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Focusing now on my task, I vaguely heard the Grand Vizier of Montesere ask Rhys, “And why do you think we have any interest in the human lands?”

I let Rhys answer the preening male. “Because you refuse to sign the new treaty we’ve drafted. And you refuse to give any explanation as to why.”

My magic coiled up the legs of their chairs, over their laps, their arms. I detected nothing.

“What reason do we need to decline,” challenged the Queen of Vallahan, her husky voice like claws on stone, “other than refusing to have our fates dictated by a territory that endured no consequences from the war five centuries ago, yet thinks they know what is best for us?”

Nothing lingered about the king, the prince. My power traced over the queen’s tattooed fingers, cutting along the lines of the runes. Nothing.

The Duke of Bernion said carefully, “I would agree with the Queen of Vallahan.” He surveyed Rhys, Mor, and me with unflinching frankness. I forced myself to feign intense focus. As if I weren’t wrapping my magic around them one by one. “Prythian only yielded a sliver of lands to humans, and that came from one court only.” The Spring Court, the idle part of my mind supplied. I kept at my task. “Meanwhile, the continent was split in half. Some Fae lost their homelands entirely, their territories erased from existence, their people now scattered to the winds. And those of us who remained have had to share, our borders shrinking to the point of insult. Not to mention the massive swath of unattached Fae lands in the middle of the continent. They were intended for those without homelands to return to, but that never came to pass. They’re now a chaotic patchwork of feuding lordlings and war-bands, leaderless and rotting away. Our campaign would reclaim those lands, too. Unify the Fae in them once more, with the incentive of stability, wealth, and a stake in the retaken human lands.”

The words were enough to make me pause, just for a moment, to listen fully.

“The new treaty addresses that,” Rhys answered.

“Your new treaty,” the vizier countered, “allows for humans to decide whether to sell us back the land. Land that was ours long before humans crawled out of the mud into existence. And now we must buy it from them?”

My fingers curled into fists, heat sparking at my nails.

The Mistress reminded the vizier beatifically, “All of the Unseen’s creations are worthy.” She added with a slight twist of her lips, “Even if it is difficult to see that worth.”

Heat singed my palms, but I kept my tone even as I asked, “And none of you believe that humans are entitled to lands of their own after millennia of slavery and torment?”

Stay focused on your hunt, Rhys instructed, but I ignored him.

“I believe,” the duke parried, “that the humans have vast stretches of empty, unoccupied land. Land we once tended and farmed, now left fallow and decaying. If they don’t use it, why shouldn’t we?”

The Prince of Vallahan slapped a broad hand on the stone table. “The humans have had long enough, especially by their lifespans, to recover from any torment.”

Fire simmered in my throat, but I shoved it down. It had been drawn by the flame in the prince’s eyes, whatever ember of magic he possessed. I could control the various elements of my gifts, but occasionally they answered to something around me. Meeting a foe with power to match.

Like called to like.

But Rhys was right. I needed to focus. I had not come here to bandy words with a spoiled princeling.

Banking that answering fire, I resumed my work. Crept my magic over them again. Nothing on the Queen of Vallahan, nothing on her king. Nothing on the vizier or the Duke of Bernion. I moved on to the Mistress.

“The prince speaks truth,” the Mistress agreed with a simpering smile, so like Ianthe’s it turned my stomach. “My disciples report that the humans have little memory or knowledge of the War—or their ancestors’ lives before it. They truly don’t know any better.”

I made myself concentrate. Swept my power’s invisible hands over her green velvet robes, her slashing tattoos, the threads of pure gold in her braids.

“And how,” Mor asked, breaking through my focus, “do your disciples know this?”

The Mistress’s tattoos flickered like distant lightning. My magic recoiled. “There are no borders for the Unseen.”

I suppressed the shudder that went through my magic as something within her aura slithered in answer. In pleasure.

But it wasn’t Made. Whatever had purred in delight at her praise, it wasn’t what I sought.

“I will remind you, Mistress,” Rhys said, power churning around him, as if either his temper was getting the better of him or he was trying to cover for any slip of my own power that the Mistress might detect, “that wall or no wall, the old line of demarcation still exists and is still honored. Fae are not allowed into human lands.” No matter that we knew this rule had been broken by several people in recent months. We wouldn’t be mentioning that.

“There are humans, lost and ignorant, who need our teaching,” the Mistress said, and for a heartbeat, I wondered if she might be worse than Ianthe. “They need our guidance.”

I was grateful to withdraw my magic and move on from her hateful essence. I paused my work for a moment, settling fully back into my body as Mor said, “These are debates we have had before.” She turned to the King of Vallahan, then to the Duke of Bernion, perhaps the only voices of reason. Neither appeared remotely moved. So I stopped bothering to keep a neutral expression on my own face. At my side, I could feel Rhys doing the same, his power a dark song in my blood.

Mor went on to the king and duke, “I have been visiting your courts for almost two years now and have yet to receive an answer. I bring my High Lord and Lady today to ask you directly: Do you plan to march on human lands and expand your borders?”

Rhys and I stared them all down, Night Triumphant and the Stars Eternal.