“I serve Vincent alone.”
Aretha turned her shrewd eyes on me again. I sensed everything about this exchange was calculated, and if she exuded hostility, it was also part of her strategy.
“I hope sincerely you can convince us to do the same.” Then, with a slight acknowledgement to Anika, who bowed deeply in response, she walked right past Mater to where the warborn had already assembled themselves in pin straight rows as if preparing to march.
“I look forward to seeing what you’re made of, little bloodborn,” Hyas said and then followed in his sister’s wake.
“Why does everyone have to point out my height?” I asked you.
“Because they want to make you feel small. You’re not a bludgeon but a scalpel, Vincent. Sharper and much more precise.”
I appreciated your confidence but gazing out at the sea of beings who’d assembled at our request, a wave of doubt overwhelmed me. Uniting the tribes seemed an impossible task.
“How will we ever get everyone to work together?” I asked.
“By winning them over,” you said. “One tribe at a time.”
“Also, wine,” Lucian added.
You squeezed my hand in encouragement while at the same time, Lucian turned to me and said, “Showtime.”
