The mercenary had missed Elkona’s heart, but only just.
We’d joined Auma in the apothecary’s quarters, where she sat beside her sister’s bed, grim-faced and with all the coalesced tension of a storm ready to break. Her shirt was stained red with the mercenary’s blood. Apparently, she’d cut him down a second too late.
Elko was pale, her face wrought with pain even in her sleep.
Kiva rubbed Auma’s back, the motions gentle. Whatever distance had grown between them when she’d learned of Auma’s deception, it was gone now.
Ericen had stayed under guard, though I’d convinced them to put him in a spare bedroom rather than back in the cells. Or rather, I’d ordered them to, and, surprisingly, they’d listened.
“Can you heal her?” Auma asked hoarsely.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Res’s sun crow powers aren’t as strong as his others. He should be able to help, but he won’t be able to restore her entirely.”
A soft golden light rose from Res’s feathers. It flickered as he struggled to maintain the power. He bowed his head over Elko’s wound, letting the light wash over her.
When he stepped back, Auma adjusted the bandages carefully on Elko’s shoulder, revealing a wound that looked days old. A more experienced sun crow would be able to restore Elko’s lost blood and knit muscle and blood vessels back together, but with Res’s help, she’d live.
I shook my head, standing so quickly, I knocked my chair back. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
“What are you talking about?” Kiva stood too, her expression clouding.
“Onis betrayed us,” I told her. “He told Razel about the alliance, and now the rebels in Ira are dead.”
Auma’s head snapped up.
I kept talking, knowing if I stopped, I’d never say the words. “He must have told her the Jin princess was in Eselin too. And the mercenaries, they came through the road.”
“Slow down, Thia.” Kiva placed a hand on my shoulder. “What in the Saints’ name are you talking about? What road?”
Taking a deep breath, I told them everything.
* * *
By the time I’d finished explaining, Auma’s expression had grown so grim, Kiva suggested I give her some space. I immediately sent a message to Queen Luhara and King Galren asking for an audience. Everyone needed to know what had happened.
Then I found my way back to my bed and climbed under the covers, shutting the world out. Res lay down beside the bed, one wing draped over me in comfort and protection, and in the darkness of my cocoon, I wept.
Samra’s crew was gone. The Jin rebels were dead or captured. The murderous Sellas were free, and they were working with Razel to destroy my family, to destroy Res.
After all the work I’d done, after all the alliances I’d forged, none of it mattered.
We were hopelessly outmatched.
We could not win this war.
A dark cloud enveloped me, that familiar weight hanging a chain across my shoulders and about my neck, drawing tighter with each breath.
When my bedroom door opened, I didn’t know how much time had passed since it’d closed. I recognized Kiva’s steady stride and the clap of Sinvarra against her hip, but I didn’t want to face her.
Res trilled softly, and then the covers were jerked off, flooding my eyes with light. I peered up at Kiva, her face a hard, pained mask.
“You’re mad,” I croaked.
“You’re short,” she replied. I blinked, and her brow rose. “Sorry, I thought we were stating the obvious.”
I winced but clung to the opening she gave me. “I’m not short. You’re just tall. And mad.”
“And hungry. But there’s a short, girl-shaped problem between me and the kitchen.”
