“Power for power’s sake,” Ana says with a shake of her head. “That sounds like Caledon.”
“Yes, and no,” says Fairon. “Our grandfather may not have had many redeeming qualities, but at least his motivations weren’t selfish. His goal was to strengthen and enrich Filusia, rather than him personally. He just often felt that one followed the other.”
“And Caledon only cares about himself,” Ana finishes his thought. “The Temple is just a tool to lift him up.”
“Precisely,” says Fairon. “Which is why I’ll do what my grandfather wouldn’t, Morgana. As Filusia’s king, I pledge my support to you. You’ll have Filusia as an ally in your fight against Marek Caledon.”
“Really?” Ana exhales. “I know it’s not a small decision. It might mean war for the fae.”
“It most likelywillmean war,” Fairon says calmly. “But Filusia came to Trova’s aid against the Ethirans once before, and we’ll do it again. It’s what’s best for all three nations.”
“Thank you,” Ana says, stepping forward to clasp Fairon’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Well, I know I’d never hear the end of it from Leonidas otherwise,” Fairon says, smiling with just a hint of mischief.
“And the star?” I ask, staring at the box. “What will you do with it?”
“Nothing, for now,” Fairon says. “Eventually, I’d like to ask Proctor Gallis and some of her mages to look at it. Then maybe we can find a cure to help people if a stone like it ever falls again. Morgana curedme, but only because of her rare abilities. It would be better to have options aside from relying on her.”
“You said eventually,” Ana prompts, a question in her voice.
“Yes, because right now I need to focus on bringing some stability back to the kingdom. I may have been coronated this morning, but now I have to hold onto my crown.”
Ana meets my gaze, and I don’t need the mooring to tell the direction of her thoughts.
While Fairon’s focusing on his kingdom, it’s time we get back to hers.
Chapter 13
Morgana
My horse snorts, ducking its head away from a passing fly as we ride along the long road toward the Trovian border. The sudden jerk of movement brings me back to myself. For the last hour, the clop of horses’ hooves against the stony path has lulled me into a kind of trance, with my mind turning over a single idea.
Fairon was right. War is coming.
He was gracious enough to make it sound like it wasn’t inevitable, but I can’t help looking at the landscape around us with new eyes.
I imagine the lush forests and fields currently thick with crops destroyed by conflict. The trees cut down to build machines of war, the harvest swallowed in a blaze lit by invaders. The pretty villages and bustling towns we’ve passed burned or flooded or blown apart by magic, the fae who live in them cut down by my own country’s army.
We’re going to meet the Hand, hoping they have some news on the seal’s location. But even if we can get one of Ethira’s tokensbefore Caledon does and stop him becoming immortal, I’ll still have a fight ahead of me to take the throne back. And if the country doesn’t accept my rule?
Then we’re looking at a war which might not stay inside Trova’s borders this time.
“Your aunt is the usurper, my love,”Leon speaks inside my head, sensing the direction of my thoughts.“Any war that comes will be because ofhercrimes. It won’t be your fault.”
“Maybe not my fault,”I agree.“But it will be my responsibility.”
And isn’t that how it should be? My throne, my consequences—even if those consequences include war. It’s not what I want, but I’ve come to find that maybe, just maybe, I’m ready to face it. I have to be, don’t I? None of this will stop until Imakeit stop.
I’ve already lost so much. First my parents, then the Holms family. But when they tried to take Leon from me, I finally realized that Caledon and Oclanna won’t be content until they rip every person I love away. They just didn’t contend this time with the fact that Leon and I are bound in ways they can’t fathom. And I brought himback.
As my eyes fall on him, the pain of the blood ritual comes back to me, the sensation of the hole yawning inside me and the darkness rushing in. There’s something about that blackness that called to me, maybe still calls to me now, mingling with the rage I feel when I think about my enemies…
“Thank the gods we’re not camping again,” sighs Alastor, stretching in his saddle.
I blink, focusing on the conversation around me as the memory slips away.
“We’re not?” Corrin says, pleased. “Excellent.”
