“Yes, my sons,” he says, desperation straining his voice. “They’re on that ship with my wife. Please, just let me return to them. They’re only five and eight.”
Darkness crawls into my heart, turning my voice cold and cruel. “Why should your sons’ father live when my mother had to die?”
His eyes go wide, shoulders trembling. “I was following the letter of the law.”
My lips peel back from my teeth. “No, you weren’t. You were saving your pride.”
“I was saving the treaty,” he argues. “For my family. For peace. I never sought the isle’s destruction. Giving the bomb to the king was wrong; I see that now. For all I know, the blast will reach Bretton and my family will die there too. Just let me be with them when it happens. That’s all I ask now.”
Despite my burning rage, watching him plead sends the darkness draining from my heart, leaving only emptiness in its wake.
He must see my resolve faltering, for the color rushes back into his cheeks. “Please, Evelyn. I’m so sorry.”
With a heavy sigh, I toss my iron blade to the side, letting it skitter a few feet away. Then I pull myself to my feet.
Mr. Duveau scrambles back, eyes wide as if he can hardly believe I’m letting him go. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” I say, turning my attention to the kelpie waiting silently at the edge of the dock. “It’s all up to you now, Mr. Duveau.”
He slowly turns his head to follow my gaze.
“Miss Fairfield,” he whispers. “Please don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” I take one step back, then another. At the same time, the kelpie inches toward its prey. “But I made a bargain.”
Mr. Duveau’s gaze flashes to my discarded blade. The kelpie takes another step forward.
“At least you can swim,” I say, tone flat. Just as the kelpie lunges at him, I turn around, squaring my shoulders as I retreat down the dock.
The last thing I hear is Mr. Duveau’s strangled scream cut off by a thunderous splash.
40
The journey back to Fire takes almost two days. I push myself nearly as hard as I did getting to Port Denyson, but as exhausted as I am, I force myself to rest far more often. As I cross the faewall, I find Aspen waiting for me in his stag form, and together we run the rest of the way to Fire, utilizing the axis line for the fastest travel. Once we make it back to Irridae Palace, I barely have time to clean myself up and change before I’m rushing back down the stairs to the atrium where my fellow royals await.
I slow my pace at the final staircase before the atrium, taking in slow, deep breaths to compose myself. With each breath comes an awareness of the magic flowing through my veins. After being nearly stripped from it at Port Denyson, I don’t think I’ll ever take this feeling for granted again. Nor will I curse the heat of the Fire Court. The heavy warmth that envelops me as I make my way across the atrium feels like a luxury after the bone-deep chill of a human autumn.
I approach the sunstone table, where all the other royals gather, some seated, others standing. Aspen turns to face me, a comforting smile on his lips, contrasting with his furrowed brow. On our journey from the wall to Irridae, I relayed to him all the details I’d learned from Mr. Duveau, but neither of us are looking forward to sharing the news with the others.
Squaring my shoulders, I take my place at Aspen’s side. All of Faerwyvae’s royals are here, not just the Alpha Alliance. However, with Cobalt’s death leaving Aspen as Regent of the Sea Court, the only newcomers at my table are Dahlia and an ambassador from the Solar Court. Aspen told me earlier that Phoebe’s heir has yet to be established, considering our victory over the Renounced brings an official return to the Old Ways. The radical seelie courts will have the hardest time adjusting to this, I’m sure.
The Solar ambassador bends in a bow of respect, while Dahlia gives me a tight-lipped nod. I offer her a saccharine grin, silently praying that someone gains the blessing of the All of All to dethrone her as soon as possible. My gaze moves around the table to far more welcome faces—Nyxia, Estel, Aelfon, Tris, Minuette, and…well, compared to Dahlia, I suppose Flauvis’ wolfy sneer is a welcome sight too.
Aspen’s hand brushes mine, and he gives my fingers a squeeze. The warmth of his skin makes my chest feel light, and my breaths come easier.
“Thank you for gathering for this urgent meeting,” I say. “We have much to discuss, so I’ll get into it at once. I know when the Parvanovae is set to strike.”
Flauvis rumbles with a mocking growl. “You mean the weapon you let some pathetic human steal from you—”
“Flauvis!” Fire ignites over my body, rippling in tricolor flame from my head to my toes as I fix the Winter King with a furious scowl. “If I hear one more asinine comment from you—one more—I will leap over this table and tear out your throat with my teeth.”
He opens his mouth, and I expect his high-pitched imitation to follow. Yet, to my surprise, he says nothing. His lips curl at the corner of his muzzle in a canine smirk…but he doesn’t speak.
I return my attention to the others, waving my hand across the table. “The same goes for the rest of you.”
Aspen snickers at my side and Nyxia struggles to hide her grin behind an air of boredom.
I extinguish my flames. “The Parvanovae comes in three days. It is set to strike just beyond the wall in Faerwyvae. One of the retreating warships will be turning course, if it hasn’t already. It will then dock at Port Denyson, and the army will take the bomb north to the wall. If my intel is correct, the Parvanovae will be transported by an armored weaponized vehicle called a tank.”
