“No.” Soren didn’t let herself think before speaking, firmly and without any semblance of reverence or respect.
Cion reacted immediately to her tone, the princess’ lips parting and her eyes hardening. “It isn’t for you to decide. You are still under my father’s jurisdiction—both of you are.”
The second rider approached behind her, and Soren nearly groaned. Of course, they had sent Ilav with her, of all people.
“You should listen to your princess, Soren,” Ilav said with a smile that stunk of his believed superiority.
Vane made a low sound in his throat. “Who gave you authority?”
Ilav barked a laugh. “And to think, I was afraid of you,Mòr Maslach.You’re nothing but a dog for the king.”
“Shut up,” Soren hissed. She let shadows drift towards him, whispers of Night, and Ilav at least had the wherewithal to look wary as they toyed with his ankles.
“Stand down, both of you. Evva, answer my question,” Cion ordered, a hand on the dagger at her hip, adding, “truthfully.”
“It was a battle,” Vane said, voice dark and dripping with bitter disdain. “Do you think I had time to look around and take much note of my surroundings?” He stepped past Soren, tilting his head. She could sense the heat emanating from him—flames begging to reach the surface. “You wouldn’t, though, would you? To you, battle is a game, with a parade afterwards where they shower you with roses.”
Cion stiffened. “I said, stand down.” But her voice was wavering now.
Vane only smiled. “Do you know what we are,princess? Or has your dear father not chosen to disclose that particular detail yet?”
Soren felt a seed of pity for Cion, small as it was. She had been in the dark all these years, just as Soren herself had. But Vane wasn’t wrong—she must know some of it now. A line was beginning to be drawn in the sand, and it was unclear who stood where.
Kronos.
King Johannas.
Princess Cion.
Rebels.
Aren.
Mise.
War.
Something far more terrible than a conflict over resources was coming. Perhaps killing Kronos was the key, but there were endless obstacles to that. She and Vane could not do it alone, and it was obvious that even her death had not sated Kronos’ immeasurable need for power and control. Even if they did manage to kill him, who would lead the gods? Would the mortal side of the world fall into disarray? Only an organized force could take on a power that had reigned for so long. They needed more than hope now. They needed revolution.
Cion could be a part of that, should she choose it, but Soren only saw fear in the princess’ eyes as she replied, “The gods granted you power.”
Ilav was watching the whole exchange closely, his gaze flicking to Soren’s momentarily. She shivered, unease creeping up her spine at the cruel curiosity in his eyes.
“That’s what he told you,” Soren stated, brow raising.
Cion’s mouth tightened. “The gods are wise, but their decisions have always been difficult to understand?—”
“Who told you that?” Soren had an inkling.
“Anabeth. She visited me at camp this past week, just after my father explained things to me. She helped me understand.”
Vane snorted softly. “She helped you to believe the lies he fed you, and she wasn’t there for you at all. That she wasted time on you at all makes me think she actually does care for you in some way.”
Cion’s eyes shone, but her expression grew sharp with anger. “You’re lying. Even Soren can tell you: Anabeth is just the scribe’s daughter.”
The second rider. Mind him,Thessa said.
“Also a lie,” Vane said.I have my eye on him.
