“Caution is wise in these times, Chieftain, yes?” Cathaire said, bowing.
“How can he serve as Sovereign when he has never seen battle? We waste time with waiting. Now is the time to act.”
Finally noticing the commotion, Bel appeared at Sean’s side, brow furrowed, notebook pressed to her chest.
Bowenn bowed deeply. “Illänia.”
“What are we acting on?” she asked.
“Caden Sidera has inherited the Exorcism. Why do we pretend he is the same as any other Apprentice?”
Isobel slipped Sean’s hand into her own. “He needs training the same as everyone else.”
Bowenn laughed as if that was ridiculous. “We have all seen him fight this past month. Lhynion shines in him. If we put him in the ring, he would last longer than even I did.”
“He isn’t ready,” Bel said.
Bowenn stood taller. “I disagree, Lady Isobel.”
They turned to Cathaire, who raised his hands and declined to engage.
Isobel’s grip tightened, cutting off blood flow to Sean’s fingers. “His father?—”
“His father does not speak for him,” Bowenn said.
Bel’s tone went testy. “Kywyn is still the crowned Sovereign.”
Bowenn’s blue eyes narrowed. Instead of responding, he found Sean. “I will speak with Nish. Even a scouting mission would be better thanthis.”
A fever woke in Sean, imagining himself back in Viterra, battling those purple-eyed creatures. “When—when could I go?”
Bel spun on him, outraged. “Sean!”
“We shall speak soon.” Bowenn darted a glance at her. “And as your lady shoots daggers my way, I shall take my leave.”
“Bowenn—” Bel started, but the pixie was already striding away. She turned wide emerald eyes on Sean. “You cannot be serious.”
But he definitely was. If they would let him out of this place, even for a little bit, he would take any opportunity offered.
David pushed off the table to leave, sparing one moment to bow mockingly toward Sean. “Ashanta.”
“Dick,” Sean said, though he was tempted to laugh.
“I think you meantDjiante,” David said as he walked away. “Show some respect.”
The laughter spilled past Sean’s barriers, but David didn’t glance back to see it.
Later that night, Sean sat with Isobel on the balcony of their suite, watching the sunset and rubbing the ache from his shoulder. Since childhood, excess energy had plagued him. He’d always been restless, constantly moving. Training was a balm to his fidgety soul, but it also kept him sore.
Isobel could kiss it away, but he hadn’t asked her to. Didn’t want her to.
Sometimes, Sean thought, pain served a purpose.
They’d already fought and disagreed about Bowenn’s intentions earlier. While Isobel wanted him spoon-fed, Sean needed freedom from this cage, even if that freedom proved dangerous.
In the end, they’d agreed to discuss it later, but Sean knew the outcome would be the same.
“I forget sometimes,” Bel said, staring into the sky, “how pretty it all is.”
