“Maybe it doesn’t,” Brynn agrees in an obvious attempt to keep the discussion civil. Darting her eyes toward Reave, she adds, “But you need to consider how the politics of Dralsk are shifting, too. No longer are the northern kingdom’s hills full of the scattered, leaderless rebels they were for so long after Meira usurped the throne. Several factions have organized and united into something more formidable. There arerumors that her reign is nearing a violent end—that several attempts on her life have already been made, and it’s only a matter of time before one is successful.”
“I’m well aware of these rumors,” Reave says, leaning back in his chair with a casualness that doesn’t at all fit the growing tension in the air.
“They aren’t mere speculation,” Selwick says, heatedly. “And you must realize that the appearance of a Flamebound—whether you want to officially declare her that or not—has given the rising factions something clear to rally around. A target.”
“There are some who see you as the last weapon they need to successfully take the throne from Meira,” Brynn explains, nervously glancing at me. “And that would only be the beginning, of course. Imagine an invigorated Dralsk with a far more popular ruler than its incumbent queen. A ruler with a Flamebound at their side, at that. Mouren would be their next conquest, and it would be a popular crusade among their people, I’m sure, given the bloody history between your kingdoms. So many of them want revenge.”
Reave’s posture doesn’t change. “We’ve weathered far worse storms.”
Brynn shakes her head. “Arowyn and her dragon alter the path of this storm and the way it is building.”
I sit up a little straighter, trying not to let my overwhelmed exhaustion show.
“It’s potentially the start of a new divine age, some are saying.” Brynn’s voice mirrors the looks she keeps darting my way—full of awe and uncertainty with a hint of fear. “So, no; we can’t simply weather things as we always have.”
A thick quiet falls over us. Reave remains casually reclined, arms folded across his chest, but his brow isfurrowed in a way that betrays his concerned thoughts. Brynn fidgets nervously with the various rings she wears. I look toward the window, watching the rain streak down the dark glass in crooked paths, wondering what Sesca would think of all this.
Selwick’s tone is decidedly less civil than his companion’s when he breaks the silence a minute later. “If you are going to hoard such a powerful weapon here in your palace,” he says to Reave, “then you cannot ask Gault to continue to be your first shield.”
Heat prickles the back of my neck. “I am not a weapon Dralsk will have any luck wielding,” I interject. “Which you would have known, if you’d care to speaktome rather thanaboutme while I’m sitting right here.”
His growing frustration seems to make him braver, because he truly meets my gaze for the first time as he steps closer, bracing a hand on the table between us.
I refuse to cower as he glares down at me. “I don’t intend to bind myself or my dragon to them,” I continue in a quiet but strong, seething voice. “Or to any rebellious faction or ruler, for that matter. I’m not interested in war.”
“That’s all well and noble,” he replies, leaning closer. “But your lack of interest isn’t going to stop Mouren’s enemies from violently coming after you—and razing Gault to the ground on their way here.”
“Sit down, Selwick.” Reave’s tone is sharp with warning.
The emissary looks like he’s considering pressing his luck, but he thinks better of it. He slowly pushes away from me, returning to the chair beside Brynn and sinking down into it.
Reave stares him down for a long, intense moment before he says, in a deathly calm voice: “Open your gates if that’swhat you’d prefer to do. Let them pass through your territory freely in exchange for your own safety.”
Brynn shakes her head, attempting to soothe the friction in the air. “We didn’t mean to suggest?—”
“If Gault isn’t trulywillingto stand on Mouren’s behalf, then I don’t want their help, anyhow,” the king continues, coldly, as he gets to his feet and moves to the window. “A doubt-filled, frightened ally is unpredictable, and therefore worse than no ally at all.”
The declaration hangs heavy in the air for a minute. Selwick fumes. Brynn shakes her head, looking defeated.
Selwick eventually breaks the silence, his fierce gaze shifting between me and the king. “This will lead to disaster, and we both know it. There are far too many dangerous people who will not rest until they’ve found a way to take control of her.”
Reave glances over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, almost black. The air tightens, turning cold. Selwick’s breathing briefly becomes more labored, as if the very breath is being choked from his lungs. It lasts for several seconds, doing nothing to soften the furious look in the man’s gaze.
Reave glares right back at him, and every bit of light around us seems to flicker as he says, “Let them try to take her and see what happens.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
The meeting goes in circles for another hour, at least, before Selwick and Brynn are satisfied enough to retire to their guest rooms.
A few more visitors are waiting in the wings to sneak in moments of their own with the king, but these conversations don’t last nearly as long, thankfully. Still, it’s long past midnight before we finally escape everyone.
We check on Arlo, only to be aggressively shooed away by a grumpy Kestrel, who reminds her older brother thatsleepis a necessity when running a kingdom. Particularly a kingdom on the verge of war.
“And how many days has it been since you actually slept for more than an hour or two?” she demands of him.
“It’s hardly the most pressing issue of the night.”
“It’s theonlyissue I care about, presently,” she snaps back. “Now get out of here before I throw this teapot at your big stupid head.”
