“Any word from Minar?” Ronan asks Claudia. The city on the southern coast is home to Queen Claudia’s House, House Juni. They’re one of the Great Houses of Selara, and they should be able to raise substantial legions to come to Faros’s aid.
“My nephew believes he can send a force of around ten thousand in one month’s time. Twenty thousand if we can wait until after winter. Cavalry numbers are weaker. One thousand at best. Many of the horses were bought or stolen by refugees.”
Those are still substantial numbers. Seth and Adria’s forces are believed to number about fifty thousand combined, almost every single person of fighting age in Nithyria. If Ronan had managed to keep every person of fighting age within Faros’s walls, they would have greatly outnumbered Nithyria’s forces, but almost everyone from outside the city has fled, either to the port cities of Minar or Pyka, or to one of the Serath Desert oases. The remaining legions Ronan has managed to muster within thewalls are only a small portion of the population. Much of the city is too young to fight.
“And Pyka?”
Typhon answers. “Karis can commit two thousand, but they won’t travel until after winter. She claims they need their hunters at home.”
There’s an implication in what he says: Pyka isn’t being forthcoming about why they won’t send their fighters straight away. I can guess the real reason. They’re probably attacking Nithyrian villages while most of my people are here fighting Selara.
My people.The words spring to my mind unexpectedly. I guess against our oldest foe, I can’t help but see them as my people.
“So basically, we’re fucked until winter is over,” says Quinn. “You better hope that brother of yours has a miracle somewhere in that dumb blond head of his.”
I smile at Quinn, encouraged by the fact that she addressed me at all.
Seth’s dumb blond head enters the library first, and judging from the way he stumbles, he’s been pushed into the room by Taran. There’s heat in their eyes as they look at each other, and not the sexual kind.
Or at least, notentirelythe sexual kind.
Trust my brother to somehow turn a bath into a fight.
“Seth of House Verran, you are welcome at my war council.” Ronan stands out of respect, forcing everyone to stand, and he gestures to the seat I had originally planned to take. Taran is stuck with the only other open seat: the one right next to Seth’s. He watches Seth closely out of the corner of his eye, a warning or a dare in his expression.
Seth sits down, ignoring Taran’s glare, and cautiously picks at his food. “Is there a taster?”
“Not for you,” says Quinn. Although there’s a bit of bite in her voice, her eyes tell a different story.
Godsdammit, she’s attracted to my stupid brother too.
Is House Verran just really hot? Have we always been hot, and did I somehow never notice it before? I’d ask Ronan, but I have a feeling his response will be biased somewhat.
“I assure you, if I wanted to poison you, I’d just do it,” says Ronan. “I have no need for subterfuge in my palace.”
“I don’t think she’d approve,” says Seth, pointing to me with his spoon.
“Oh, on the contrary. I think she’d do it herself,” says Ronan. He flashes a smile at me. He’s not entirely wrong. The thought has crossed my mind once or twice in the past week. “And she may yet, depending on how this goes.”
“Noted,” says Seth without any fear. He takes a reluctant sip of the stew, his mouth pursing at the unfamiliar flavor. He swallows dramatically, his brows furrowing at the taste.
Gods, he is the worst.
“You said you were changing sides as we were leaving your camp. Are you willing to help us lift the siege?” I ask.
“No, I thought I’d just come here for dinner and be on my way. Really, sister. Does it look like I have much of a choice? I’m aprisoner.”
“And yet you wear no shackles.” I rub my wrists where he chained me.
“I’m in a palace with about five hundred guards and its own set of walls, within the city walls with another,” he pauses, glancing at the map, “twenty thousand or so soldiers between me and anywhere I’d rather be. Twenty thousand? Is that really all?” He scoffs at the stone figures. “We thought you had at least thirty.”
“Not all of our units are on the map,” says Ronan, but I believe that’s a lie. By Seth’s tone, Faros is really in trouble.
“Either way. Now that I’ve seen this, you won’t be letting me go anywhere. So I’m a prisoner. Adria will not be bargaining for me, and she definitely won’t be bargaining for Sylvie. So either I manufacture a defeat of your forces, taking my chances that someone doesn’t kill me during the taking of the city—”
“Seth,” I hiss. Is it asking too much for him to at least pretend he isn’t thinking of betraying us?
“Or,” he continues, ignoring me, “I give you a surefire path to victory, using what I know of our weaknesses, and hope that you ultimately reward me for my efforts when you’re victorious. Which seems like the better option?”
