“Presenting you before the council in the same moment holds no direct bearing upon the trial,” Ryc answers. “But it will send a message to those we’ve approached.”
Yes. The message we’re united once again and ready to move forward in their obnoxious game of politics. That we’ll ascend farsooner than we’d planned.
Curling in, Ryc presses a kiss to my temple.
“What’s stopping them from changing course in the final hour?” I ask, the antics of the Layer Lords all too familiar.
“That is always a possibility,” Ryc relents. “But they would be risking bad blood with more than one Sovereign King.”
I scoff. “The council is nothing more than a prettier version of the Layer Lords.”
Ryc laughs, a sound of delight rather than bitter agreement. “Are you saying I’m pretty?” His arm tightens around me.
“Pompous, asinine fae. Of course that would be what you hear,” I mutter, despite the growing grin on my face. Turning away from the light in favor of a pair of fine gold eyes, I roll onto my other side. “What happens when we ascend?”
“So full of questions for so early in the morn,” he teases.
“You offered,” I counter and he gives a single slow nod.
“I did, and I’ll answer,” he says, smiling. “Once we ascend, we’ll no longer be Sovereign King and Queen of Erus.” He traces his fingers along my arm, causing my skin to pebble. “We’ll be High Emperor and Empress of Illa Ysari.”
My confusion returns and my brows crease.
“What in the hells is an Illa Ysari?”
Grinning like a fool, Ryc says, “It is a country, little love. Where we will be expected to reside as High Rulers.”
I scoff. “I know the countries of Eldoterra, Illa Ysari isn’t one of them.”
“I assure you, it is,” he grins his challenge. “It may be the smallest country in Eldoterra, but it holds the highest seat of power.”
“Where?” The question sounds more scathing than curious.
“In the north,” he replies, his eyes sparkling. “Illa Ysari lies amid a chain of islands in the Clarecier Bay.”
My mind races to recall all the maps of Eldoterra I’ve studied. While thereisan archipelago off the northeastern coast, no map I’ve seen labels them as separate lands.
“They aren’t part of Erus?” I ask, still unconvinced.
He shakes his head. “No, they’re not.”
“Have youbeen?”
“Once,” he replies with a distant smile. “Following my ascension. The High Council is required to pledge an oath, one to protect Illa Ysari and our people.”
The oath Rowen stands accused of breaking.
“But the thrones sit empty,” I counter, confused. “Who are you pledging yourselves to? The thrones themselves?” My scrutiny runs sharp and swift.
“It felt that way,” Ryc answers with a quiet chuckle.
He brushes some of my hair away from my eyes, curling it behind my ear. For a time I sit in silence, listening to the morning birds and the steady, even beat of Ryc’s heart.
It’s hard to imagine traveling to some strange island to take on an oath… with the company of the High Council no less.
Finally, I ask, “Were you scared? When you ascended?”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, surprising me. “As Ryfon Witherhorn’s youngest son and a bastard born one no less, I was never intended to rule anything. A fact I was more than happy to embrace considering my lineage.”
