“My father will summon rain to put it out,” I say simply. “We have no droughts in Astranza.”
That makes them fall silent again.
“Are you to marry our king?” says the pregnant woman.
If she’d asked me an hour ago, I would have said yes. I was ready to seal this alliance, because I know how desperately Astranza needs Ky’s abilities on the battlefield—and I know how desperately they need my father’s magic, despite the fact that his health is waning.
But I think of everything I’ve learned in the last fifteen minutes, and I glance over my shoulder at the king, who has obeyed, and is riding about twenty feet behind us.
He’s too far, and I can’t read his expression. I don’t know if I want him to see mine.
I glance at Asher, and his expression is just as blank. He’s waiting for my answer, too.
Oh, this is too complicated. Especially now. I turn my eyes forward and swing the little girl’s arm playfully. “Marriage?” I say. “We’ll see.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Warrior
They’re too far for me to hear anything they’re saying.
That doesn’t stop me from trying.
My soldiers are trying to listen, too—or maybe they simply know I am. They haven’t made asound. They’re all braced for this to go badly. Every quiver is still strung across their backs, their reins tucked in one hand, their bows held ready in the other.
Jory looked almostwoundedwhen Callum didn’t obey her order to put up his weapons. Talk about bold—the very idea that she would expect to command my best soldiers is nonsensical. But she clearly expected them to obey, and they didn’t. In that moment, she almost faltered.
But her conviction is sostrong. My men considered it. Only for a heartbeat of time, but they thought about it.
She didn’t see that—but I did.
Sev looks over at me, and he keeps his voice low. “How long are you going to let this go on?”
I study the small crowd ahead. There aren’t more than two dozen people, with Jory and Asher at the center. A little girl of about six years old walks between them, every now and again swinging from their arms. Lady Charlotte walks just behind. No one’s voice is raised. No weapons are in hand.
I’m still waiting for it, though. When I lift my gaze to the gates to Lastalorre, there are others waiting, drawn by the shouting. I would have preferred to enter the city quietly. I can’t believe I was so reckless as to draw flame to my palm.
And then the princess walked right into the fray. We’re lucky there are so few of them—and that none were more heavily armed. If she knew what the last few years have been like, she never would have dared. There’s a reason I didn’t tell the Suross settlers who I am. There’s a reason we took circuitous routes to get here.
A month ago, a man came at me in the middle of the night, when we were riding back from the Draeg border. It was pitch-black, and I didn’t see him until the last second. He meant to put a dagger into my thigh, or maybe my waist, right at the gap in my armor. I twisted in time, and instead, it went into my horse’s flank. The animal reared—then collapsed, nearly crushing the man, and me with him. We ended up grappling in the dirt, half tangled in the tack, the horse flailing around us.
“Your magic is killing us,” the man snarled in my face, right before I drove a blade into his body.
“It’s not my magic,” I said, but he was already dead.
The memory fills my head more often than I like to admit. Every time I do, shame curls around my thoughts, and I have to shove it away.
Jory and Asher swing the little girl again.
That same shame is curling around my thoughtsnow.
I didn’t see the children as they were advancing down the hill. I didn’t see the pregnant woman.
Maybe the attack by the Draeg soldier was too fresh in my head, but I just saw attackers. Adversaries.
“Ky.”
I rub at my eyes, then look over at Sev. “What?”
