Then come the minds of the Bonded at a farther distance, battle-hardened veterans on the front, weary and angry and impatient. I stagger slightly, trying to hold the channels open.
But instantly, a hand meets my back—steadying me, pushing me upright.
Stark.
I swallow and widen my stance to avoid any further dalliances with gravity. When I open my eyes and lift the amplifier to speak, Anassa’s mind surges forward, meeting my own. Words gather in my consciousness, andAnassa’s influence urges them outward like ships sailing down every Bonded tributary.
This is the kind of leader I want to be. Direct. Honest.
“I want to address what you all heard from Killian earlier. You deserve to know the truth, all of you. Yes, I killed King Cyril,” I tell them, speaking aloud so the servants can hear while I echo the words in my mind, projecting them to all the Bonded.
Immediately, the Bonded who weren’t at the graduation ceremony respond with further shock and confusion, their reactions rippling back through me.
“I killed him, but I had just cause. He was not the man we thought he was. In fact, he was not amanat all. My actions were not driven by insanity, but by my conscience.”
I gather up the images I know will prove me honest. Unlike Killian, I don’t need to twist and alter them to emphasize my point. The truth is enough.
I show them everything.
The children behind bars, terrified and neglected. Saela, crying and reaching for me from her cell. Killian’s confession of his and his father’s true nature as Siphons, vessels for Alistair Brightbane. The way Killian’s fangs glinted behind his sickening smile.
The memory of shadowy magic writhing around us, bending toward me then and back to him as he used my magic to escape.
The effect is immediate. Gasps and exclamations echo across the arena. The older Bonded erupt into motion, breaking formation to gather in small groups or go to their wolves. Warriors and wolves pull away into their own corners of the arena to process and to confer.
Their feelings detonate in my mind as I maintain the mental connection. Anger. Disbelief. Horror. Grief.
The castle’s servants, unable to see what I’m showing the rest, look around in confusion at the chaos. I speak quickly because I promised them answers.
“My name is Meryn Sturmfrost. I am a descendant of the Sturmfrost Queens, the original rulers of Nocturna. My family was stripped from their rightful place on the throne by a Siphon named Alistair Brightbane.”
More memories. The ancient crown, which now sits atop my head. The book from Stark’s collection, detailing the royal lineage. My mother’s journals, with their cryptic drawings.
“Alistair Brightbane has been body-jumping through generations of kings, using blood magic to maintain his rule and erasing the memory of the true royal line. Cyril and his son, Killian, are both Alistair’s descendants and his vessels, complicit in serving him.”
With that, the arena falls back into silence. Inside my head is nothing but noise, though. What the Bonded are feeling… it’s chaos. Even as they process my memories and my words, more than a few resist.
My hold on the communication channels flickers and sputters as some minds rebel against me, against my hold in their minds. Barriers go up as some Bonded instinctively reach to shut me out, just as I used to do with Anassa.
I gasp and strain against it. I manage to maintain the connection, though in places it’s whittled down, like just the tiniest thread. Bonded all around the kingdom are fighting me, rejecting the awful truth.
Can I blame them? Would I believe a single piece of this if I hadn’t seen it all with my own eyes? My gaze skirts over to Anassa, and she sends a pulse of reassurance through our bond.
“Do not worry. I am supporting your claims with the wolves,” she says.
I grit my teeth and focus hard on the river of communication inside me. My temples begin to pound again with the effort.
Drawing as much strength as I can from Anassa’s support, I try a different tactic. Something that will help them to understand that I’m not the madwoman Killian is portraying me as.
“We can have a better Nocturna,” I say out loud while also thinking it to all who are listening. “We don’t have to deal with so much death in the Bonding Trials. People can have enough to eat, can be able to feed their families. I want to… I want to fix all that.”
The words come out jumbled, unpracticed. Nobody ever said I was good at giving speeches.
“I want to be a fair queen, someone you can be proud to serve. I’ll… I’lllisten to what people need. And I’ll do my best to do right by you all.” Every word sounds more awkward than the last, echoing in the strained silence.
“Give me a chance, and I’ll prove myself loyal to Nocturna. Let me try to be the leader our country deserves.”
Exhausted and out of ideas, I release my connection to the Bonded with a dreadful mentalpull, like a fraying rope suddenly snapping free. It’s draining and jolting. The other Bonded recoil from the inelegant use of my powers, and I wince and wait to see what the response will be.
