“You think you can gain control of the northern army,” Jarek says slowly, as if putting pieces together.
“I must try.” I’ve given this much thought since climbing on to my horse this morning. “Fighting against Telor would be foolish. We need to work to win back support now if I am to reclaim the throne.”
“But we are heading into a territory with no escape, unless you mean to lead us into the rift.”
Jarek does not mince words. I see what Abarrane means about him. “It is our best option.” Our only option.
Jarek shakes his head. “And if it does not work? If you cannot convince Lord Telor to defy the seated king in favor of the fleeing one?”
“Then we make sure he knows what starting a war with me will feel like.” I was a young child the day my father discovered I was not born like others, that the gift Hudem had granted me was far more potent. He warned me there was a time to flaunt the true might of a king and a time to guard it well, and this was a secret I needed to shield until the day revealing it would give my enemies pause.
Word of Freywich’s fate would have reached Cirilea by now. How accurate the account provided to Atticus was—including how large the orchard Danthrin had gone out of his way to hide from the crown—remains to be seen. Regardless, anyone who has heard will know I am not some outcast mutt scurrying through the streets with his tail between his legs.
“When the time comes, let us hope our caster can help deliver that message.” Abarrane’s eyes meet mine, and I know she doesn’t mean Gesine.
“The princess traveled here with five hundred Ybarisan soldiers. Many of them were not in Cirilea during the attack. There could be as many as two, three hundred enemy soldiers waiting in that valley. What happens when we find them?” Jarek’s eyes narrow as he assesses me, waiting for an answer to a good question.
But I’ve already considered this. “The valley is large, and it could take weeks to find them. Our first priority will be a secure home base. Also, you forget that Romeria is Ybarisan and heir to the throne. Those are her men to command.” Whether they’ll listen is another story.
“I have not forgotten that.”
I hear the words he doesn’t speak: Have you?
“You may go now.” Abarrane’s dismissal is sharp.
Jarek leaves without another word, his doubt and mistrust lingering like a toxic cloud.
“Your Highness?” Elisaf asks.
I wave toward the door, granting him freedom from this cramped space. It’s me Abarrane wants to chew a piece off. She’s been waiting for her moment all day.
And I know what this is about.
She waits until the wagon’s door clicks closed. “Lord Telor might be swayed to grant you his loyalty, but not with her on your arm.”
“Romeria is not on my arm.”
“Oh, I must be mistaken,” she says with mock innocence. “Though last night she was certainly on your—”
“That is my business, and not up for discussion. That I am sitting in here and not secluded in a wagon with her”—where I would much prefer to be—“should mean something to you.”
“Actions may speak louder than words, but words also carry meaning, and you swore to me that your heart would no longer dictate your decisions. And yet now we are stewards to one of these tainted mortals, and you are forbidding the use of another. Do not tell me she is not the one dictating those poor choices.”
“They are choices, surely, but I do not see them as poor. The truth remains that we cannot win the throne back without her.”
“So we are appeasing her, then? Is that your ploy? To help sway her toward our needs when the time comes?”
I could lie. I probably should lie. It would certainly appease Abarrane. “What I do with Romeria in private has no bearing on our path forward, and I will not explain myself to anyone.” I deliver the warning with a sharp edge. “We must squash this uprising and isolate the poison before it causes irreparable harm to Islor.” If it isn’t already too late.
“As you command, Your Highness.” Her teeth grit as she bites her tongue.
I sigh. “I have not lost my focus or my common sense, Abarrane.”
“I hope not. Because all of Islor depends on it.”