Indriya released a breath, and waited as a group ofsoldiers stomped past, each one of them saluting to Arawn.
“What I mean is...we needyou. Our leader. Our brother.” She stepped back, leaving space between them as footsteps sounded out inside the room. “We needArawnback. All of you. Not just the ghost that Soraya left behind.”
She smiled as softly as a warrior like her could.
“Find a way to heal. Find a way to healfast,Arawn...because when he dies?” She looked at the door, where his father’s voice rose loud again from the other side. “It’syouthat must be ready to step into his place.”
16
Weeks passed.
Another day.
Another meeting...and Arawn almost fell asleep at the War Table again.
It was his own fault, of course, for the many nights he’d laid in his bed, clutching a speaking stone to his chest.
Ezer.
He never should have given the stone to her. He never should have opened his mind to her voice, because now that he’d felt it slide against his mind?
It was impossible to ignore.
Perhaps it was the healing, or being back home, after so many months away. Perhaps it was how he sometimes caught himself staring at her like he was staring at the ghost of someone else...
But he’d given her the damned stone, the only time he’d ever givenanyonea gift...
And he loved it.
Her voice had filled his mind every night lately. It was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep. The first thing he heard when he woke up.
She was everywhere.
And still, it was not enough.
He curled his hands over his mug, wishing it were as cold as the world beyond the windows. Wishing he were still out there swinging atnomageswith his sword. Anything to get her out of his brain.
She did not belong there.
No one did.
Focus, Arawn,he scolded himself.Focus on your kingdom. Focus on the war.
They’d been at this table forhoursalready, and still, Draybor had not released them, claiming the gods hadn’t willed it.
Apparently, the gods hadn’t willed Draybor to have an inch of compassion, either.
He’d made Arawn pay penance time and again, for losing his magic.
For making him look weak.
Arawn re-entered the conversation, leaning forward eagerly as if he’d been paying full attention all along.
“To ask such a question about our enemy’s shadowstorm implies we havehope,”said the Watermage Master. “Of which we are sorely lacking in, these days.”
“Careful, Marin,” the Realmist Master practically snarled like a war bear, an expression worthy of Indriya, from across the enormous glass table. “Do I sense your faith in Aristra waning?”
“Not in Aristra,” the Realmist replied. “My faith in our lack of numbers is what wanes. We need more soldiers. We need more eagles. We need Kinlear’s plan with the Raphonminder, however feeble, to succeed.”
