This time, Elara’s heart stopped. “You think the Langlish Empire wants to start another war?”
“They’ve almost started three in as many days.” Aveline turned around, looking older than Elara had ever seen her. “San Irie has only just recovered from the last war. We can’t handle another.”
“We have the drakes.” The last thing Elara wanted for her island, for herself, and especially for Faron was another war. But she couldn’t stand that look on the queen’s face, as if she’d already been defeated before the first battle had been fought. “We have more drakes built than we ever had before! I think we’d be able to hold them off the island this time, if it comes to that. Maybe even take the fight to them.”
“War takes more than drakes, Elara. Wars also require support, and I’m just not sure I would have that going into another one only five years after the end of the first. I am barely clinging to public support as it is. You were in the city. You saw the protesters. The position I am in is so precarious; anything could shatter it.” Aveline rubbed her temples. “Even if I’m seeing plots where there aren’t any, there’s still the fact that if they decide to attack with the very dragon who you’re bonded to, we can’t fight back without hurting you as well. And that alone is a weapon we can’t let them keep up their sleeve.”
Aveline looked so hopeless. She had seemed like such an adult just a few years ago, when Elara had been thirteen and convinced that Aveline was the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen. But in this moment, Elara saw Aveline for what she really was: an orphaned woman barely out of her teens, thrust into a legacy she hadn’t asked for but was giving everything she had to uphold.
“We’ll help you avoid a war,” Elara swore. “Faron’s more focused on finding a cure for the bond than one for the Fury. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open in Langley and alert you to any sign that they’re preparing for another attack. Whatever they teach me about dragons’ weaknesses and vulnerabilities, I’ll report back to you, too. I won’t let them use me against my own country. I refuse.”
This time, Aveline’s smile was wider. “Thank you.” She adjustedher diadem over her head wrap. When her hands lowered, any trace of weakness had been wiped clean from her expression. The vulnerable woman had disappeared; the untouchable queen had returned. “I will come to you again to say goodbye before your flight. Right now, though, your family is outside, and I am sure they are eager to see you.”
Elara winced, and, to her surprise, Aveline laughed. It was such a bright, rare sound. Elara couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard it.
“Your fear is unwarranted,” she said. “They do not know about your enlistment, and they will not hear about it from me.” The queen winked, removing the barrier with a wave of her hand. “You and your sister are not the only ones who know how to lie.”
As soon as Aveline was gone, Elara turned back to the balcony doors. Soon, her parents would enter, blissfully ignorant of her crimes as they saw her off. Soon, Faron and Reeve would return, and they would all get to say a proper goodbye. Soon, Signey and Zephyra would arrive to help her secure her bags to Zephyra’s saddle for the long trip across the Ember Sea. This was the last time that she would be in the only home she had ever known before she stepped forward into an uncertain future—a future in which she would have to pretend to become everything she’d learned to fear. Worse, she had no idea how long it would be before she would come back. Or if she would even come back at all.
But she was ready for that. She had a mission. No matter how hard things got for her in the Langlish Empire, she would not fail.
Elara Vincent didn’t need to be the Childe Empyrean to be a hero. And she was going to prove that to everyone. Her family. Her countrymen. And, most of all, herself.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FARON
FARON’S TIME WITH HER SISTER WAS RUNNING OUT, AND YET SHEstood planted like a new palm tree in the hallway outside Elara’s chambers. She didn’t want to say goodbye to Elara. She wanted to sweep into her room with a solution. But after last night’s attack, the Port Sol Temple was so full of people praying that there had been a line for the sunroom—and a sunroom was the only place that Faron could speak to all three of the gods at once.
At the time, Faron had pictured the look of disappointment on Elara’s face if she heard that Faron had thrown people out of the temple on her behalf. And summoning the gods one by one for answers would have only resulted in her sleeping through Elara’s departure. Now, lingering in the hall, Faron wished that shehadcleared the sunroom. What was the point of being the Empyrean if she couldn’t use the title to help the people she cared about?
Stop being such a child. Go spend time with your family. With Elara. Before it’s too—
Movement at the mouth of the corridor drew her attention. Two figures were passing by on their way to somewhere else. Reeve Warwick… and Commander Gavriel Warwick.
Of course.Of course.
Faron followed them. The Queenshield who lined the walls showed no reaction to them or to her, making her wonder how often Reeve had been openly meeting with his father. Did the queen know? DidElaraknow? And should Faron even tell her when she was about to enter a den of snakes?
She slipped into an empty room just down the hall from the one the Warwicks had entered. Then she reached out for Mala and her powers of illusion. Faron felt the surge of divine magic spreading throughout her body, her senses more alert than they’d ever been, her body running hotter than usual. Mala settled within her, and the room came back into view. It was empty except for a gilded trunk and an ornate mirror. Her reflection in the latter told a story of a wild-eyed girl avoiding her problems.
Faron cloaked herself in Mala’s power, using the energy of her soul to bend the light in the room until she couldn’t even see herself. She was still solid and audible, but if she stayed quiet and out of the way, then the Warwicks would never know she was there.
They’d left the door open, which seemed like the height of arrogance before Faron realized the first problem with her plan. Commander Warwick was standing in front of the window, but he was speaking Langlish—and Faron could barely say her own name in that language. Reeve was leaning against the wall to the left, next to a half-stocked bookshelf. Just like last time, he was putting on a performance. The Reeve Warwick she knew was sarcastic and collected, arrogant and sanctimonious. Now, alone with his father, his shoulders were an insouciant line and there was a dangerous smile on his face.
It wasn’t exactly like looking at a stranger, but it was… something.
The commander had been given a room no different from Elara’s, except that his color scheme was sea blue and salt white, and he had a mahogany desk and cushioned chair by the bathroom. His bed had been made with military efficiency, and if he’d brought any belongings with him, then they were nowhere to be seen. He had no balcony, but he had a set of windows that overlooked the ocean. San Mala was a narrow strip of green in the distance, and he faced it with his hands folded behind his back.
“It’s been five years, but I know you better than anyone here, Father,” Reeve said in patois. “This is my home now, this is the language I speak, and these are the people I would do anything to protect. I trust it won’t come to that.”
Commander Warwick turned. There was a friendly smile on his face, but his eyes were so cold that Faron almost took a step back. Neither of them knew she was here, and yet there was a thick tension in the room. This didn’t feel like a private reunion between father and son, and it certainly didn’t feel like a relaxed meeting between spy and spymaster.
Something was wrong.
“From what I’ve observed,” said Commander Warwick in his accented patois, “these people you’d do anything to protect wouldn’t shed a tear if you died in front of them.”
“The Langlish wouldn’t shed one for you, either,” Reeve said brightly. “That tends to happen after losing an easy war to a child.”
