“There had been no time,” she said, because to say more would be to paint excuses.
Zuma’s chest heaved with his deep breaths. “I came to the city when word reached us of your impending marriage to Prince Eldrik,” he said slowly, measuring her like a tide. “Then we learned the Shadow claimed you at the altar.”
“I will be claimed by none I have not chosen,” Alora said, voice firm.
His expression tightened. “I thought as much, so I assumed you had surely perished in the hollow mountain. For death would have been the only reason you would abandon your people when they needed you most.”
The accusation landed like a barb.
For a moment Alora tasted salt of shame. She thought of the throne room in stained in her father’s blood, faces of people who had fought for them reduced to lines on a map she could no longer trace.
She pushed the feeling down with a deep breath. “The last thing I would do is abandon them, Lord Zuma. Tell me what you know of Argyle.”
He answered without softness.
Food was scarce, grain reserved first to Calveron soldiers. Villages had been emptied, then burned when her people resisted. The sleeping sickness crawled through the towns,silencing families in their beds, leaving stilled breaths and untended hearths. His herd had lost calves. He named a slaughter at a riverside village where men had fought against their new monarchs and perished.
A cold fist closed around Alora’s heart. Her throat tightened until it hurt. Her people had starved or been killed while she had been trapped and paraded. Her fingers curled into fists.
“I will see Argyle restored,” Alora said. “Eldrik holds the kingdom while we are weak, our people divided and sleeping. Once the curse is broken, we will have the numbers to fight back. And mark my words, Iwillbreak it. No matter the price.”
Lord Zuma studied her warily. “How do you intend to do that?”
“I must see Lady Zinnia first.”
Zuma’s brow furrowed. “That may be unwise, Princess. The kingdom crawls with Calveron soldiers searching for you. Eldrik still seeks your hand. He cannot cross into Karag Dûr, but his emissaries are in the Midlands, keeping the Thornbearer company.”
Her chest tightened at the image. A political hostage wrapped in polite manners. The place that should have been refuge had become a gameboard where she was now the prize.
But Alora already knew this was where her path lied.
“The Midlands is where I must go if there is any hope of reclaiming our home.” The wind tousled her hair as she looked to the western hills. “There is where I find answers in breaking this Sleeping Curse, but I cannot do it alone.” She looked back at the stoic Minotaur. “Help me, Lord Zuma. Help me reclaim the throne and when Argyle is restored, so too shall you and yours.”
A low murmur ran through the camp, uncertain and full of doubt.
Lord Zuma held her gaze like a stone held against wind. “I am inclined to believe you, Princess, but one cannot promise whatis not within their power to give. Even if you should wake your people, with what power do you hope to contend with the might of Calveron?”
Alora let her cloak completely fall away, exposing the faint glow that threaded her skin. A hush passed through the gathered Minotaurs.
“Withmypower,” she said. “And I intend to fight with everything I have.”
She had seen first-hand the repercussions of war. Fighting meant loss. Fighting meant blood in the mud and songless nights. Lives would pay the cost for hope.
To fight was to choose the terms of any end. To choose, finally, not to be trodden beneath the heel of another’s boot.
That was worth fighting for, too.
“If I live,” Alora added, because she had to name the risk, “I see that your kin have a true home. Not a barren ridge, but a place where you will be sheltered and never cast aside again.”
Zuma regarded her with a long look. “I have heard those words before.”
Alora held his gaze. “You have my vow.”
The air shimmered silver as if the world itself had heard her promise.
A hush fell over the camp.
Alora stood there, heart pounding as she stared at the soft light pulsing beneath her skin. She had felt it when the words left her lips. A deep resolute spell binding her to her promise.
