“Is fine,” Vane replied curtly. “She was on dragonback when you cast, and from what I heard, managed to burn some rebels before it was all over.”
Half relief and half anger overcame her. Of course, Cion would fight for Aren, and naturally, that meant killing both Miseans and any rebels who might push back. But the reality still hurt: Princess Cion was not her friend and never had been.
Vane stopped in front of the Commander’s tent, his features tense. She slowed with him, balling her hands into fists.
“Enter, Vane.”
Soren flinched at King Johannas’ voice. She had not been expecting him right away.
When they emerged into the tent, the king was windblown and taking off his riding gloves, appearing to have just arrived. He wore leather riding breeches and a ridiculous azure cape, latched with a gold brooch at his throat.
She wanted to take his precious gold and shove it down his throat.
One of the torches still lit in the corner flickered subtly, but Vane caught the small crack in her control. Discreetly, he brushed his fingers against hers in warning. She took a quick breath and swallowed her rage, kneeling on the ground with Vane.
Still, she must have not hid her defiance well enough, because the king laughed softly. “I would have never guessedthat of all my slaves,you, Soren Cavell, would be the one to turn against me.”
Vane’s breath grew slightly uneven, not loud enough for the king to hear but enough that she caught the shift, kneeling next to him.
She kept her head bowed as she said quietly, “No, my king. I only?—”
But cold fingers on her chin killed the words in her throat. She lifted her head to find the king staring down at her, smirking coldly. “Do not worry, Soren. I don’t plan on killing you, not as long as we can come to an agreement about your uses. Rise.”
Vane remained kneeling as she stood, and she glanced back at him while the king led her to the table at the edge of the room.
King Johannas flicked his gaze from her to Vane and snorted. “Ah. I’m not planning on killing him either. He is far too useful to me.”
Soren furrowed her brow at the statement. She knew Vane was strong and a good fighter, but exactly what did the king want with him? She had to be missing something here about his part in all this, and it made her deeply uneasy.
“At the edge of Aren’s border, there is still an encampment of Misean forces,” King Johannas said, pulling her back to the room. “We had pushed them back nearly a week ago, but a recent resurgence of rebels—defectives from our own armies—aided them in the last battle. You are going to help me smother the spark the rebels have lit. We have Meesling and their wyverns now, save a few beasts the rebels managed to steal, so winning the war now should be a closer reality. I want you to ensure we don’t have any further missteps in that goal.”
“And if I refuse?” she dared.
King Johannas met her eyes. He had the same green eyes as the princess, though his were a shade duller. “I don’t think you even need to ask me that. You’re smart. I suppose,” he laughed,“my daughter’s tales of her young, bright servant should have tuned me into your danger in the first place, but I will admit, you played the role well.”
Soren tightened her jaw. She didn’t like him mentioning Cion. It made him feel too human, even as he threatened her.
“It was no role,” she said in a low voice.
The king’s eyes flashed. “So you thought.”
She went still at the words. The king could simply be referring to her magic, or…
He knew what she was.
Before she could push him further, he said firmly, “You are dismissed. If you decide to take my offer, ready your beast. I will send you off by midday to the border.”
She did not bow before turning, and that alone was a testament to all that had changed since she left the quiet prison of the palace walls. Vane remained, still on the ground, his head low in submission, not meeting her eyes as she ducked out of the tent. It unnerved her to see him like that, and once she had left, she lingered a moment outside.
“Apologies, but you know I cannot pass on such a useful weapon,” she heard the king say, adding dryly, “I know she is yours.”
“She is no one’s.”
“Hm. Kronos seems to think otherwise.”
Soren froze. How did King Johannas know anything of what Kronos wanted? It was impossible to speak to him, with the borders to Arcadia barred to mortals. Unless Kronos had crossed it himself…
Cold fear rushed through her, drowning her like the current of an icy river. She backed away from the tent and ran, away from camp and to the dragon field. Thessa waited for her there, her head resting on the ground.
