“Speak.” Stellen’s command comes at a whisper but snaps through the air like a whip.
Both men flinch.
“Lord,” one of them says, “the Iron Fae are mobilizing at the border. It appears they’re preparing to attack.”
“Where’s Lilis?” Stellen asks.
“Still in the north.”
I listen carefully, trying to hear as much as I can as I head to the bathing room to fill the waterskins.
“How many towers are threatened so far?” Stellen asks.
“Three,” one of the men replies. “All directly south of the city.”
The other man adds, “If the Iron Fae break through, they could surge north before snowstorms hit tonight.”
Stellen doesn’t miss a beat, addressing one man and then the other. “You, take two legions south to reinforce the towers. You, position three legions outside the city’s southern wall. I’ll ride to the towers immediately.”
“Yes, Lord.” With deep bows, the men hurry away.
Slipping on my boots, I return to Stellen’s side, both satchels in hand, only to find him paused again, head tilted.
I strain to hear what he’s listening to. The two soldiers aren’t talking among themselves, their quick footfalls rapidly fading into a heavy silence, so whatever Stellen’s picking up, it must be very far away.
When he turns to me, his lips are set in a stern line. “Hadrian is making moves, but his spies are confused.”
My eyes widen. “You can hear them?”
“They’re close to the inner wall.”
“But the second circle is for your soldiers—Oh. He has spies in your army?”
Stellen gives me a wry smile. “They’re Frost Fae, not Iron Fae. I pay my soldiers well, but Hadrian managed to turn some of my people by paying them more. I could have had them killed before now, but their whispers are useful to me. Right now, they don’t seem to know what’s going on.”
A furrow forms in my brow. “Hadrian has only been king for a week. How did he turn anyone so quickly?”
“He didn’t. Not quickly. He’s been putting pieces into place for years. I thought he was doing it at Antony’s behest, but clearly not.”
Years. Just as Hadrian knew years ago who and where I was.
“Thyra? What is it?” Stellen’s question breaks through my thoughts.
My hand has risen to my right rib, where Hadrian cut me, and it’s clear Stellen hasn’t missed my reflexivemove.
He’s seen both of my scars multiple times: the burn across my right shoulder and the one across my right rib. He hasn’t commented on either, which hasn’t really surprised me.
He treats trauma with care.
Still, I whisper, “You haven’t asked.”
“Will I want to kill someone?”
I search his eyes, knowing the answer more clearly today than I would have yesterday. “Yes.”
His lips rise in a chilling smile. “Then tell me.”
“Hadrian.”
