It was quite the opening gambit. Ban said, “Your sister Regan has won loyalty from me, and from the trees and roots, who are my friends. Her husband won me, too, by his own mettle and honor. Though I never thought they were at cross-purpose to you and your aims.”
Regan smiled, the ghost of last week’s sharpness in the delicate corners. “Never you and yours, Gaela. But your husband’s, maybe.”
Gaela held her gaze on Ban, never blinking. She was a ferocious dragon, born of these cold north mountains; he only a southern fox.
Showing his teeth, too, Ban said, “You were surely at cross-purpose with Astore, to kill him in the way you did.”
Ban was dazzled by the fierceness of Gaela’s regard, her grimace nearer a grin. “He betrayed me, and thought to rise higher.”
Regan said, “As did the former Errigal. And our uncle offered Ban the same, once.”
“Did he?” Gaela said silkily.
A flutter in Ban’s stomach caused him to regret the greasy duck he’d eaten, and the wine went sour on the back of his tongue. He forced a nod. “I told the Oak Earl no. And I said the same to your sister Elia, herself, when she told me she would find—recover—and save your father, bring him out from the wilderness where he was cast.”
At this, both sisters leaned forward. “What is this?” Regan asked.
The Fox held his hand still on the cup of wine. “The night of the storm, when I led my father to his death, and Connley met his own, I came across Elia Lear lodged in Hartfare.”
“Elia is on Innis Lear.” Gaela stood, towering over the table.
I’m going to save you, too.
Ban forced himself to speak. He would see out the plan, commit to this destruction. “She came to save your father, from you both, no matter the cost.”
“Does she have Aremoria behind her?” Gaela leaned toward him, hands on the table.
“Not yet,” Ban answered, heart pounding. “But she will summon him, if she needs to. Consider making him the king of Innis Lear.”
“Over my dead body,” snarled Gaela.
Regan closed her eyes. “What a fool our baby sister is, to set her sights so low.”
“Aremoria will see the loss of your husbands as opportunity,” Ban said, though it was only partially true.
A soft cry of distress escaped Regan’s lips. Gaela gripped her shoulder. “We will find vengeance for Connley’s death, sister,” Gaela promised. “Take Errigal, and this entire island, for our own, in your husband’s memory and for our glory. Elia will be sorry to come home for this challenge. She should have done as we said, and we would have made her choices easy.”
Regan clutched Gaela’s hand. The two shared a long, hot stare.
Ban lowered his gaze to the remains of duck and violent streaks of berry preserves.
“You look poorly, Ban,” Regan said.
“I am reluctant to go against your youngest sister. To see her harmed, more than she might otherwise be. We were friends, once.”
“But?” Gaela prompted, sensing his hesitation.
“I must—we must.” Ban let all the years of loathing coat his voice. “Elia would forgive Lear everything.”
Gaela downed her wine, licked a drop of it from the corner of her mouth. She came to him and grasped the shoulder of his tunic, dragging Ban to his feet. Regan joined them, taking his hand in her cold fingers.
Both his and Gaela’s hands were rough and dry, muscled and scarred by swordwork. Regan’s were smooth and elegant, with nails ragged from their travels, still honed enough to bite. Ban thought of Elia’s soft brown skin, how it would blister if she went to war.
“You hate our father as much as we do,” Gaela said. “I remember you, as a boy. He called you her dog. As if dogs are not loyal, not true.”
“And you made yourself a fox,” Regan continued.
Gaela said, “I made myself, too, Fox.”
