“Ballistae,” he said. “Crossbows strong enough to spear the hull of a ship. Zeporah’s been moving them into Rhidian by night. Every bit purchased from Tyra.”
Gabriel’s hand stilled around his mug.
“Why would she do that? That’s a direct slight against Elváliev.”
Amerei answered without pause.
“Because Zeporah never makes an alliance she hasn’t already marked for ruin. She’s done it before—the tradesmen last year, the Halyon border years before that. Even Aerdania’s seaport still lives under her shadow.”
Gabriel’s jaw hardened, the lamplight catching sharp across his cheek.
“She’s preparing for something big.”
“Dragons,” Evander said at once, the word weighted.
Viktor inclined his head.
“Storne believes she called them out of Oustinon herself.”
Gabriel leaned forward, incredulous.
“Why summon them only to try to destroy them?”
Amerei’s eyes darkened, voice a whisper that seemed to cling to the smoke above their table. “Because she fears what she’s awakened.”
Gabriel let out a short, disbelieving breath, and seized his mug. “I’m going to need this.”
Amerei dragged a finger over the rim of her glass, gaze distant.
“Why not turn to the elves? Elváliev still keeps relics—plans, templates. The Bloodforge gave them more than enough to work from.”
“Unless,” Gabriel cut in, “she doesn’t want Elváliev prepared.”
Evander’s hand tightened on the table edge. “She wants another war?”
“No.” Amerei shook her head slowly. “She wants the glory without the cost. At Elváliev’s expense.” Her voice cooled, her words deliberate. “Zeporah doesn’t care if she can master the monsters she’s unleashed. She’ll either crown herself queen of an age of dragons…” She lifted her cup, eyes hard. “…or play savior when the world burns.”
Viktor leaned back, the shadows swallowing half his face.
“Storne doesn’t mean to wait and find out. He wants names—nobles in Elváliev already close to Zeporah. If she falls, they must fall with her.”
Gabriel’s mouth twisted.
“Most wear loyalty like a mask, but three… three are rotten to the bone. No one will question it if they’re named.”
He dragged a bit of charcoal across the scarred wood of the table, scrawling quick strokes—three names that bled into the grain.
“These ones. All guilty of worse than treason.”
Evander bent over the marks, voice edged with disbelief.
“And what, we pin the queen’s dealings on them? Call them conspirators?”
Viktor’s eyes stayed on Amerei.
“A shipment comes at midnight. Ballistae. Storne’s men will seize it before it ever reaches Vykenra. But it has to look like Zeporah planned it with allies in Elváliev.”
The word hung heavy between them.
