When you return to the fleet today, send it to the palace in case we have use for it.”
“Aye, sir.”
Commander Elia of House Grana has few options for us either.
The weakest points of the siege force lie to the north and south of Faros, with most of their forces concentrated to the west along the Mara, but that’s because those lands are inhospitable.
It wouldn’t be impossible for a small group to go around their camp and to break into it from behind, but there’s no guarantee that they’ll keep Sylvie and Taran at the back of their army.
And the latest scouts’ report confirms that they’re moving towards Faros anyway.
“I know I’m stating the obvious here and that it’s unlikely that they’ll offer favorable terms, but if we’re considering all options, we do have to consider negotiating,” says Typhon during a disturbing lull in conversation.
Cyrus gives his son a deadly look that starts Typhon in his nervous habit of rubbing his bald head. “Sir, I do not believe they will negotiate. Our understanding is they aren’t fighting for independence. There’s nothing we can offer them other than unconditional surrender.”