Whatever retort Elara muttered was lost when Faron caught sight of who she’d brought home with her: Reeve Warwick. It was always a bit of a shock, the sight of this white boy on an island of people whose skin tones ranged from fallow light to umber dark. Faron knew that the Langlish Empire had consumed too many countries for pale skin and pale eyes to be the only Langlish identifiers, but Reeve stuck out in other important ways. Almost a foot taller than Faron, milk skinned and ice eyed with oiled-up hair thecolor of reddish mud, he looked exactly like a younger version of his father, with the accent to match.
Considering his father was the current ruler of the Langlish Empire, being around him was awful even before he opened his condescending mouth.
Faron scowled at him. He smirked back.
“Racing again?” Reeve asked.
“Faron,” Elara groaned. “You promised you’d go right home after school.”
Her cheeks flamed. She glared at Reeve. “How could youpossiblyknow that?”
“Your ankles. They’re dusty. So not only were you racing, but you haven’t bathed.”
“Are you implying that I smell badly?”
“I’m merely answering your question.”
“Please,” Elara yawned. Whatever scolding she’d been working up to had been submerged beneath her exhaustion. She was resting on Faron now, using her as a standing pillow. “Truce while we have company.”
“I can agree to that.” Reeve shrugged, adjusting his grip on the book he was carrying under one arm. “Truce, Faron?”
“Ass.”
The smirk widened. “They really should write more books about your charm.”
An acidic reply formed on Faron’s tongue, but Elara gave her one last squeeze and straightened.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted, nudging Faron out of her way with a hip. “Welcome back to Deadegg. I hope you had anobleflight. You know, because you flew over in Nobility?”
In the silence that followed, Faron rolled her eyes fondly then hated herself for it when she saw Reeve do the same thing. She didn’t storm back to the kitchen, but it was a near thing.
Elara greeted every Queenshield soldier by name before she and Reeve sat in the remaining chairs. She piled food onto two plates, her eyes intent on her task as if that would help everyone forget her bad joke. Reeve said something to Elara that made the corner of her mouth tip up, and Faron swallowed past a wave of resentment. She wanted to believe it was all focused on Reeve, but, after the day she’d had, her sister’s ability to be friends withanyonestung. Faron couldn’t even get the queen to like her, and they had the most shared life experience.
“Now that we are all here, shall we continue?” asked Aveline. “I believe there is strength in numbers. I am the queen. The Childe Empyrean is an internationally recognizable symbol of divine retribution. Elara Vincent is the picture of familial loyalty, and Reeve Warwick betrayed all he was raised to believe in for justice and equality. Langley is trying to intimidate us by bringing more dragons than I ever would have sanctioned, so I want to remind them who won this war and how. I want all of you to return to Port Sol with me tonight. Will you?”
“Port Sol?” Elara asked with wide eyes. “Wait,tonight? Why do…? That’s not… I mean…”
Elara seemed to have forgotten how to speak, and Faron didn’t blame her. It had been years, and Faron still had trouble thinking back on those days. She couldn’t imagine how bad it was for her sister, who hadn’t even had the protection of the gods. Elara had been thirteen to Faron’s twelve when Faron had snuck out to go to war. Her summoning had been basic and her self-defense skillsnonexistent, but her bravery? Immeasurable. Because everywhere Faron had gone, no matter how dangerous, Elara had been right there beside her.
Doubtless neither of them was eager to revisit those days, but Faron was at least relieved that they would be flying back into these bad memories together for the first time since the war had ended.
“Of course they’ll go,” Papa said. “But not tonight. The Summit begins the day after tomorrow, so let them have tonight to pack and say proper goodbyes. You’re welcome to stay in one of the guest rooms, Your Majesty.”
It was a compromise but not a question. Aveline nodded. After Faron and Elara had come home from the war, they’d discovered Mama and Papa seemed to have aged decades while they’d been gone, silver newly threading through their hair and bags thick beneath their eyes. There’d been screaming and crying, then more crying andmorescreaming, but five years of peace—and Elara moderating Faron’s behavior—had allowed them all time to breathe. These days, her parents considered Aveline keeping them informed a better option than their children sneaking out in the middle of the night.
“I’ll let the school know you’ll both be absent for the rest of the week.” Mama sounded so very drained. “Reeve, do you want to tell the Hanlons in person or should I astral call them?”
“I can tell them when I go home to pack,” he said slowly. “But Elara can’t—”
“Wait for the Summit. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event,” Elara finished. Her fingers fumbled her spoon, which clattered off the table to the floor. “What am I going towear?”
Aveline smiled, and it was the first time all day that it lookedgenuine. Elara tended to have that effect on people. “We have had formal dress designed for you all by local tailors.”
“Excellent. That’s just excellent. I can’t wait!”
Elara ducked under the table to rescue her spoon. Her laugh was squeaky. Reeve watched Elara as if he’d missed a step in a private waltz, but that only confirmed what Faron already suspected.
Elara was lying.
