It was too hard to answer. But I felt his hand a second before it landed on my shoulder. The other carefully took the crystal from my hand, lifting it into his own.
I closed my eyes, listening to Arran’s voice. Letting its warmth sink into me. “Gwen?”
Nothing.
Either Gwen was not receptive to any of our messages, she did not have the crystal, or she did not know how to use it. So close to having that connection. To knowing those I cared for were safe. And yet, nothing came of it.
Who knew what havoc Igraine was wreaking in the goldstone palace?
My eyes were still closed, Arran’s hand still on my shoulder, but there was movement. The scuffing of boots. Light, slippered steps. Then stillness.
When I opened my eyes, they were arrayed in a half circle around me and Arran. Lyrena and Cyara, of course. But also Osheen and Isolde. Diana and Percival stood, backs to the wall. Still prisoners, but not quite. Helpful, but dangerous. Complicated. Like everything in my life.
Everything except the allegiance of the four warriors before me.
It was Osheen who spoke. Even, steady Osheen. “What would you have us do, Majesty?”
Slowly, so slowly, I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to look at each of them in turn before I spoke. “We must find Accolon’s stronghold, and whatever records are there. It is the best lead we have regarding the succubus. We move forward with the spell.” When I looked at Diana, she was no longer trembling. Small mercies. “How long do you need?”
“I can be ready tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
I could have kissed Arran when he spoke next, saving me from having to form any more coherent words. “How long has it been since you first sent word to Baylaur and Cayltay?”
Cyara answered for me. “Nearly four weeks.”
He released my shoulder, taking a few steps toward the window. It was too dark to see across the lake, but his eyes were far off anyway, doing the calculations. “It is still feasible that word is coming from Baylaur within the next week. But the council at Cayltay should have responded.”
This was the Arran I needed. The experienced battle commander, cool and calculated.
“There is a forge at Cayltay. We go assure their allegiance, and solidify the supply lines for the amorite so we can beginmaking weapons. We will need to muster the terrestrial forces from the army camps.”
No.
Not that.
I was thankful he was no longer touching me. I did not know what I would have done. “That sounds like we are preparing for war.”
That could not happen.
I needed Arran to help us avoid a war, not start one.
He did not sigh—no, he’d never be as demonstrative as that. He turned from the window without a hint of emotion. “This will be a war, Veyka.”
Mere minutes ago, he’d been hesitant to disagree with me. Then this. He did not understand. He did not understand me. This was not Arran—not my Arran.
I stepped forward, hands at my sides. No need to put them on my hips, not for this challenge. I was not posturing. “What, then, is the point of the spell, of searching out Accolon and Nimue’s secrets?”
Arran squared his shoulders, facing me fully. “Even if the spell is successful, that does not mean it will lead to a way to banish the succubus.”
“They did it before, to end the Great War. There must be a way to do it again.”
“What if it is too late?”
“Too late for what? Too late for who?” My voice was rising. The void howled in my veins. There were no tears this time—only rage. “What about the males that will be taken by the succubus, who will murder their friends and families, while we use the amorite for weapons, instead? Too late for them?”
Our companions said nothing. Did nothing. What could they, how could they, when this was Arran and I, against each other.
