“And then send aid north before determining when to return to Lotrennia.” The words caught in my throat. The guilt of leaving Bayne, Isla, and Vander in Lotrennia.
We’d return. And when we did, we’d do it with a force. I paused, looking expectantly at Carina as I wiped the sweat from my neck. Her spectacles had slid down her nose as she shrugged her shoulders. The room was notably warmer than it was when we began the discussion.
“Nothing to add from the Heir of Lotrennia?” Astraeus asked, cocking his head to the side as he examined the young elf.
A small laugh escaped her lips. “Heir of Lotrennia? I’m no more an heir to the throne than you are king of Votruvia.”
The knot in my gut tightened at her words, at their implication. Nerissa’s knee pressed into mine. I sensed severalsets of eyes on me, but kept mine pinned on Carina’s face, now bearing the look of indifference.
“He is king. They are soulbound. She’ll bear a new heir.”
I swallowed, a surge of emotion clogging my throat.
We are not the same.
Bayne’s words from all those months ago now echoed in my mind like a stinging warning. It had always been out of the question for us.
“When we were in Odessa, you said there were other Rising camps,” Lord Astraeus cut in, finally sitting up, his boots landing on the wooden floor with a loud thump as he leaned his elbows upon his knees. “Do you have any idea where they’d be now?”
I released a sigh, grateful for the change in subject, and threw the pirate a cautious glance, but he kept his eyes averted.
Ronan gave a rough shake of his head. “Queen Antares suggested south, but who knows if that holds true.”
Astraeus stood and leaned over the map, tapping the table with the various rings on his fingers. “We’ll have to scout then. Good thing we havetwofliers now.”
The color leached from Nerissa’s face as Astraeus turned his gaze toward us, raising his eyebrows.
A thin handgripped my own as I made my way above deck. I whirled, coming face-to-face with Marian for the first time since Lotrennia.
“You’ve avoided me,” she signed, her tired eyes fierce. Her hair seemed to have gotten grayer, little bits fraying from the bun she wore at the nape of her neck, still windblown from their journey.
“You’re one to talk.” I frowned, not realizing my blunder until the words had escaped my lips. My stomach pitched, and I opened my mouth to apologize, but her lips tilted upward.
“I know what you meant,” she signed back. “Can we talk?”
Talk. About Oslo? I wasn’t sure I could. The pit in my stomach grew as I added names, known and unknown, to the list of people whose deaths were on my hands.
“I don’t blame you,” she continued, without my answer.
I eyed her doubtfully.
She nodded, signing, “Ididblame you. I hated you. But it was unfair. I know it killed you.” She tapped her chest. “In here. I know it destroyed you inside.”
My chest cracked. Warm tears threatened to form, and I snapped the little sliver in my heart shut.
“I am so sorry,” I said without emotion, keeping my voice level. I’d said it a thousand times.
Streaks of silver lined Marian’s eyes as she stared at me through her tears. She swallowed.
“I loved him,” she signed slowly. “He saved me when my husband died, years ago. He tried to save him, too. He gave up everything to get me to safety.”
“Tell me everything,” I said, gripping her hand.
