The door across the room clicks. We whip around as it opens and reveals Micah, Esmeray, and my father. I jump down from the table, snatch up my crown, and rush towards the exit, needing distance to get my head on straight. Before I leave, I look at the iron and rubies in my hand and a thought occurs to me. It’s something that Kyron should know now that he’ll be the next king of Stigian.
I turn, look him in the eyes, and say, “I wish you luck as you learn just how crushing, suffocating, and heavy a crown is, Your Grace.”
I rest my crown on my head and saunter out of the room, past those who started this war and therefore deemed me and Kyron enemies.
Five
Icatch sight of Zek waiting for me at the end of the corridor, and I release the breath I’ve been holding to keep me together. He looks a little worse for wear, but he’s alive. Ash covers his face, and his uniform has holes burned into the scarlet sash over his chest. Yet he still dons his easygoing smile. It’s a welcome sight after the emotional battle I’ve been through.
My guard falls in next to me and matches my stride. “I’m guessing you didn’t enjoy your time with the Stigian prince.”
“No. But I am glad to see you alive,” I say.
He places his hand over his heart. “Aw. Were you worried about me?”
“I should have been glad that you weren’t looming over me for once. But I might have been a little sad if something happened to you.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
I pucker my lips to hold back my smile. “Take it as you like, just don’t be completely insufferable during the ride home.”
“Did nobody tell you? We’re staying for a couple of days at least.”
I stop and spin to look at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean we’re staying? I did what was required of me and now it’s time to leave.”
Zek shrugs, and the soiled golden curls at his shoulder bounce with the movement. “They’ve sent guards to scout the route between here andLucent. General Mansi doesn’t want to take any chances that the Allaji will attack on our way home. The Stigians could barely fight off the shifters and regain control, so our little caravan wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Micah, my father, and a Stigian warrior move toward us, and I lower my voice to ask, “What’s to say the Stigians weren’t behind this and are setting up a trap?”
“It would be a frivolous attempt at this point,” Zek says. “Before we came to get you, the king and queen signed a treaty, and the Divine Sibyl bound it. The two agreed to call a truce while they figure out what’s going on with the Allaji and what actions they need to take next.”
This is the last thing I want to hear, yet I can’t argue against it. During the brief time that I was a part of the chaos, things got out of hand. Explosions, wild animals, and human-sized birds—we couldn’t have faced that alone and survived. Kyron was a step away from not making it out of that mess alive. If it weren’t for my father tackling me to the ground, I could have been hurt or worse too.
“Raelle,” my father calls as the men draw near. Papa’s cape is dirty, and scratches and dings cover his breastplate and boots. He walks with a limp that most wouldn’t notice if they hadn’t seen his confident stride before.
“Are you all right, Papa?” I ask, running my fingertips over the blood trickling from a gash in his cheek.
“I’ve endured worse,” he says with a weak smile.
I don’t need to dig too far into that statement. The worst he speaks of also happened on Stigian soil. I’m sure if he had the choice, he would pick a battle with the Allaji over the time he spent here with Esmeray.
The Stigian warrior with eyes the color of the night sky clears his throat and says, “If you’ll follow me, I will show you to your quarters for the evening.”
Papa goes rigid against me, but quickly composes himself, nodding at the man who doesn’t look much older than me.
As we follow the warrior, Micah reiterates what Zek told me about staying. He doesn’t appear bothered by the change of plans, but I don’t miss the way my father’s eyes dart around the dimly lit hallways. It doesn’t matter that he spent hours meditating in this sanctuary when he was a young man; what was once his place of worship, he sees as a prison.
We reach what looks like a dead-end and the king and young warrior simultaneously reach behind a tapestry on the wall.
Micah glares at the Stigian and says, “I understand it’s hard to believe, but I used to love roaming these passages, and I was doing it long before you were born.” He pulls a lever, and the wall gives way to a tunnel of slick gray cement outfitted with light fixtures of braided iron hanging from the highest point, lighting the way.
The king takes the lead with us following close behind and our chaperone grunts his disapproval.
“We will meet with the Stigian council first thing in the morning. Hopefully, we will have word from Lucent by then. If the Allaji are brave enough to attack Stigian, our kingdom will not be far behind,” Micah says.
“You don’t think they attacked after we left, do you?” I ask, and a wave of nausea washing over me. If the Stigians struggled to regain order today, our people have no chance.
Micah’s gaze meets mine and the command in his tone wavers. “I pray to the Statera that they haven’t.”
