Zavier raised apologetic eyebrows as his daughter read threads in her skirt—had Osana known this was coming? “I was not in attendance as I was racing to Basilica upon a winged message that my grandfather, father, and several uncles, aunts, cousins, and even two of my brothers were poisoned or run through on Pyrenee soldiers’ swords.”
Surely that wasn’t true. Surely, he would’ve had to arrive much earlier from Eritri—
“AndIwas not in attendance,” Asan added, “as it is commonplace for Myrcell to leave a designated survivor in the event of large gatherings. And being King Akil’s closest relative, that job has fallen tome many times. It is only by sheer luck I was not in attendance along with my sister, brother, and nephew—long may they rest.”
Amarande steeled herself with a quick glance to Luca—but then he began launching into her defense. “As you so astutely pointed out previously, King Akil, all of us have lost someone close to us in the past two weeks.” Luca was attempting to appeal to their humanity, should they have any at all. “We have weathered heartache, seismic change, threats of war, occupation, strife. What sense does it make to find your own footing and send Ardenia, who has been ground zero for much of this upheaval, back into a tailspin? And for what? Archaic laws?”
Zavier speared Luca with an expression of utter disdain. “Archaic may they be, these laws are foundational, and it is critical we build upon them, not dig ourselves into a hole and hope we make it back to the surface.”
“And so your daughter,” Amarande bit out, “who sits by your side, will not rule?”
Zavier didn’t so much as glance at Osana. “I have a young son. As long as he comes of age, she does not matter.”
Now unable to hide her fury, Amarande wheeled upon Asan. “And what of King Akil’s baby? What if the child within Sumira’s womb is a girl? What then? You say you intend to be regent until the heir’s birth.”
As if he owned no other expression, Asan smiled again, but the handsome planes of his face were not a welcoming place. “Did I not specify? If it’s amaleheir. If it’s female, she shall be well taken care of along with her mother within the Miragua.”
Lungs hammering in her too-tight bodice, Amarande’s attention flew among these smiling, sneering men, their seconds, and what was left unsaid.
The patriarchy hadn’t died with the kings and princes of the Sand and Sky.
It had never died at all.
All the hopes and dreams and schemes Amarande and Luca—and their advisors—had drawn for a new continental union in the past days were never a possibility. Not when the old ways made new men comfortable and secure in their power.
Amarande’s whole soul seemed to lurch within her body, theearth’s core rotating under her feet but coming right back to where they’d started.
“If there is a law change, it is required that we take a vote.” Joseba’s voice was not the most powerful, but it always had the right tinge of competency to it. “It follows that the union should vote on a possible amendment.”
“The councilor from Ardenia is correct,” Kirana agreed. “However, such a vote does not include all individuals within this tent, but instead is done by proxy by each leader. Given there are four of us and two objections, we are evenly split. A tie indicates no change.”
Amarande straightened. “Yes, but that is assuming Pyrenee is not coming. You recall they just amendedtheirlaws to make Inés their all-out queen. On that precedent alone, they might vote with those of us who want change.”
Zavier’s lips twisted yet again into something both sardonic and ugly. “It is a dangerous game to use Inés as precedent here, Your Highness.”
That was true.
Yet, it was also true that Pyrenee may have specified Inés marry Domingu before gaining her power, but if Amarande didn’t know, there was a good chance these people didn’t either. So, she thrust her shoulders and continued this line of defense despite the connotations. “We shall see when Pyrenee arrives—”
“Pyrenee has arrived.”
Everyone wrenched around at the sound of the new voice, and were met with the sudden, blinding light of a Torrence late morning as sunrays streamed through the entrance. A figure stepped through the gap. At first so backlit as to be impossible to parse out. But then the tent flaps dropped, and recognition pulled in from the edges.
Blond hair. Blue eyes. Lips twisted, smug, on a fairy-tale face.
Amarande’s heart thudded to a stop, her blood screeching to a halt, her breath frozen in her lungs.
Renard.
No. She was seeing things.
But then the dead prince moved, stepping deeper into the tent, making room for three others to join him, flanking him in the reality of his presence. Pigheaded Menon, ancient Laurent, and sycophantic Collette. They were smug, too. And maybe a little fearful.
As the entrance flaps slipped closed yet again and the blinding light blotted out, the boy who had been Amarande’s first kill found her across the room, and his smile sharpened into everything a nightmare should be.
“What did I miss?”
CHAPTER 27
