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“Yes,” he said gently, squeezing her hand. “If there is a way for you to return to your world, the dragons might have known it.”
“Why not tell me this before?”
“I didn’t want to give you false hope. The dragons—they have been gone from Isluma for a long time. Not much is known about their ways.”
17
They didn’t talk about the dragons again. Anthea had asked, but Endreth only repeated that no one knew much. She had even tried to find books in the library, even going as far as asking the librarian. She had gotten a stern look, a disapproving look. And an answer: there were no books about dragons in the library.
So, Anthea had dropped the subject, for the time being. Instead, she focused on learning more about Isluma, its courts, and its society.
There were plenty of books about the courts. But not everything she wanted to know was in these books?—
“Endreth,” she began hesitantly, her voice echoing softly in the quiet study as she glanced at the Crimson prince. “At the party . . . you talked about humans. That they are rebelling. Is that . . . Is that truly the case?” She had been thinking about this a lot since the party. Humans in Isluma, fighting for freedom. Anthea didn’t want to imagine the Crimson court in that fight, but she couldn’t help it—Endreth had paraded her around as a slave; Endoral had promised Taranath the Crimson fleet?—
Endreth looked up at her from his seat across the desk. Anthea kept her eyes on his, waiting. She fumbled with the hem of her sleeve, biting her lower lip, setting her trap—showing vulnerability had proven effective with the younger prince.
With a soft sigh, the prince leaned back in his chair, his fingers beginning a rhythmic drumming against the armrest.
Anthea waited, keeping her eyes wide, fixed on his.
“It is not rebellion as you think of it,” he finally said, his voice measured. “There are free humans in Isluma, though they live at the fringes of our society, mostly in the borderlands. The Obsidian court has claimed the free settlements should be eradicated, and the humans simply fight back.”
Anthea nodded, taking in his words. The Obsidian court wanted to get rid of free humans. That wasn’t really what she was after.
Not what she wanted to know. What she needed to know.
“What about you, Endreth?” Anthea kept her curious wide-eyed expression in place. “Do you think the human settlements should be eradicated?”
“I,” he began, his voice grew quiet, hesitant. “I believe every race has its worth. The humans—they have their strengths, as we do ours. But in the grand scheme of Isluma, their place is . . . complicated.”
“Complicated?”
Endreth stilled, his drumming fingers coming to a halt. He turned his eyes to the waves crashing into the cliffs outside the window, as if he could draw some sort of inspiration or an answer from the sea. “When I speak of complications, I refer to the intricate dynamics that exist between the races in Isluma. The history of our world is fraught with conflict, with power struggles that have shaped the landscape, both physically and figuratively.” He paused, his gaze flicking back to her. She nodded, urging him to continue, trying to maintain the connection he was offering. “Humans,” he continued, “have their strengths. Their resilience is admirable, and they possess a certain . . . adaptability that can be a significant asset. But their lack of magical abilities puts them at a disadvantage in our society, making them vulnerable.”
Anthea tilted her head a little—Endreth’s words were skirting around the edges of the issue. It was a non-answer. Very political.
“That’s not really an answer.” She kept her voice soft, rising from her chair and stepping in front of the window. Wrapping her arms around herself, she asked, “I want to know what you think about it. What you really think about humans. I want to know if you think it’s right, the way they are treated by the elves. If they way you treated me at the party, if that’s right . . .” She trailed off, letting her voice waiver. Anthea heard him get up from his chair, felt his hand on her shoulder.
“I think it’s wrong,” he confessed quietly. “But change does not come easy. Not in a society entrenched in its ways. Sometimes changing the set ways can have a price too high to pay.” There was a deep sadness in his voice. The prince took a step closer to her. His nearness was suddenly all she could focus on for a moment. The warmth radiating from his hand seeped through the fabric of her simple gray dress, sending a shiver down her spine. A blush painted her cheeks as she turned around, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“What about your father? At the party, he told the High King—he promised the Crimson fleet’s involvement. . .” She trailed off as Endreth leaned down, closer, a small smile forming on his lips.
“Did he now?” he mused, feigning surprise. “My father has a certain flair when it comes to words. He can make you believe he has promised you the moons when he has only pointed them out to you.”
“So, you’re saying the Crimson court doesn’t plan on aiding the Obsidian court in their quest against humans?”
Endreth gave a slow shake of his head, the corners of his mouth still lifted. “No, Anthea. The Crimson court has no intention of siding with the Obsidian court. But it is important they believe we do.” He paused, turning away, facing the window. “And that is where you come in—your presence here, under the guise of being a slave to the Crimson court, gives us a perceived alliance with the Obsidian. It lends credibility to our ruse and grants us more leniency, more time to prepare.”
“Prepare for what?”
“I have already said too much,” he murmured. Anthea grabbed his hand, turning him toward her. Her eyes traveled over his face, searching for any sign of deceit, any hint he might be playing yet another layer of the game. But what she found was sincerity, a raw honesty that was both surprising and comforting. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Without thinking, she reached up, her fingers brushing a slightly askew lock of his auburn hair away from his face.
“That’s better,” she whispered, her hand lingering just a moment longer than it should have.
Endreth’s ocean eyes darkened a shade.
She cleared her throat as she removed her hand, startled by her own reluctance to pull away.
