“We understand it enough,” she says evenly. “And unless you’ve got a better idea, this is the only option that doesn’t rely on cooperation from a population that’s been poisoned and starved for decades.”
Vren holds her gaze for a long moment. Then exhales. “…All right,” he mutters. “Then we do it your way.”
Saana steps closer, quieter now. “It has to be done carefully,” she says. “The body will still need time to adjust. Even if the antidote works.”
Rubi nods once. “Then we make sure it does.”
Her gaze flicks between them—Vren, Saana, Elyssara. For the first time since the conversation began, she is completely still. Completely certain.
The kind of stillness that only comes when the answer finally locks into place.
“Bring me the rest of the Melders,” Rubi says. “And I’ll make sure the entire city remembers exactly what was taken from them.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Some grief is loud and some concealed
Yet both still shape the swords we wield
Ronyn has spentmost of his life avoiding rooms full of egotistical, self-righteous assholes. Unfortunately for him, The Perils seem intent on correcting that oversight.
Ronyn takes it all in from the edge of the space, a half-full flask of brask dangling loosely from his fingers as his gaze drags over the gathered factions that have returned from their missions—too many egos, too many grudges, too many people who would have happily slit each other’s throats a couple of days ago now standing shoulder-to-shoulder like that means anything at all.
The Melders cluster near the stone ridges, all sharp edges and watchful eyes. Saana stands among them, softer but no less steady, her presence a quiet counterbalance to Vren’s barely contained agitation. Marin watches Saana, trust for the Melders clearly questionable. But she stands with Elyssara, Seren, Teddy.
At least some sort of bond is forming—even if she’s simply keeping her enemies closer.
The witches occupy the far side, composed and calculating. Daphinia and Caev stand flanking their empty space like sentinels, but Lara… she is notably absent.
Calira stands apart from the groups, posture rigid beneath the Royal Guard armor. Watching everything. Trusting no one. Like she still doesn’t trust anything other than the man who turned her into a monster.
This. This is who will bring Maireth and Ilyra to heel. Not even three dozen. Against thousands. Yes, there may be a Starborn army at their disposal, but will they comply under Elyssara’s rule? Will they take advice from the General of Zerynthia? Are they even enough if they do?
All of it is a risk. A risk to humanity itself.
Ronyn can’t help but notice that Seren’s eyes dart to the mouth like she’s waiting for Lara to walk through at any moment. But we all know where she is: Ilyra. Fucking Nyrielle.
And Lara…a coward.
But Ronyn shakes it from his thoughts. Files it away. Not a problem for tonight. Tonight isn’t about solving every fracture in the realms. Tonight is about making sure no one kills each other before they get the chance to kill someone else on the other side of this thing. Really, it’s about connection. Gathering against a common enemy.
And that’s why they need him. He’s the perfect man for the job. He exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders back as he steps forward into the space like he belongs there. Like he always has. Truth is—he does. Chaos, tension, and impossible odds? This is where Ronyn thrives.
Because if there’s one thing he knows better than anyone in this room, it’s how to survive something that should have killed you. And if there’s a second? It’s how to make people forgetthey’re terrified long enough to keep going, and maybe even start to like each other.
He lifts the flask slightly, weighing the room. Timing it. Measuring the exact moment the silence tips from tense into suffocating.
There.
“Right,” Ronyn says, voice cutting clean through the space as he pushes off the stone and strides toward the center of the cavern. “I’ve got a question before we all march off to what will almost certainly be a heroic and wildly ill-advised death.”
A few heads turn. A few don’t. He grins anyway.
“If we’re about to die,” he continues, gesturing loosely with the flask, “I think it’s only fair we establish one very important thing.”
A heartbeat passes. He lifts his chin toward the gathered group.
“Who here is the best drunk?”
