They didn’t have time for that.
She pulled slightly away and locked her eyes with his. His energy constricted. The furrow between his brow hinted at a worry he was desperate to voice. Did it have something to do with what Valorre had mentioned?
“What is it?” she asked.
He framed her face with his hands as if he couldn’t bear to release her. His throat bobbed. Once. Twice. His voice came out strained. “I…I need to tell you something. Something I’ve done. My means were questionable, but I think it can help us.”
“I’ll listen,” she whispered back. “Afterward, I have something to tell you too. I have a plan. Or…the beginnings of one. It might make the Elvyn hate me, but it’s the only way to truly protect the people of Lela.”
Conviction flared in her chest. She knew what she had to do.
Darius may have been wrong about her in many ways. They were nothing alike. Freeing her darkness hadn’t filled her with hatred. Bitterness didn’t compromise her ability to love.
But he’d been right about one thing.
Lela belonged to her.
48
For the first time in Mareleau’s life, there was such a thing as too many sweets. And too many gifts. They filled nearly every surface of her bedroom, from the dressing table to the nightstand and a good portion of the floor. Two marble dress forms boasted bejeweled robes in the Elvyn fashion, which were so heavy and ornate they had to be hauled in by a trio of servants. Decanters of wine, kettles of tea, and plates upon plates of desserts and confections in bold flavors unlike anything she’d tasted were clustered upon the tea table.
After the tribunal’s begrudging acceptance of her, she hadn’t expected much from her interactions with the Elvyn people, but within an hour, visitors had begun to call. It turned out not everyone was as curmudgeonly as those who’d attended the meeting. Thanks to the translation charm on the bracelet Fanon had given her and Cora, she could easily communicate with them. Her servants and palace staff rarely said much other than to pay their respects, but they always bowed at the waist or bent at the knee in her presence.
Edel Morkara’Elle.
She’d heard that title so many times since the meeting ended.
Perhaps being the mother of the Morkara wasn’t too much of a step down from being queen. It certainly came with perks.
And a very full belly.
Yet as full as she was, she was completely unsatisfied. How could she be content when the future was so unclear? Would Ailan keep the tear open long enough to allow Mareleau and Larylis to live out their lives in the human world with their son? And if not, would Mareleau learn to consider this place her home? Would the Elvyn accept Larylis? What would happen to Vera? Who would take care of her kingdom?
She hated those questions, and she likely wouldn’t get answers any time soon. They had a war to win, an enemy to kill.
Meanwhile, all she could do was sit in her pretty room and gorge herself on Elvyn sweets.
That and protect her son, of course.
She stared down at Noah with a grin. He lay beside her at the center of a cushioned velvet mat on the floor, staring at the glittering, swaying mobile—a gift from one of his new Elvyn admirers, of course. He was starting to look less like a wrinkled old man and more like a chubby baby. How old was he now? Just over two weeks? It had been so hard to keep track of time, especially when trying to track the passage of days in the human world too. Were she at home without war on the horizon, she’d have celebrated each week since his birth, marked each milestone with gifts and cake.
Gifts and cake were all around them now, but it wasn’t for quite the same reason.
Bitterness sank her chest, edged with impatience. She hated feeling useless. Hated waiting. Hated being surrounded by luxury yet impoverished at heart.
Maybe…
If she could only…
She scooted closer to Noah and extended her hands, palms toward him. Closing her eyes, she tried to sense a tingling buzz of magic, tried to feel a ripple of some hidden strength. Instead, she felt nothing. Yet…wasn’t she going about this wrong in the first place? She was—supposedly—claircognizant, not clairsentient. Her sensory affinity was keen knowing, but here she was trying tofeellike Cora could.
How could she truly protect her son and make her magic count if she didn’t know how to make proper use of her abilities? Clenching her jaw, she opened her eyes. Noah’s gaze was on her hands now as he gummed his tiny fist.
Her heart melted at the sight, taking the edge off her annoyance. “I just wish I could protect you.”
If she could at least cast a protective ward around him, she’d feel useful. Salinda had helped her understand her magic when they’d spoken in her tent, but she hadn’t taught her how to use that understanding for what Mareleau wanted to do most. It was hard to take her magic seriously when she hadn’t a clue how to accomplish her goals.
She adopted a playful tone and wiggled her fingers. “You, little Noah, are hereby protected. No? Nothing? Huh.”
