Some sort of emotion flickered across her Crow’s face—there and gone in an instant. “Thank you for listening.”
A curious sort of peace settled between them, then. Something normal. Something comfortable and calm. In that peace, she could almost forget the flurry of events from only yesterday—the chilling voice that had ghosted through her mind when her lips first met his. The dreamthat had followed.
…Almost.
She snuffed out those memories, too. Worries for another time.
Letting her eyes flutter closed, she desperately prayed,Please, guide me now, Lord. Help me find the solution I can live with that does not run counter to Your plans. Help me do what is best for my people.
Almost immediately, a thought formed within her mind—the path forward.
The only path she could possibly take now.
“Your Grace,” she exhaled, her eyes opening. Steeling her resolve, she turned to face her godfather once more.
Duke Percival met her gaze, his expression solemn.
“Send out usuri to Mysai and order the evacuation to commence.” Wetting her lips, she clarified, “The evacuation of the civilians. Women and children first. Men if there is any room to spare on our ships. We will evacuate them to the Dawnspire.”
Her family’s ancestral stronghold, located in the heart of Elmoria, had lain abandoned for some time, but the lower valley was fertile. It could afford to support refugees.
Her godfather and Sir Easome both stared at her. Though while the latter merely frowned, clearly not in agreement with her decision, the former had no qualms about asking directly, “And what about thesoldiers?”
Her father would surely disown her were he still alive, just as her ancestors—the great King Hamon V especially, the last of the de la Croix conquerors—were no doubt writhing in their graves.But she was no conqueror. She was no great warrior. She never had been.
She never would be.
“By royal decree, I order the Elmorian troops stationed in Mysai to hold fast so long as it takes to evacuate the citizens. After that”—she drew in a breath, preparing for her councilors to balk—“they may abandon their posts without fear of being labeled deserters.”
“What?” Sir Easome asked, obviously horrified by the prospect.
For a moment, she almost wavered. But only for a moment. She couldn’t ask those brave men across the Straight to sacrifice themselves for a lost cause. Mysaiwouldfall. That was a fact—a fact she would have to take the time to process later.
There simply weren’t enough ships to evacuate everyone.
And there was absolutely no point in demanding further bloodshed.
Squaring her shoulders, she directed her words to her godfather: “Please send the troops my love and respect. They have served Elmoria well, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. They have the Crown’s permission to now do as their consciences dictate.”
Silence enveloped her study.
Her pulse hammered out a staccato rhythm in response.
Perhaps this was all a mistake. Perhaps the wisest course would be to save what troops she could and leave the people of Mysai to whatever fate Arath had in store for them.
But that was a choice she simply couldn’t live with.
She would bring the people of Mysai home. She would send word to her steward at her familial home of Dawnspire and tell him to make the ancient keep ready to receive the refugees. Dawnspire was the most defensible castle in all of Elmoria, and there it had sat for so many decades, serving no purpose while House de la Croix ruled from Goldreach.
At least it would have some purpose now.
Moments ticked by. A full minute passed.
Finally, her godfather cleared his throat. “Is there…anything else, Your Majesty?”
“Yes,” she whispered, on the verge of wavering again.
Drawing in yet another deep breath, she spared a glance for Aldric. As ever, he watched her as if trying to gouge a hole straight through her skull with his gaze alone. But this time, he did so without judgment or anger. Within the depths of his gold-flecked eye, she found merely some measure of peace. And strength.
