Gods. It hadn’t occurred to her that Dornar was the problem, not her. Even when Mathos had told her not to take the blame for other people’s actions, she still hadn’t quite believed it. But now, she finally could see that he was right.
Even more stunningly, she could ask for help. She could find people who she could trust, who would genuinely, honestly support her.
Matt had promised to protect her, and he had. Tor had promised to come back with help, and he had. They had promised to let her choose whether to be queen or not, and here were Alanna and Nim, offering her that choice. For the first time, she started to see how she could realistically take the crown.
Perhaps the Hawks could stay with her and help. Give her advice. They wouldn’t expect her to know everything on the first day. And then Matt could stay too. That would be enough. That would be the adventure that she always wanted. And the kingdom would avoid another war.
Nim smiled. “It’ll be okay.”
She let out a slightly hysterical snort as the thought settled. It would be okay. Gods. It would be okay.
She suddenly felt shaky, as if she’d run a long race and now had nothing left. Too many days with little or no food, on the run, always anxious and looking for Dornar and his men. Not enough sleep. The joy and thrill of being with Matt, now followed by the anxiety of this strange inquisition by his friends. Facing them alone and admitting her fears.
The door opened, and two tall, fiery-haired men strode into the small cabin, both straight-backed and intimidating. Tristan stood and gestured toward them. “Your Majesty, these are Haniel and Rafael, the Nephilim Master Healer and Supreme Justice of the Truth from the Temple at Eshcol. They very kindly provided us with this ship.”
She gave them her practiced smile and thanked them politely. But she wasn’t concentrating on them, she was concentrating on Mathos striding in behind them, finally. Thank the gods.
Without thinking, she stood, planning to go to him. Wanting to be near him. Wanting his support and belief in her.
But she stood too quickly, just as the ship rocked beneath her, and the blood rushed from her head. Her vision went fuzzy as her palms grew damp, and she put out a hand, reaching blindly for the desk. Someone took it and helped her back into her seat, guiding her to lean forward.
“What the fuck is happening here?” Matt sounded outraged.
She held her hand over her eyes as her vision slowly cleared, utterly mortified. “Don’t worry, Matt, I just felt dizzy for a moment. I think I stood up too fast.”
“Not you, Lucy.” There was a rumbling growl beneath his words. “I’m talking to Tristan.”
Lucilla lifted her hand to see Matt fold his arms across his chest, his scales flickering belligerently as he faced his captain. “We’ve spent days on the run. Can’t you see that she’s exhausted? Why are you interrogating her before you’ve even given her any food? You were supposed to look after her, for fuck’s sake.”
Tristan rumbled next to her, and it occurred to Lucilla that she was caught between two Tarasque warriors. Both with powerful, primal beasts.
Just a few weeks before, she would have been terrified. But not anymore. Now she knew that they were strong, honorable men. That being a monster had nothing to do with having a beast. Her brother was proof of that. And she knew that Matt would never hurt her, no matter what.
“This was not an interrogation—” Tristan started.
Lucilla snorted. It had damn well felt like an interrogation. And then immediately regretted her response when Matt’s glare grew even icier.
Nim stood up and put a hand on each man’s shoulder, forcing them to look at her. “This is not an interrogation. Although”—she shot a conciliatory grin back at Lucilla—“it probably felt that way. I’m sorry. And I agree, the queen needs to rest. But first, we need to know which direction to sail in—east or west?”
“What do you mean?” Lucilla asked, hoping to help Nim defuse the situation.
“We need to leave as soon as the tide changes. We took all the back routes and avoided the soldiers stationed in the town, but they’ve seen the ship…. We’ve already had a boatload of Blues trying to board,” Tristan answered. “Cassiel sent them away, but as soon as they report to Dornar, he’ll know it’s us. You need to make a decision. We can go west, follow the river up to Glevum and from there overland to the Nephilim Temple at Eshcol, where you can spend some time thinking about what you want to do—”
“Or?” She looked at Mathos, hoping for a clue, but he was watching Tristan as closely as she was.
“Or we can turn east. We can follow the coastline, pass Brichtelmas and continue around the eastern cape, then north to the Tamasa river estuary. We can be in Kaerlud by the day after tomorrow.”
“Why Kaerlud?” she asked slowly, fairly sure she wasn’t ready for the answer.
“Dornar is looking for you, but he’s made a mistake—he’s told the council that you’re coming.” Tristan’s lip twitched. Given how stern he seemed, it was almost gleeful. “If you get there first, you can walk in and simply take the throne.”
Lucilla blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Everything we’ve done so far has been focused on avoiding a war.” He gestured toward Mathos and Tor. “We hoped to find you before anyone else could and then spirit you away to consolidate our plans. We knew that if we marched down with the might of the Nephilim Clibanarii behind us, it could force the council’s hand and, in the worst case, trigger the exact kind of brutal civil war we are trying to prevent. A civil war, not just between different noble houses, but between the council, made up mostly of Apollyon, and the Nephilim—between the crown and the courts—with the rest of the kingdom caught in the middle.”
He gave her a long look. “But, while we were lying low, Dornar went the other way. He assembled an army with the backing of the council, and he did it under your name.”
“In my name? What does that mean?” Lucilla asked weakly.
