“We’d like to speak with His Majesty about terms of surrender on behalf of the Alliance,” Ilain concluded.
The soldiers snapped into action, and Evylin smirked at their sudden baffled anxiousness. The head soldier began giving orders, sending for their general. He ordered the quartet off their horses and instructed the other soldiers to bind them.
Thom frowned. “We’re here peacefully,” he said. “There’s no need for restraints.”
“I’ll be the judge of who needs restraining and who doesn’t,” the soldier snapped. “And I sayyouneed particular restraining.”
Rafferty sniggered. “He’s not wrong, Thommy.”
Subjecting themselves to the shackles, Evylin forced herself to remain calm. She felt along the tether between her andDeckard, finding that though his emotions were heightened with anxiety, it was a more subtle, slow feeling rather than the chaotic type that came with a fight. The others were safe, for now. That was what mattered.
A horse thundered to the camp’s entrance. Its rider was a soldier with a purple cape tied to his epaulets and a black plume affixed to his hat. He dismounted immediately, and the men guarding the camp stepped out of his way. “What’s this?” he demanded.
“The Calder woman and the Warrior, General Maurcus,” the leader said. “They say they’ve come to surrender.”
“I said we’ve come todiscusssurrender,” Ilain corrected.
The general scanned them with recognition. “Well,” Maurcus said brightly, “I’m sure His Majesty will be pleased to receive you.” To his men, he added, “Search them. Take their weapons and the Relics. And for Galatae’s Heavens, remove those bloody shackles. They’re the king’s honored guests.”
“You think we brought the Relics?” Rafferty snarked as the soldiers rushed to their orders. “We’re a negotiation committee. We’re not stupid.”
“That’s debatable,” Thom said, readily offering his weapons to the soldiers once his hands were freed.
Though the men moved toward Ilain, she gave them a fierce glare. “If you so much astryto touch me, I will burn you to ash.”
The men hesitated, looking to General Maurcus. He waved a dismissive hand. “Mages don’t carry weapons,” he said. His brow rose. “But I would request you open your collar, Highlady, to prove you don’t carry the Relics.”
“What if she’s got one up her skirt?” Rafferty asked slyly.
Evylin sent him an annoyed look, but Maurcus wasn’t bothered. “We will meet with Highlady Wendle at the palace to ensure there are no surprises,” he explained.
Slowly, Evylin unsheathed her sword, handing it over along with each of her daggers. The belt felt abnormally light around her waist. Her jaw tightened as she handed over the moonstone dagger, its golden handle and silver blade glinting in the light, willing it to remain with the men until she called for it again. She slipped off the band of throwing knives she wore across her chest. Then she unbuttoned her coat and tugged open her collar so they could see she wasn’t wearing a Relic. She turned out her pockets next.
Maurcus motioned to her boot. “I know you’ve got one more,” he said.
Evylin smirked, reaching for the final dagger. “Blount remembers, does he?” She gave an amused hum. “I suppose he’s not as dull as I thought.”
With a faintly amused grin in return, the general accepted the dagger. “You may want to watch that tongue in His Majesty’s presence,” he said.
“Oh,” Evylin shrugged casually, “but didn’t you know? I’m his heart’s greatest desire. I like to think he recognizes my matchless wit.”
“It probably has more to do with your pleasingly firm—”
Thom elbowed Rafferty’s stomach to keep him from finishing the comment.
With a steady eye, Maurcus watched them. He smiled again, but it was a tense expression now. “If you please, remount your horses, and I will escort you to His Majesty.”
“What if I don’t please?” Rafferty asked, though he did as requested anyway.
Maurcus led them on a parade through the war camp, a band of ten soldiers joining them. All around them, Waulden men—and a few women who seemed there as companions or nurses rather than soldiers—watched them pass. Either they recognized them, or word had already circulated through the camp.
When they reached the main gate of Ephria City, Evylin’s stomach clenched, and her heart seized. The heads of King Ephren and his family were set on pikes affixed to the stonework, in full view for all to see. The prince and his sweet wife, Henriette. A child who bore the Ephren visage. Seretta and her father, the duke. Many others Evylin didn’t recognize.
Another spike of dread seared through her, but it was fainter, and she knew it was Deckard. He’d sensed her distress.
Forcing herself to calm down, she sent a soothing wave toward him to tell him she was safe. At her side, Ilain gagged and averted her gaze. Evylin herself was torn between looking away and scanning the heads of the royals for Carlile. Was the old adviser safe? Or had he been discovered as an Alliance member, and Blount was torturing him even now?
Since she didn’t find the adviser among the dead, Evylin looked away and hardened her jaw. They passed through the gates. Two Mages with dark cloaks joined them, the double-moon crest marking them as Night Mages. They flanked Ilain, a special guard, likely intended to keep her from using magic.
