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Lenna noted the Vedera gathered around the throne and throughout the hall. Her gaze passed over Ridha, hanging for a moment. The princess of Iona did not move, but curled her hands on the arms of her seat, the silver ring on her thumb scraping against wood. Ridha was a warrior trained, with centuries on the Yrla chief, not to mention twice her size. But she saw the challenge in Lenna’s sharp stare.
“Thank you for coming,” Kesar said, moving to stand with Dyrian. “I know our kinds have not always been friends, but we need each other now.”
Grinning, Lenna showed a pair of gold incisors. They gleamed, catching the light of the pit fires. “We fight everyone, not just you, Elder.”
The Jydi were not politicians. They did not need to bluster or boast. It was simply true. They were known for their raiding throughout the Glorysea and even as far south as the Tyri Straits. Port cities dreaded their longships as much as any storm.
Ridha felt her legs moving before she even knew she was out of her seat. In three long strides, she stood nose to nose with Lenna. Or, rather, nose to neck.
“And now we must fight together,” Ridha said, looking down at the chief.
The raiders did not quail, and Lenna only smiled wider. “That’s why we have come.”
“Good.” Ridha breathed an inward sigh of relief.At least they’re straightforward.“Allward will need you. All of you.”
“And more will come,” Lenna answered, her voice deepening. In spite of her smile, Ridha saw the understanding in her. Things were far worse than they seemed. “But Yrla came first.”
“Yrla came first,” Ridha echoed, nodding in gratitude. “History will remember that. I promise.”
Lenna wagged a finger inked like a snake. “Put us in a song, not a book.”
Ridha could only nod again.If there is anyone left to sing,she thought.
“The Queen of Galland is on the march,” Kesar said to the hall, her words carrying. “She is waging war against the world, and Prince Taristan of Old Cor—”
“Yes, yes, the Spindle man,” Lenna said, cutting her off. She waved her hand in a circle, gesturing for Kesar to move on. She seemed almost bored by the ending of the world. “He will bring a great evil to the realm—we know this already. And that silly queen,” she scoffed, rolling her blue and green eyes. Behind her, a few of the raiders laughed. “Too much power. It rots, and we will rot with them.”
The Vedera stood silent, perplexed by Lenna’s boldness. Ridha only found it intriguing.
“You know Erida of Galland?” she asked.
Behind their chief, the raiders laughed among themselves. Lenna’s gold teeth flashed as she joined them.
“A little, I tried to wed her,” she said, shrugging.
“You could have saved us all a great deal of trouble,” Ridhasighed.Such a union would be impossible, of course. Rulers need heirs.The princess of Iona knew that far too well, and rued the day her turn would come to provide the next monarch of her enclave. “I’m sorry she said no.”
“I am not,” Lenna answered bluntly, meeting Ridha’s gaze. She stared, unblinking, the full weight of her focus boring into her.
Ridha did not mind her attention in the slightest, and stared back.
It was Dyrian who broke them apart, striding between chief and princess. He was nearly Lenna’s height, and judging by his mother, he had a great deal left to grow. At his throne, the bear yawned. After a week in Kovalinn, Ridha found him harmless, but the raiders drew back, wary of his massive jaws.
Only Lenna did not flinch.
“We will go south to Ghald, all of us,” Dyrian said. “And see what clans answer the call to fight.”
“Many will. Blodin, Hjorn, Gryma, Agsyrl, the Snowlands.” Lenna rattled off pieces of the Jyd, listing the many clans from the barren tundra to the eastern coast. Ridha didn’t know half of them. “We have not raided this year. We are ready.”
Ridha remembered those poor farmers in the Castlewood and their empty-headed plot.Raiders aren’t raiding,they’d said, though they had no idea why.
“How did you know to stop raiding?” she asked, still holding Lenna’s eye.
The chief shifted, turning aside. She gestured for one of the raiders to take her place. “Witch.”
The man without armor stepped forward, long fingers arranging his braids. He seemed delighted to address the Vedera.
“The south thinks we are stupid, simple, unwell,” he said, leering around at them. “But we see more than they do.” The old witch rattled a pouch at his belt before spilling its contents across the floor. “So the bones tell.”
