“Or it could be something else. There were lots of labels—”
“Not now, Urtzi.”
Ula shrugged off the long strip of linen she used as a headband to keep her hair from escaping her braids in the Torrentian wind and wrapped it around her nondominant hand. Then, with careful fingers, she popped the cork. “Please work, please work.”
Covered hand shaking slightly, she tipped the vial at the bottom-most hinge. The second the thick green liquid made contact, it began smoking.
“Thank the stars and that blue-eyed psychopath.”
“Which one? Dunixi or Taillefer?”
“Both. All. Let’s go.”
With a careful nudge, they squeezed out of the gate and onto the slim beach—it was just wide enough now that Ula’s boot tips stayed dry as she pressed herself against the cliff, but the water lapped at Urtzi’s big feet. Moving as fast as they dared, and with eyes upon the ship and the crew watching Geneva speak, they made their way to the lowest rung of two-tiered rowboats that hung from the starboard side, dangling on thick iron chains.
Tall and strong as he was, Urtzi pulled himself up and over the side with one long drag of his body, before smashing himself against the edge and lowering a hand to Ula. She stood on her tiptoes, wedged her hands in his, and went up and over.
The boat was small, especially considering Urtzi’s sheer size, but it was far better than any other option. Soundlessly, they shrugged aside the woven cover used to protect the rowboats, climbed under, and lost themselves to the new dark.
CHAPTER 35
THEcaravans of Ardenia and Torrence spotted the red spires of the Itspi under a dying sun, the leadership agreeing to retire their travel-weary bodies and minds for the night so that they could tackle the net of problems closing upon them with fresh eyes and thoughts in the morning.
And though they may have agreed to reconvene in the new day, Amarande and Luca took their supper within her royal chambers, unable to stop turning it over between them. King Sendoa’s enduring metaphor of a diamond and its facets never left the forefront of Amarande’s mind as she picked at crusted trout upon her plate, the little fish’s dead eye staring up at her for answers she did not have.
Unfortunately, no matter how they twisted their amalgamation of complications to the light, the whole of it appeared no different back in the castle where they’d been raised.
Always together, and now to rule, the continent had basically forced them to part.
No—partorabdicate.
The first was out of the question. The second—neither of them had dared to say that option out loud yet. That choice was so final, it felt like a defeat. A death.
Instead, the questions posed over and over were essentially meditations repeated in different configurations across scores of hours and piling strategies littered at their feet.
How do we defeat Geneva?
How do we defeat an undead king?
How do we defeat the will of the patriarchy of the Sand and Sky?
All of those questions needed attention. All of them were connected, but not. No single answer would slay them all.
Survive the battle, win the war—that had been one of Sendoa’s many sayings. But what if there was no true war? Just battle upon battle until one side collapsed? That was how it felt to Amarande inthat moment, staring down all the things they’d won that had suddenly been ripped away.
Their ongoing safety and security.
Their right to rule.
Their right to marry.
Everything they’d fought for, all the seeds they’d planted, had been stomped underfoot the past few days, no real chance to grow. Instead, each seed of hope lived long enough to be planted, watered, and left to shoot for the sun—only to be crushed the moment it showed itself to the light.
Everything trampled and trashed. New roots torn out, spindly and nascent. So much promise discarded to wilt.
After a long silence, Luca shoved his plate away, stood, and crossed to the divan where Amarande sat, her feet tucked up under her, the food she’d pushed around her plate cooling on the low table they were using as a workspace. Luca sat down, his weight pulling her toward him in the slip of crushed velvet. His attention was upon the maps laid across the table with their discarded meal, his knuckles balled together and captured in his teeth as he gathered the best way to say what was on his mind.
Amarande watched him, breath waning as the shadows shifted upon his face. She knew before his eyes met hers that they had finally made it to the part where they were going to say the worst out loud. And because he was Luca, soft of heart, strong in loyalty and conscience, he would do it first.
