“You know I didn’t. Why?”
“Then how did you know their new commander is named Mindall?” Before she could answer, I grabbed my bedroll and stuffed it into the saddlebags. “I’m ready to ride whenever you are.”
If the morning had been cold, it was nothing compared to the icy wind that began gusting around midday. I never complained though. It seemed like a perfect accompaniment to my mood.
Huge and Gabe were on their way to the Lonetree Camp, leaving me with only Trina and Basil for company. I wasn’t speaking to Trina, which put me in the awkward position of having to talk to Basil, of all people. He rode at my side as we made our way toward the Halderians, a clan I neither liked nor trusted.
“You haven’t said a word for miles,” Basil said.
“What do you want me to say?” I replied.
“I want you to explain why you won’t claim the throne.”
I tossed a glare sideways at him. “That’s not your business.”
“We need the Halderians’ help in defending Reddengrad. Your refusal to claim the throne is very much my business.”
“What’s your business?” Trina asked, riding up next to Basil. When neither of us answered, she said, “Is this about Simon not wanting to be king? Because I’m the one who figured out who he is. I’m the one who told Tenger.”
“Naturally you told someone,” I snapped. “That’s what you do.”
She groaned. “Honestly, Simon, you are impossible! Once you get a thought in your head, you never question it, you just assume you’re always right! Well, you are wrong about me, you’re wrong in nearly everything you’ve said about Basil—”
“What has he said about me?” Basil asked.
“—and you’re wrong to refuse the Halderian throne. Simon, they need someone with a good heart to lead them.”
I cursed under my breath. That wasn’t my heart, not anymore.
She continued, “If I’m ever named as the Infidante—”
“Kes is still alive.”
She tried again. “If I’m ever the Infidante, they will ask me who I choose as king—”
“Don’t you dare.”
“—and I would name you. Whether you want it or not, whether you deny the truth about the sword and that ring in your saddlebag, I don’t care. If it’s ever in my power, you will be king of the Halderians.”
I glared at her. “If you carry out that threat, then my first order will be your execution for betraying the previous Infidante.”
Her laughter quickly faded as she wondered if I was serious. Absolutely, I was.
After a long silence, Basil said, “Well, aren’t you Coracks fun? If Reddengrad wins this battle, we’ll invite you down for the victory party. I’m sure you two can suck the joy from any celebration.” When I didn’t reply, he added, “Simon, I wish you would claim the throne, and I haven’t heard anything yet that helps me understand why you won’t, but you still have a job to do. Get the Halderians to fight for Reddengrad, or I will not say where the Olden Blade is.”
I snorted. It was not for him or for anyone to understand my reasons. I would do my best to get the Halderians to fight, and I would go to battle myself if the Dominion came. But nothing more.
Little else was said between any of us as we entered the Hiplands that evening. I’d been here only two weeks ago, with Kestra riding in my arms, smiling back at me as if nothing could ever come between us. The memory was a curse to me now.
As if she could read my thoughts, Trina said, “For what it’s worth, Simon, if you see her again, she will probably still be the way you remember her … mostly.”
It was worth nothing and only made me feel worse. Yet even as she spoke, an advance group of more than twenty Halderians rode toward us with posted colors and visible weapons. The girl who had helped me get Kestra out of Lonetree, Harlyn Mindall, was among them. I hoped we could count on her help here. Little else was in our favor.
Basil leaned toward me. “If you do have any influence with the Halderians, now is the time.”
“I don’t.” But I stopped my horse between Basil and Trina’s, hoping that whatever words fell from my mouth would sound more diplomatic than what was actually in my mind.
Commander Mindall was leading the group, and it was obvious from a distance that this wasn’t a friendly welcome party. He held up his hand to stop his own procession, leaving us facing each other from a conversational distance.