“I am,” he admits. “But I’m thinking even bigger than that. Palaces, perhaps.”
Warmth fills my chest at the mention of palaces, bringing to mind the game of pretend Aspen and I played. “When this is all over, Aspen and I may have something in mind.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but a rushing sound, like a bellowing wind, enters the courtyard, drawing our attention to the tile walkway. There, a whirl of sand barrels toward the front doors. Foxglove is on his feet before anyone else, smoothing the front of his burgundy jacket, then adjusting his spectacles and hair. “Fehr,” he says, a blush of color rising to his cheeks.
The cyclone pauses outside the palace doors, then dissipates to reveal the djinn. His dark hair is wind-tossed, bare chest rippling with more muscles than I can count. I’m not sure if it’s the wine, or if freedom has made Fehr look more majestic than ever, but Foxglove isn’t the only one blushing as the djinn approaches us.
Fehr spares a glance at Foxglove, lips pulling into a subtle smile, before his eyes lock on mine. “Your Majesty, I have broken down the border wall.”
“Already?” Seeking my inner fire, I summon my flames to flood me, burning away all remnants of the wine. Euphoria slips away, leaving my pulse racing in its absence.
“That was the easy part,” he says. “Now the building begins.”
That’s not all that begins,I think to myself. If the wall is down, that means it’s time.
I curl my fingers into fists to keep my arms from shaking. “All right then. Go to the other royals. Tell them it’s time to march.”
43
Standing at the edge of a bluff just outside the docks at Port Denyson, I look out at the dark shape that crosses the Channel of Bretton. Dawn is barely a blush on the horizon as the warship makes its journey, still just a tiny speck in the distance. My eyes dart from the ship to what lies beyond—the mainland. From this high up on the bluff, I can just make out a sliver of land on the other side of the channel. It’s strange to think that such a sight would have once inspired longing. Now it only fuels my rage. For there lies the seat of King Grigory, the man who would annihilate my people.
I rest my hand on the comforting hilt of a dagger—one of several obsidian blades gifted from Nyxia that now ring my waist. The weapons belt is cinched around the slim black tunic I wear beneath a bronze, lightweight breastplate, while thick leather trousers hug my legs. My hair is braided tight in a coronet around my scalp.
I steal a glance at Aspen, who stands at my side. His clothing is nearly identical to mine, aside from the belt of knives. He seems to think his antlers will suffice. His breastplate is also much larger and heavier than mine is, carved with maple leaves. Sensing my gaze, he turns and meets it. His eyes reflect everything I feel—rage, anticipation, trepidation. Fear. Neither of us can find smiles in this moment, but a look is all we need to express all that must be said—that we will fight to the death if we must, but first we shall fight to live.
A raven caws overhead, making its descent to the bluff. As it lands, Franco takes its place and makes his way to his sister, who stands in tense silence next to Lorelei. Aspen and I join them, as does Estel. The rest of the royals and fighting forces await down below, hidden just out of sight from view of the beach.
Lorelei gives me a tight-lipped smile as we approach, her usual swagger gone. She’s outfitted in black trousers and bronze armor as well, which makes me realize I’ve never seen her in anything but a dress. It somehow makes her look even smaller than she is, and with that comes a wave of panic over her safety. But even though her presence puts her in mortal danger, there are few others I’d rather have fighting at my side. I’ve seen what she can do with her powers. Petite or not, I know how fierce she can be.
“I got a closer look at the warship,” Franco says, shoulders rigid.
“Anything unusual?” Nyxia asks. Like always, her appearance is stunning, with shimmering black slacks that look unlike any fabric I’ve ever seen, and armor made from scales of moonstone and obsidian.
“What’s unusual is the warship isn’t alone. There are three smaller ships with it.”
“Three!” Nyxia rounds on me. “You said a single warship. You mentioned nothing about three more.”
“Neither did Mr. Duveau,” I say. “I compelled him under a glamour. If he didn’t mention the three ships, then he didn’t know.” Either that or my glamour wasn’t strong enough, considering how weak my magic was. Of course, I don’t say this out loud.
“The three smaller ships may be a naval guard for the warship,” Estel says. “Were they armed?”
“Not like the warship,” Franco says. “It was heavily armored and staffed, but it didn’t look like a fighting vessel.”
“Then we wait and see what they do,” Aspen says. “They aren’t expecting an ambush, so the warship won’t attack until prompted.”
“Won’t they see the wall?” Franco asks. “I saw the stones on my return from spying. They’ll know something has changed when they see it.”
I look out at the beach and docks where Fehr has yet to complete the wall, then at the rows of stones that begin farther down. We know the warship will simply blast down any stones that interfere with its ability to dock, creating more work for Fehr, so we’ve decided to save this portion of the wall for last. As soon as we have the Parvanovae, we can destroy the warship without hesitation. Until then, we must treat our enemies like glass.
But Franco’s right. With the rising sun illuminating the port, they’ll see the stones once the ship draws near. They may not know an ambush is coming, but they’ll be wary of attack.
A rush of wind swirls over the bluff, revealing Fehr when it comes to a stop. “The wall is finished,” he says, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “I just erected the last stone, aside from the port. We’re ready.”
Relief has my shoulders dropping, chest open with an easy breath. “Thank you, Fehr.”
“Finally, some good news,” Nyxia says.
I turn to Estel. “Will you be ready to perform the enchantment once you have the Parvanovae?”
