“Kneel!” he suddenly calls out to his compatriots—maybe even to the whole army. “Kneel before the Queen and King of Thalyria!”
Hearing our intended titles ring out like that is a shock to my system, and my pulse leaps into action.
He kneels and then bows so low that his forehead touches the ground. The whole encampment goes incredibly silent. It’s a big space with a lot of people, and yet there’s not a whisper of sound.
And then every last soldier—Fisan, Tarvan, and Sintan—drops with a creaking of leather and the thud of knees on dirt.
Good Gods. Fire and ice shoot through me at the same time, and my poor heart just stops. It doesn’t know how to react any more than I do.
Only Beta Team is still standing. I see Bellanca now that everyone else is down, still fire-bright, one hand on her hip, and packing enough attitude to make Olympus shudder.
Griffin looks to me to speak. I clear my throat.
“Rise!” I say, because this is just too weird.Um…“And continue!”
All these people are showing us deference. I’m pretty sure I need to add something good, something motivating.
Damn it!Nothing comes to mind.
The army slowly rises. No one dares disobey me, but nobody really moves, either.
“Good work here. We’re impressed.” Griffin nods all around. I nod, too, feeling wholly inadequate with my awkward smile and bobbing head.
“Carry on, soldiers!” Griffin’s simple order in his commanding, brook-no-argument, I-conquered-realms voice fills the hole left by my silence and my utter lack of leadership skills. Thank the Gods we’re a team.
It’s like a spell breaks, and everyone breathes again, including me. No one really goes back to what they were doing before, though. They mostly keep watching us like we’re riding a rainbow from inside a sparkling golden chariot drawn by Pegasus.Gods, the pressure.Griffin seems fine with it, but I feel like ants are crawling up and down the back of my neck.
Smiling, Griffin claps his brother on the back. “Carver.”
Carver claps Griffin back, flashing us both a genuine smile—the first I’ve seen in what feels like months. His face is even leaner than before, like he’s been training too hard and not eating enough, and his eyes are slightly bloodshot. He hasn’t shaved in days, and his hair looks like it could use a thorough wash, but he still looks better than he did when we left.
Caught by impulse, I rock up on my toes and plant a kiss on his scruffy cheek.
Carver’s eyebrows fly up, his gray eyes lighting in surprise. “I knew you’d wise up and choose the better brother one of these days.”
I laugh. “You want to be the King?”
Grimacing, he scratches the back of his neck. “Hmm… Forget that. Griffin can have you.”
Griffin snorts. Kato and Flynn chuckle, and it feels so good to have the group back together again that my cheeks start to hurt from smiling.
After catching up with Carver about the almost daily influx of Fisan volunteers, I’m ready to get out of the sun and rest, but I can’t help noticing that the man Carver was sparring with is still looking at me. And not just looking.Staring. He’s close enough to start making me uncomfortable. Not because I feel threatened—far from it—but because he gazes at me like I’m the sun, the stars, and the moon—maybe the whole damn sky. And that’s even worse.
“My Queen.” He addresses me directly when I really look back at him, his voice a rasping whisper. His hand trembles as he drags the sorriest-looking bunch of dried flowers I’ve ever seen out of his breast pocket and then holds them out to me.
Okaaaaay…
Stepping toward me, he says, “I prayed every day for your safe return.”
Guilt sinks sharp claws into all my softest places, and it turns out there are plenty. I ran away. I left Fisa. I let him down, failed him for years—this person, and so many others.
The abysmal bouquet of small meadow flowers stays outstretched between us. His hand still quakes. His voice strengthens, though. “Your sister was kind and generous, but I always knew it would be you.”
What?The blood washes from my head so fast I feel queasy. Is he another oracular soul? Someone who knew my fate before I did?
No. He’s Hoi Polloi. Otherwise, I’d feel his magic.
Something about the way he’s holding out the flowers and willing me to take them plucks at a memory. It only takes a second for it to punch me in the heart, and a long-ago day of hard-won freedom comes rushing back.
