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I straighten automatically, my shoulders back, my chin up, my eyes forward but not meeting his. Twenty-one years of training overrides conscious thought. “Father.” I can’t show weakness or hesitation, and certainly not disobedience. In fact, it’s best if I show nothing.

His cold, assessing eyes find mine. The same eyes that looked at me when I was ten and he asked why I couldn’t be more like Calla. The same eyes that harbored judgment over my needlepoint, dancing, and every other womanly skill because my father found me lacking. Each time, they grew more and more distant until I may as well have been on the moon. “You’ve been traveling with General Agnar Kerrin of Tirene.”

Father utters the statement as if he’s commenting on the weather, except nothing he says is casual.

He must have heard the rumors. And my sister would, of course, have told him that she saw me here, dressed as a squire. “I’ve been traveling with a soldier who goes by the name Agnar.”

Father’s eyes grow heavy with either impatience or disappointment. With him, it’s hard to tell the difference. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I know exactly who he is. What he is. And of course, I know of his relationship with the Tirenese crown.”

Chewing the inside of my lip, I try to think of a response that won’t worsen the situation. “You disapprove of my companion?”

“Disapprove of him?” His lips curl in an obvious show of disdain. “Why would I disapprove? General Kerrin is exactly what we need.”

I frown, puzzled. He doesn’t care that I’ve been traveling alone with a foreigner, only that the foreigner is useful?

That makes no sense. “What we need for what?”

“For survival.” He says it simply, like he’s talking to a particularly obtuse toddler. “Tirene has dragon eggs. Kerrin can get them for us.”

I shake my head, afraid to contradict my father, even with the truth. “Tirene doesn’t have any eggs. Agnar told me that they all hatched last year.”

“Agnar.” Father stretches out both syllables, repeating the name with careful emphasis. “How familiar, calling him by his given name. And how convenient that he told you the exact answer that would prevent you from asking difficult questions.”

Is Father upset about me traveling with Agnar, being familiar with him, or not being familiar enough? I can’t tell from the way he’s acting. “Why would he lie about that?”

“Because Tirene is hoarding resources while the rest of the kingdoms suffer. I have it on the best authority that they’re hiding multiple unhatched eggs. Enough to cure the Withering and restore Meridia.”

My mind races.

Resources? But dragon eggs aren’t resources to Tirene. Not really. Dragons in Tirene are volunteers, not bred and forced into servitude.

I always respected the way Tirene understood the differences between magical and mundane creatures. “You want me to…” Even if Tirene had eggs, it’s not like Agnar’s walking around with them in his pocket. “To do what?”

“Bring him to me.” Simple. Direct. The way Father gives all his commands. “After his match today, before he leaves the grounds, bring General Kerrin to my private chambers.”

No.

The refusal forms behind my teeth but doesn’t emerge. I’ve never said no to Father. Not once. Not even when he sent me away to train with Veradin because my presence at court was an embarrassment. To do so runs contrary to every instinct in my body. “I don’t think… I’m not sure he’ll come. He’s competing. He has obligations and training and…”

Father’s eyes bore into mine. “Then you will continue to use your Warden magic to bolster Agnar, making sure he wins the tournament. After that, you’ll bring him to me, along with the Everhand.”

My Warden magic? Father thinks I’m helping Agnar win? Is that the only reason he deigns to talk to me? Because he thinks I’ve developed actual abilities? I force my expression to stay neutral even as my mind races. “What will you do with him?”

“Whatever’s necessary.” He shrugs as if we’re discussing crop rotations or trade agreements rather than a man’s life. “Tirene has what Meridia needs to survive. If they won’t share willingly, then other measures must be taken.”

Other measures.

My palms start to sweat. Father doesn’t negotiate when he can take or ask when he can demand. We lost three trade agreements last year because of his other time constraints, and Tír Ríoga ambassadors won’t visit our court anymore.

“And if I don’t?”

Father’s expression doesn’t change. “And if you don’t,” he repeats it slowly, “then your sister dies. Your kingdom dies. Everyone you’ve ever known turns gray, hollow, and empty, wandering mindlessly until their bodies give out. Is that what you want?”

“No, but⁠—”

“But.” He seizes on the word. “But you care more about some foreign soldier than your own blood? Your own people.”

“That’s not…” I try to find a way to explain that it’s not about caring more, it’s about the fact that Tirene doesn’t have the eggs.