Holy gods.
The viziers shifted, and the khagan’s face hardened. “The rumors of the glass castle’s destruction were not exaggerated, then.”
“No,” Arghun said mildly. “And her powers have grown since then. Along with her allies. Dorian Havilliard travels with her court. And Skull’s Bay and its Pirate Lord now kneel before her.”
Conqueror.
“They fight with her,” Chaol cut in. “Against Perrington’s forces.”
“Do they?” Hasar took up the assault, parrying with ease. “For it is not Perrington who is now sailing down Eyllwe’s coast, burning villages as he pleases.”
“That is a lie,” Chaol said too softly.
“Is it?” Arghun shrugged, then faced his father, the portrait of the concerned son. “No one has seen her, of course, but entire villages have been left in ash and ruin. They say she sails for Banjali, intent on strong-arming the Ytger family into mustering an army for her.”
“That is a lie,” Chaol snapped. His teeth flashed, viziers tittered and gasped, but he said to the khagan, “I know Aelin Galathynius, Great Khagan. It’s not her style, not in her nature. The Ytger family …” He stalled.
Is important to her. Yrene felt the words on his tongue, as if they were on her own. The princess and Arghun leaned forward, waiting for confirmation. Proof of Aelin Galathynius’s potential weakness.
Not in magic, but in who was vital to her. And Eyllwe, lying between Perrington’s forces and the khaganate … She could see the wheels turning in their heads.
“The Ytger family would be better used as an ally from the south,” Chaol corrected, shoulders stiff. “Aelin is clever enough to know this.”
“And I’d suppose you know,” Hasar said, “since you were her lover at some point. Or was that King Dorian? Or both? The spies were never accurate on who was in her bed and when.”
Yrene swallowed her surprise. Chaol—and Aelin Galathynius?
“I know her well, yes,” Chaol said tightly.
His knee pressed into her own, as if to say, Later. I will explain later.
“But this is war,” Arghun countered. “War makes people do things they might not ordinarily consider.”
The condescension and mockery were enough to make Yrene grind her teeth. This was a planned attack, a temporary alliance between two siblings.
Kashin cut in, “Does she set her sights on these shores?” It was a soldier’s question. Meant to assess the threat to his land, his king.
Hasar picked at her nails. “Who knows? With such power … Perhaps we’re all hers for the taking.”
“Aelin has one war to fight already,” Chaol ground out. “And she is no conqueror.”
“Skull’s Bay and Eyllwe would suggest otherwise.”
A vizier whispered in the khagan’s ear. Another leaned in to listen. Already calculating.
Chaol said to Urus, “Great Khagan, I know some might spin these tidings to appear to Aelin’s disadvantage, but I swear to you the Queen of Terrasen means only to liberate our land. My king would not ally with her if it were otherwise.”
“Would you swear it, though?” Hasar mused. “Swear on Yrene’s life?”
Chaol blinked at the princess.
“From all you have seen,” Hasar went on, “all you’ve witnessed of her character … would you swear it upon Yrene Towers’s life that Aelin Galathynius might not use such tactics? Might not try to take armies, rather than raise them? Including our own?”
Say yes. Say yes.
Chaol didn’t so much as look at Yrene as he stared down Hasar, then Arghun. The khagan and his viziers pulled apart.
Chaol said nothing. Swore nothing.
Hasar’s small smile was nothing short of triumphant. “I thought so.”
Yrene’s stomach turned.
The khagan took Chaol’s measure. “If Perrington and Aelin Galathynius are rallying armies, perhaps they’ll destroy each other and spare me the trouble.”
A muscle flickered in Chaol’s jaw.
“Perhaps if she’s so powerful,” Arghun mused, “she can take on Perrington by herself.”
“Don’t forget King Dorian,” Hasar chimed in. “Why, I’d bet the two of them could handle Perrington and whatever army he’s built without much assistance. Better to let them deal with it, than waste our blood on foreign soil.”
Yrene was shaking. Trembling with—with rage at the careful play of words, the game Hasar and her brother had constructed to keep from sailing to war.
“But,” Kashin countered, seeming to note Yrene’s expression, “it might also be said that if we do assist such powerful royals, the benefits in years of peace might be far worth the risks now.” He twisted to the khagan. “If we go to their aid, Father, should we ever face such a threat, imagine that power turned against our enemies.”
“Or turned against us, if she finds it easier to break her oaths,” Arghun cut in.
The khagan studied Arghun, his eldest son now frowning with distaste at Kashin. Duva, a hand still on her pregnant belly, only watched. Unnoted and unasked for, even by her husband.
Arghun turned back to his father. “Our people’s magic is minimal. The Eternal Sky and the thirty-six gods blessed our healers mostly.” A frown at Yrene. “Against such power, what is steel and wood? Aelin Galathynius took Rifthold, then took Skull’s Bay, and now seems poised to take Eyllwe. A wise ruler would have gone north, fortified her kingdom, then pushed south from the borders. Yet she stretches her forces thin, dividing them between north and south. If she is not a fool, then her advisors are.”
“They are well-trained warriors, who have seen more war and battle than you ever will,” Chaol said coldly.
The eldest prince stiffened. Hasar laughed quietly.
The khagan again weighed th
e words around him. “This remains a matter to discuss in council rooms, not dinner tables,” he said, though there was no reassurance in it. Not for Chaol, not for Yrene. “Though I am inclined to agree with what the bare facts offer.”
To his credit, Chaol did not argue further. Did not flinch or scowl. He only nodded once. “I thank you for the honor of your continued consideration, Great Khagan.”
Arghun and Hasar swapped sneering looks. But the khagan just returned to his meal.
Neither Yrene nor Chaol touched the rest of their food.
Bitch. The princess was a bitch, and Arghun was as fine a bastard as any Chaol had ever encountered.
There was some truth to their reluctance—their fear of Aelin’s powers and the threat she might pose. But he read them. Knew Hasar simply did not want to leave the comforts of her home, her lover’s arms, to sail to war. Did not want the messiness of it.
And Arghun … The man dealt in power, in knowledge. Chaol had no doubt Arghun’s arguing against him was more to force Chaol into a spot where he’d be desperate.
Even more than he was. Willing to offer anything up for their aid.
Kashin would do whatever his father told him. And as for the khagan …
Hours later, Chaol was still grinding his teeth as he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Yrene had left him with a squeeze to his shoulder, promising to see him the next day.
Chaol had barely been able to reply.
He should have lied. Should have sworn he trusted Aelin with his life.
Because Hasar had known that if she asked him to swear upon Yrene’s life …
Even if their thirty-six gods did not care about him, he couldn’t risk it.
He had seen Aelin do terrible things.
He still dreamed of her gutting Archer Finn in cold blood. Still dreamed of what she’d left of Grave’s body in that alley. Still dreamed of her butchering men like cattle, in Rifthold and in Endovier, and knew just how unfeeling and brutal she could turn. He had quarreled with her earlier this summer about it—the checks on her power. The lack of them.
Rowan was a good male. Utterly unafraid of Aelin, her magic. But would she listen to his counsel? Aedion and Aelin were as likely to come to blows as they were to agree, and Lysandra … Chaol didn’t know the shifter well enough to judge whether she’d keep Aelin in line.