“It can wait until dawn.”
“It cannot.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. I’ll only wake him for an emergency. What news do you deliver?”
“This is for the Otsakumea’s ears only. Or my sister’s.”
“Then find your sister.”
Ferdinand.
Luca widened the entrance flap without hesitation. They whirled upon him, their swords glinting in the silver light, the first fingers of dawn still but a pewter cast above the shadows marking distant mountains. Ferdinand stood, bleary-eyed yet stern in the face of one of the resistance guards—Sami.
“I must speak with you, my Otsakumea.” Ferdinand took a step toward Luca, only to have the young guard angle into his path, his slim shoulder barely reaching the hulking knight’s breastplate.
“Sami, stand down,” Luca whispered. “This is Ferdinand, First Knight and Protector of Ardenia, and brother of Queen Amarande.”
The boy did as he was told but kept Ferdinand pinned with an unrelenting stare as he did so.
“Come,” Luca said quietly to Ferdinand, “I’ll lead you to the queen’s tent—”
“Luca!” His head whipped around at the sound of Amarande’s voice—a whisper, but fierce and furious. Still in her garnet gown, Amarande ran to him with her skirts gathered in her fists, someone hot on her heels—Osana. Of course.
In answer, Luca simply shepherded everyone inside his pavilion-style tent. “Sami, stand by.”
Before the flap was even drawn shut, Ferdinand was upon him, close enough to whisper lest Sami could hear. “Geneva is coming.”
A spike of fear dropped within Luca’s blood and his breath audibly caught as he lit a candle so that they might see better. He’d known it before the words were out, the moment he saw Ferdinand, but still, the confirmation was a weight bearing down on his gut. “When?”
“Today, now, right away,” Osana confirmed, breathless.
Stars, no.
Not here. Not with his people in camp. Not mere feet from the sand that held his parents’ ashes. No.
Amarande instantly captured his hand as she shot important follow-ups at her brother, her cousin. “From which direction? How many in her army?”
“We don’t know,” Ferdinand admitted. “We only know she’s on her way. She’ll arrive before the conclave begins, while it is simply you and your people here, in the open, unready.”
“Oh, we’ll be ready,” Amarande responded—and, as she wastalking, Luca realized she’d created a plan without him while snaking through tent rows. “Osana, you take the eastern quadrant; Ferdinand, you take the south. I’ll take the west, and Luca, you take the north. We’ll warn them all, light torches, ready all available weapons. We may see her coming overland, but there are also underground tunnels that run to a dry creek bed near the base of the—”
“What’s that?” Osana held up a hand.
In the fevered second that followed, they strained to listen. Over the churn of Luca’s pounding heartbeat, one sound—distinct yet plural—rose from beyond the tent walls.
Yelling. Battle cries, wails of fear, rough wake-up calls—all culminating with one spine-tingling scream.
Geneva had arrived.
All four of them dove for the exit, Beltza leading the way. Outside, Sami’s sword was raised, his eyes fevered and stance stuck pointing south. Toward the rising noise, which grew with each passing blink and breath.
Toward what they all knew was happening—and they were not ready.
The silver light was just bright enough to color the movement in the distance so that when they looked straight south, all they could see were the ghostly outlines of hundreds of riders pouring into the camp, swords held high in charge before swooping low to connect with flesh and blood.
And then, to their left, the dormant firepit suddenly burst into flame.
CHAPTER 18
