We don’t need to workwiththe Vanzadorians, Rowenna snaps.We need to cut them out, like a malignant tumor.
A malignant tumor Tashir needs to survive, I remind her.
Not if you find the stones of blood, flesh, bone.
I don’t have a seeds-forsaken clue where to find them, I silently shout.And there’s more than one solution to every problem. Maybe we don’t need to bring the entire mountain down to save Tashir.
We do, Rowenna maintains—as confident and unrelenting as ever, and I can’t take it anymore.
Why do you always do this?I snap.
Do what?
Pop up out of nowhere and make me doubt my decisions as soon as I find a bit of footing.
Several silent seconds pass before Ro says in a wounded voice,Have you considered that I ‘pop up out for nowhere’ because your ‘footing’ is crumbling? But I’ll stay quiet if you’d prefer I let you fall.
And maybe that’s the problem. Letting Delphine and Elodie—and even Alaric—in doesn’t feel like falling but rather like being lifted up.
If that’s how you feel, I won’t bother you anymore, Rowenna’s voice is rough and ragged.You clearly don’t need me.
She waits for me to recant and beg her to stay, but I don’t. Because she’s right. Idon’tneed her voice in my head anymore. I’ve found my own way to navigate life on this mountain, and just because it isn’t how Ro handled things, doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It doesn’t mean I can’t lead Tashir just aseffectively on my own terms. Maybe I never needed her guidance as much as I thought I did. Certainly not as much as she wanted me to believe.
Rowenna gasps, like I physically struck her, and vanishes in a huff.
Instead of guilt, though, I feel an immediate flood of relief. An intoxicating sense of freedom.
“Well?” I turn back to Alaric. “Will you give me a stake in your silver ore in exchange for cultivating the moss?”
“How large a stake?” he asks.
“Sixty percent—but only of the excess you gain through mining what was used for light,” I remind him when his eyes narrow.
“Forty,” he counters.
“Fifty is as low as I’ll go. It’s the least I deserve, considering you’d havenoneof the silver ore you use for light without my help.”
“Fine.” Alaric agrees. “Light my tunnels with your moss, and you can have half of the additional output. Purchase donkeys and wagons to your heart’s content.”
The way he saysdonkeysandwagonsmakes them sound so frivolous. Like something as trivial as his courtiers’ lavish gowns rather than essential supplies that will literally ensure my people survive the winter.
Not to mention it will help his people too.
“You do realize that by providing for the basic needs ofmypeople, we will have more time and energy to devote to producing bagrava foryou?” I point out. “Though I still can’t fathom why you need so much if it’s truly only used fortea.”
I expect Alaric to come back with a wagonload of excuses, but he silently traces his fingertips through the lustrous moss. “I honestly don’t know why we need so much bagrava,” he admits. “Or why my father keeps demanding larger tributes.”
“You’re the crown prince. How could you not know?”
Alaric’s shoulders hitch up. “I’ve never enjoyed drinking Mother’s foul-smelling tea, and I’m always so consumed with my work in the mines. It’s possible I’ve missed something. But I promise to look into itnow. If my father is hoarding or misusing your bagrava in any way, I’ll put an end to it.”
Despite our very different motivations and goals, I genuinely believe he will.
“Thank you,” I say, “for bringing me here and showing me all of this. All ofyou,” I add in a breathy whisper. I step closer to Alaric, unable to stop my hand from rising toward his face. I fully expect him to stiffen and lurch back, but to my surprise, he leans in, eyelids fluttering closed as my fingertips glide across his cheekbone
Behind us, a gravelly voice coughs. “I hope we’re not interrupting.”
I shriek and clutch my hands to my chest.
