The princess bared her teeth.
“If you’d like a conversation, then you must consider me a participant, even if you do not like what I’m about to say,” she shot back. “Hear me now, or stave me off with your put-downs until Inés’s arrows fly through the window. I do not care. You may consider me a danger, but in truth I am far less of one now than what will be at your doorstep once Inés steps off that ship.”
“With all due respect, Princess Amarande, this is not your council room. It is King Ferdinand’s—”
“And it is my wish that she continues,” the king announced placidly from his position next to Amarande. Geneva stood from the great chair at the head of the table—one that only could have belonged to King Sendoa in life—and offered it to the current king with a wave of her hand. He did not take it.
Amarande swiftly produced a slip of parchment, the king’s knife-slash signature unmistakable at the bottom. “My father’s will was that I be made regent of my own kingdom until I desired to marry.”
Satordi squinted across the distance. “Where did you get that?”
“It does not matter. All that matters is that the Royal Council who served my father so closely for years did not serve him in the end. Amending his wishes as it best suited them.”
Satordi held up a hand. “That is not what happened, Your Highness. We simply didn’t believe it was prudent—”
“To listen to my father? This man who inspected every facet. Sought every angle. Only flexed his muscle when he needed to, avoiding blood whenever possible. He always had a plan. Agoodplan. Instead, you carved it to pieces, and then tossed more bad decisions into the stew.”
“Princess, we worked with what we had.”
“What youhadwas his plan and me until a woman you hadn’t seen in fifteen years conveniently appeared with a male bastard and a plan of her own in your time of need.”
“Princess, the general confirmed—”
“I am not finished.” Amarande dared Satordi to continue, but his thin lips sealed shut. “You were so enamored with your luck, you didn’t even bother to ask the right questions.”
“Princess, look at the bigger picture. I implore you.” Amarande tensed against Luca’s hand—Satordi had tried this before on her, the well of his experience being flaunted about in the same breath that firmly shut her out and away.
“You are alwaysimploringme, but you do not listen.”
Luca gripped her hand tighter, palm pressed against the linen about her wound, his upper arm touching her now, too—his strength was her strength and he wanted her to use it. “If this council had abided by my father’s last wishes rather than conveniently ignoring the majority of his last will and testament while strong-arming Koldo into regency, there likely would not have been war at our doorstep now.”
“No, it would’ve happened anyway,” Geneva disagreed, dismissive. “Bear, Mountain Lion, Shark, Tiger”—her eyes slid to Luca’s—“Black Wolf. All sigils in the Sand and Sky are predators by design. Trade one for the other and you still get the teeth.”
Though Geneva had been subtle in her open threat to Luca, the passage of his identity and hers ships in the night, Amarande aimedher next question at the council while having eyes only for her mother. “You didn’t ask the Runaway Queen where she’d been, did you?”
The council was silent.
“Now is the time for answers, not silence. That question was not rhetorical—answer me. I want to know.” Amarande met each one in the eye, left to right—Joseba, Satordi, Garbine.
Satordi drew in a thin breath. “We cannot properly deal with caveats to succession, not with war nearly at our door. We need to be united, and the cleanest way to do that is to unite under our king, not squabble over the particulars of previous actions—mine, yours, hers, King Sendoa’s. The answer does not matter with an armada making demands in our harbor.”
He thrust a hand out to gesture to the polished table before him, littered with maps, yellowed directives to the kingdoms of the Sand and Sky, and a fresh slip of parchment, stamped with three seals—Mountain Lion, Bear, Shark. Inés’s opening parry, to be sure.
“The answer does matter. Here, I’ll give it for you,” Ferdinand replied, arms wide. “You did not.”
Sunlight danced across the shoulders of the council’s ivory robes, their lack of defense an answer in itself.
Amarande turned to Geneva. “Would you like me to tell them or will you? Or perhaps our king will do it—he’s partial to the truth.”
Their mother smiled at first, as if to mock her children. One for her brashness, the other for his perceived weaknesses. Neither of them grinned back, twin frowns in return. Finally, Ferdinand said to Geneva, “You tell them or I will.”
The councilors’ attention was fixed on her now. Geneva sat up, spine straight. Then, with a heavy sigh, the Queen Mother stood and yanked down her lace sleeve, revealing a tattoo on the underside of her wrist. The leaping bouquet of flames—the fire pit in distinct, satiny relief, the same kind of ink that sat upon his chest.
“For the past ten years, I hid in plain sight, as the third ruler to carry the name the Warlord.”
The distinct flush fled Joseba’s cheeks. Garbine shrunk away. Satordi, to his credit, leaned in for a closer look. Luca held his breath. Here was the moment of truth. Only this blow could come from Ferdinand if it was to land properly.
“Are,Mother,” Ferdinand corrected. “Youarethe Warlord. I wasthere—for the negotiation, the orders, the plan. Council, my mother never intended to cede her power.”
