“Is that what you want?” Kayo asked.
“No.” That, at least, Elia knew. “I want Innis Lear to thrive.”
“So you cannot submit.”
“This is yours, Elia,” said Rory, as he had claimed Errigal for himself beside his father’s body. “Don’t give it away to your sisters.”
“How should I fight them? Should I cast Innis Lear into civil war? Raze the island with war machines and drown the rootwaters in blood?”
Kayo said, “Rosrua and Bracoch will be with us.”
Rory said, “Rosrua today, Bracoch tomorrow. If we fight, it will be near equal in numbers.”
“With the island on your side,” said Brona.
Elia looked at Morimaros, who had remained silent.
“Aremoria will eventually go to war with Gaela Lear on the throne,” he said, roughly as if he’d not spoken in days.
“But not with me.”
“That is not what I want from you.”
“You would take me, marry me, and scour Innis Lear of my wretched family? Give Ban and Gaela what they want? Destruction for his part, war for hers?”
“It is an option. If the island must break, make it break in the shape you want.”
“I don’t want it to break at all.”
“Something will,” he said, hands fisted on his thighs. “Do not let it be you.”
Elia stood, furious. The hemlock tumbled down her skirt to the stone floor. “So I should let my sisters destroy themselves? And all my island?”
“It would be a slow destruction, if you submit,” the king said. “Gaela could rule for years, until someone rebels, or until famine or this cursed wind drives the people against her. That might be sooner than I think. There are no heirs, and will never be, from what I understand. So under her crown the island is doomed. But if you went with me there would be time.”
“Time. To think, to plan, you mean. On your own behalf or mine? To analyze and find alternatives to submission or death. Exile is the safe choice.”
Morimaros pulled his mouth in a small grimace. “I want you too badly to pretend objectivity.”
“I appreciate the honesty,” she said flatly, even as Aefa gasped and Rory widened his eyes. For a moment, Elia had forgotten she was not alone with the king of Aremoria. To recover, she asked, “If you were me, would you retire? What would you do?”
“Fight.”
Elia sucked in a breath. He had not hesitated a second, despite it going against his own advice for her.
Morimaros said, “This is your country, your island, and you love it. If you can lead Innis Lear, the people and trees and all of it, to something better than your sisters, mustn’t you? If people will follow you and fight for you, choose you, if that is your gift, how can you run? How can you submit?”
Heart pounding, Elia asked, “Is it my gift? How do I know?”
The king tilted his face to hers; she stood over him, hands clenched at her sides. He said, “Will people come for you? I have. Kayo did, and your father’s retainers. These earls Rosrua and Bracoch with their armies. This witch, who holds more power than most. Are there more? Will your wind summon them, and the roots pass the call? What makes a king or a queen, besides the will of the land and the people together?”
Elia backed away from the intensity of his gaze. She knocked the backs of her thighs against the tall seat beside the hearth and looked to the witch of the White Forest for escape. “You are powerful, Brona, and have thrived all this time. You gather people to you; you create sanctuary; the roots and stars trust you. You would make a better queen than me.”
Silence fell. Elia glanced at the wretched, dead crown of hemlock at her feet. She knew what she believed in her heart, but she waited to hear what Brona would say.
Rory and Aefa both fidgeted. Kayo held Brona’s hand but said nothing, and by that Elia thought he agreed, or at least would not argue either way. A remnant of his upbringing, to let the women in his life decide for themselves.
Morimaros’s jaw was tight.
