The words didn’t drip sarcasm, as they might if someone else had delivered them, but an eyebrow twitch promised Jhiton wasn’t predisposed to be receptive. Vorik doubted anyone else would be either, but he set his shoulders, picked up his bag, and walked into the cave after Warrim.
More than a hundred sets of eyes—young, old, and all ages in between—looked at Vorik as he ducked past the stalactites in the entrance and stepped inside, the air heavy with the scent of burning wood and roasting meat. Some of those eyes were confused, some were disapproving, and a few were outright hostile.
Chieftess Shi stood with Chiefs Tenilor, Foxlon, and Velesh, as well as Chieftess Marvola and General Amalia of the Storm Guard. They were all in the back of the cave, their arms folded over their chests as they glared at him, and Vorik second-guessed his decision to return. The only good thing was that Lesva wasn’t there, at least not yet. He didn’t see anyone from her Moonhunt Tribe. But it might not matter. Nobody else was happy with him, and the chiefs looked like they might order all the riders and fighters in the camp to attack him at any second. And then there was Jhiton.
Jhiton leaned his shoulder against the cave wall and didn’t look like he would offer any support. That was fair—honestly, Vorik was surprised his brother’s gaze wasn’t more hostile—but it made him feel entirely alone.
Why were he and Syla doing this? Her people were trying to kill her, and his appeared to be on the verge of adopting the same stance toward him. Why hadn’t they instead flown off on their dragons together and left the Kingdom and stormers to figure things out on their own?
A boy with a ball near the front of the cave shifted, his eyes curious and concerned.
Vorik sighed. That was why he had to make this effort. For innocent people and for the future. And because he felt his duty and obligations keenly. He and Syla cared. They couldn’t give up. Either of them.
“Why have you returned, Vorik?” Chieftess Shi asked, her gray-blonde hair drawn back in a tight braid that made herlean face more severe. “You made your position clear when you disobeyed orders, joined ourenemy, and attacked our people.” She extended her hand toward Jhiton. “Your ownbrother. Does his life mean nothing to you? You were willing to trade it for an enemy female who cares nothing for our people.”
Vorik bristled, tempted to defend Syla, but that would only make everyone angrier with him. “My brother’s life means a lot to me,” he said instead, “and I’m relieved that he survived the mine collapse.”
“And the sword in the gut,” Jhiton murmured.
Yes, that was the greater betrayal. Vorik had done that with his own hand.
“I apologize for that, Jhiton.” Vorik spoke loudly enough that everyone could hear. He couldn’t be defensive here or people would resent him. He had to be humble and apologize, and it wasn’t hard. He felt he was in the wrong, at least when it came to Jhiton. “In the heat of battle, decisions were made— No,Imade a decision that I regret.” If Syla had been with her aunt and Jhiton had intended to attack her, Vorik wouldn’t have any regrets, but, in hindsight, he wouldn’t have made the choice again to stop his brother for the aunt’s sake.Especiallysince she’d been in the process of sabotaging the mine. By the gods, if he’d had another minute more to figure that out and confirm that Syla hadn’t been in the area, Vorik might have gone after Tibby himself. “I shouldn’t have attacked you. I never meant to strike a fatal blow.”
Vorik lowered his gaze toward Jhiton’s abdomen, still surprised thathadn’tbeen a fatal blow, especially since Jhiton had been buried afterward. How had he survived? And gotten out of the mine before it flooded?
“I was as surprised as you that you could land one,” Jhiton said dryly. “You’ve been practicing.”
Vorik’s throat swelled with emotion at hearing the customary dryness. “My older brother told me to.”
“Your transgression isnotforgiven.” Shi frowned at Jhiton, as if irritated he wasn’t railing.
“Whyhaveyou returned, Vorik?” General Amalia asked as two of the chiefs conferred behind her.
The whispered word, “Exile,” floated to Vorik’s ears.
“Because…” Nervous, Vorik licked his lips and looked around the cave, at all the gazes upon him. “Because we—our people—have gone down the wrong path. We’ve made a mistake. We thought the gardeners were soft, that they would be an easy target. If we could get past their shields, we could easily destroy them or… even take them over and enslave them.” Eyebrows twitching, Vorik looked at Chief Tenilor, but he didn’t pause, not wanting to be interrupted. “Maybe deep down, we thought that because they’ve been protected for so long and don’t have to survive what we have to that they don’t deserve what they have. We’re better than they are.Weshould have those islands, right? But their people have been crafty. They’ve repelled us. I don’t have to tell you that we’ve suffered great losses. I believe that if we continue down this path—that if we keep underestimating them while overestimating ourselves and assuming we’re better—we will lose.”
Power flared in Jhiton, and his hand twitched toward one of his swords.
Vorik only saw it out of the corner of his eye, but, for a moment, there was something strange and unfamiliar about his brother, something far different from the calm familiarity of seconds before. Anger and raw power emanated from him.
When Vorik looked squarely at his brother, the unfamiliar power seemed to vanish. Jhiton appeared normal, his hand by his side, not on the hilt of a sword. It was as if Vorik had imagined the brief change.
“Your faith in our people’s abilities is inspiring,” Shi said, then looked back at the two chiefs who’d been discussing casting him out and nodded.
Vorik pushed aside concerns about his brother and continued before they could make his exile formal.
“To choose an unmarked and unknown path only to learn later that it was a mistake is understandable,” Vorik said. “Only the gods have the foresight to see the future and know which routes are wise to take and which are not. But once you know you’re on the wrong path, one that will lead to devastation, if you continue down it just because you’ve spent a lot of time and effort to do so already, then it’s stupidity.” Vorik lifted his chin. “We must abandon our course of action—this war with the gardeners—and choose a new path forward, one that can gain us the prosperity that we seek but that won’t kill any more of our people.”
For the first time, murmurs broke out in the cave. Vorik didn’t yet know all who’d died in the mine—and had more stormers been killed when those boats had been sucked under the lake?—but he suspected most people here had lost kin.
“Is yourqueenpromising you that?” Shi sneered.
“She’s promised me nothing, but I know she’s flexible and open to alliances, more so than her predecessors. Even though we’ve lost people to the Kingdom, and they have—she has—suffered great losses to us, the queen doesn’t want an eternal war. She doesn’t want more death on either side. You should realize that.” Vorik pointed at Shi and Tenilor. “She invited you to negotiate on behalf of our peoples, but we chose treachery instead of accepting that invitation in good faith. Even so, she’sstillwilling to negotiate. I say we explore that path. It would be folly to remain set on a route that’s thus far brought only suffering and loss.”
“We got some fruit,” a boy whispered. “Pears and apples, and they weresogood.”
The kid with the ball elbowed him. “But you lost your uncle. And Jahkim’s leg is broken and he can’t play.”
