But my stomach twists again as I think of the information that’s left to share. “Panthera.” Ivan’s fingers grip the armrests, but he doesn’t say anything. “We were able to rescue the hybrid that was set for execution. We also…” I trail off, struggling with how to share the other part of our rescue. “Have you ever heard of Squall’s End?”
Ivan stares at me blankly. “No, I don’t think I have. It doesn’t sound familiar. Why?”
“What do you know of the Lower Houses?” I ask.
His eyebrows knit together. “They encompass the remainder of the woodland creatures—squirrels, chipmunks, birds, rabbits, and other Lower hybrids. None of them have ever been considered a formal House, but they were governed by the High Court as Lower Houses. They petitioned to be removed from the High Court’s rules…well, generations ago, and have been governing themselves ever since,” he says. “Why? What’s going on?”
“The Lower Houses are involved in something called the resistance,” I say, the word feeling difficult to form on my tongue. A new kind of guilt twists in my gut as I think about the need for a resistance to form under my throne. That there are injustices and inequities throughout the kingdom that I didn’t know existed—or that the Crown turned a blind eye to—me, included.
“A resistance?” Ivan asks.
I nod slowly as I think through how best to share the next part of the news.The princess you all thought was dead is actually alive. Surprise!
Across the circle, Asmo catches my gaze and offers me an encouraging nod. I fill my lungs and blurt, “Etta is alive, and she’s leading it.”
Cally gasps, Luca’s posture goes rigid, and Ivan stares at me silently before turning to Holly. “Etta is…alive?” His voice is a whisper, but it cracks nonetheless.
Holly’s features soften as she dips her head in confirmation. Ivan’s face pales, and he runs his hands through his gray hair.
“And the Fae are back,” I add lamely. It’s another huge revelation, but not as big as learning Etta is alive.
I can feel Cally’s stare boring into my profile. I twist my hands in my lap as I consider the next bit of news I have to drop. The deal I made.
The fire crackles in the stone hearth, embers popping and wood settling. The silence that descends upon us is heavy, fraught with unasked questions.
What does this mean for us? What do we do next? How is Etta still alive?
“What do you mean, a resistance?” Luca’s voice is gruff.
I recount the last several hours, Holly filling in when necessary. Asmo remains a silent observer throughout, gaze mostly locked on Luca.
Ivan leans back in his chair, a deep sigh coming from some part of him that I’m sure is bone tired. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He steeples his handstogether as he processes the news. “Etta is alive, the Fae are back, and the Lower Houses have formed a resistance. So, now what?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Here goes nothing.
“Etta and I made a deal,” I say cautiously. Ivan’s gaze instantly narrows. “She has agreed to help us fight the witches with Canis and Ursidae. We will have the power of the Lower Houses and the Fae to attack Marik and Cora.”
Ivan raises a single eyebrow. “And what do we have to do in return?”
“If we are successful in defeating Marik, I promised to remake the throne with her,” I say.
Holly clears her throat, looking at me expectantly. She tilts her head.
“And we have to help them rescue the prisoners that are set to be executed,” I add hurriedly. “I’m not asking for your permission, though. This is what’s going to happen. I would like your help with planning this. If you do not agree, you can leave,” I say, but I feel like I might pass out. My head feels too light and my palms are sweaty.
To my surprise, Luca doesn’t get up and walk out the door.
“Good,” I say. I place my hands on the armrests of the chair and stand, my gaze traveling over each of them. “We return tomorrow morning before first light.”
I’m getting ready for bed when the knock on the door comes. Probably Asmo checking to see if I’m decent before he comes in to grab something. Although we’ve been sharing the room, he always comes to bed after me and wakes long before me. He’s made no attempt to recreate what happened between us the other night at the inn. Sometimes, I’ll turn over and find him facing me, his hand inches away, as if he fell asleep reaching for me. Sometimes, I stare at him until I fall back asleep, warring with myself to rest my hand on top of his.
The other night was everything I needed to hear from him. It was perfect and raw and messy and felt like it was the first step to fixing the crack in my heart. But I’m terrified. I’m soterrified.
“Come in,” I call, then shove my dirty clothes into a pile on the floor by the dresser.
The door clicks open. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
It’s Ivan. Mother, he looks exhausted. If we make it back to the throne, I’ll find some way to make all of this up to him. He deserves it.
