If she’d learned nothing else from battle, it was thateveryonehad a shadow. War just had a way of making some of them darker.
“The commander was telling me about the latest advancements in the Dragon Legion and the Hearthstone Academy,” the queen said. “Apparently, they have added diplomacy classes to their training of Riders to emphasize their commitment to peace.”
“And classes on public service,” he added. “For Riders who want to become involved in local government. But all classes include mentorship, with the former group having the opportunity to learn from me and the latter group having the opportunity to learn from my wife.”
“Did you bring your wife with you?” asked Aveline.
“Ah, no. There have been some minor issues recently, and, as the prison director, she just didn’t feel comfortable leaving the Mausoleum in other hands.”
For a moment, Faron felt a howling absence of emotion. The Mausoleum was the federal prison of the Langlish Empire; it was where they would take Reeve if he ever dared return to Langley and where they would gleefully have locked up Faron if they’d managed to capture her during the war. The casual way that the commander had invoked it, as if he didn’t care about its reputation but knew that she did, made her wonder if he was trying to intimidate her on purpose.
That flame of anger roared back to life, licking up her arms. How dare any Warwick try to makeherfeel small? It was she who had made a fool ofhimhalf a decade ago.
“How interesting,” Faron managed through gritted teeth. “She sounds very dedicated.”
The commander noticed nothing amiss, but Aveline had a special sense for when Faron was seconds away from causing trouble. She raised an eyebrow.Are you okay?
And Faron knew what the queen was really asking:Can you do this? Are you ready?
She also knew that the answer to all those questions wasn’t yes. At best, the answer was maybe. But the fact that Aveline would doubt her, after everything, rankled. If she could blast a dragon out of the air with her menstrual cramps making her feel faint, then she could do a simple magic demonstration with nothing but anger humming beneath her skin.
She gave the queen a thin smile in response.I’m ready.
“I think that now is a good time to proceed,” Aveline said with a clap. The Queenshield corralled the crowd of diplomats back until the empty circle of floor had increased to a rectangle. “Our visitors came for a different kind of demonstration. Empyrean, if you will. Give them something worth talking about.”
“Yes,” the commander said, as if he deserved the last word. As if he were entitled to it, even here, even now. “Show us something legendary.”
Oh, Faron thought with a fury so bitter that she nearly choked on it.I will.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELARA
ELARA TRIED TO BE DISCREET ABOUT WATCHING THE COMMANDER,but it was hard to be discreet when she wanted to punch him in the head. Reeve was on his second glass of rum, and he was looking everywhere but at the father who was ignoring him. He’d recounted their brief interaction, as well as Faron’s “pedestrian” insults, but he was hurting. Elara could tell he was hurting. It was hard, she imagined, longing for his father’s forgiveness while hating everything his father continued to stand for.
But all Reeve said was, “He’s not my father anymore. And he never will be again, because I don’t think he’ll ever change.”
“It’s okay that you still love him, you know,” Elara reminded him. “No one expects you to just extinguish years of familial affection.”
“He’s killed so many people, destroyed so many cultures. He was going to end the war by burning every inch of San Irie to the ground.” Reeve wiped a hand over his face. He left a trail of grease by his temple from the plantain she’d convinced him to eat. “How can I love someone like that? How could anyone?”
“It’s complicated,” Elara said, taking a cloth napkin and reachingup to wipe it away. “That’s all I’m saying. It’s a complicated situation for you, and I don’t judge you for—”
“Look,” Reeve interrupted in an obvious attempt to move on, “I think that’s one of the Hearthstone students.”
She followed his line of sight toward the windows. A girl stood with her back to the room, though from her side profile she looked to be around Elara’s age. Her skin was a shade of bronze darker than any Langlish woman Elara had ever seen, and her ink-black hair was styled into fluffy waves. She was dressed in a candy apple–red gown that did nothing to hide the lines of her athletic body, and her lips were painted the same color as her dress.
In short, she was beautiful.
And Langlish.
Elara dragged her eyes away. “Is she the only one here?”
“The only one I’ve seen so far, but not the only one he brought.” Reeve’s eyes met hers, dark and wry. “According to the rumors, there are two more.”
“Shouldn’t it be four of them, altogether? I thought Riders came in pairs.”
“She doesn’t have a co-Rider yet.”
