Page 126 of The War of Four Winters

Ruith’s smile widened. “War is a very expensive endeavor. The annual raids on the human lands and the war in the north kept us always on the brink of bankruptcy. By ending them, and expanding the trade routes, the realm will flourish. What better way to spend all that money than on books instead of blades?”

“They’ll call you mad,” I said, and Ruith laughed. "I’m serious, Ruith. It won't be easy. There will be resistance. Setbacks. Compromises that taste like ash." I thought of the conversations I'd overheard in the palace corridors, the cold looks from traditionalist houses, the thinly veiled threats against the human consort who dared sit at the king's right hand.

"Nothing worthwhile ever comes easily," he conceded, his jaw tightening in that familiar expression of stubborn resolve. "But for the first time since I began this rebellion, I truly believe it's possible." He gestured toward the vast army spread across the plain. "Look at what we've already accomplished. Elves and humans fighting side by side. Clans that have spilled each other's blood for generations now training together. Even the Yeutish—our bitterest enemies—have joined our cause."

I looked out at the gathered army. "We've come a long way from the days when you kept me in a cage."

Ruith laughed at my words, though there was a shadow of regret in his eyes. "A mistake I'll spend the rest of my days making up for."

I brushed my fingers against his, a small gesture of forgiveness we'd exchanged countless times. "You've already done that. The world we're building is worth whatever came before."

He took my hand in his, our fingers intertwining.

"Do you think we can win?" I asked, watching as a group of former slaves practiced shield formations under Niro's critical eye.

"Against Michail?" Ruith's gaze drifted toward the distant horizon where Homeshore lay waiting. "Yes, I believe so.”

A familiar voice called from behind us. "Father! Elindir!"

We turned to find Torsten racing toward us, Leif following at a more measured pace. Taelyn walked behind them, a diplomatic smile on her face that suggested our sons had been particularly persuasive.

"I thought we agreed they would see the army tomorrow," Ruith said, raising an eyebrow at Taelyn.

She shrugged. "They presented a compelling case. Leif had several questions about battle logistics that I thought you might better address."

Torsten reached us first, immediately launching into excited questions. "Is it true we leave tomorrow? How many days will you be gone? Will you write to us?"

While Ruith fielded Torsten's barrage of questions, I knelt beside Leif, whose thoughtful eyes were fixed on the vast encampment below.

"It's bigger than I imagined," he said quietly.

"It is," I agreed.

Taelyn joined us at the wall, her eyes scanning the Wolfheart banners in the distance. "The scouts report clear weather on the horizon. Good conditions for marching."

"Then we leave at tomorrow," Ruith confirmed. "We should reach Homeshore within two weeks if we maintain pace."

Two weeks before I would face my brother for the final time, the man who had sold me into slavery and now sought to exterminate an entire people to slow his own descent into madness.

"Father! Elindir! Look!" Torsten pointed excitedly toward the river. "It's Uncle Tariq's ship!"

Sure enough, The Mirage's distinctive black sails were visible on the horizon, making its way upriver toward D'thallanar.

"Your brother has good timing," Ruith observed.

"He has a gift for dramatic entrances," I agreed, remembering our unexpected meeting in Saltmire. "Though I'm glad he's chosen to stand with us."

“Come on, then.” Ruith hoisted Leif up onto his shoulders. He was wearing the biggest grin I’d ever seen. “Let’s go say hello.”