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Kienen nods once. “Impressive.”
“Where are the rest of the saplings hiding?” I ask.
His assessing gaze lingers on Zander another beat before shifting back. “In the mountains, I imagine.”
“You don’t know?” They must have a home base.
“They haven’t been overly receptive to aiding our cause as of late, with the rumors that Her Highness did not survive the attack on Hudem. And since Prince Tyree left, even less so.”
“Clearly those rumors were wrong.”
“Fates be merciful for that.” He dips his head in deference. “This far in the mountains, news travels over ten thousand tongues and when it arrives, it’s laden with falsities. Not long ago we heard that Her Highness had not only survived but sat on the Cirilean throne. We thought it impossible that the king would ever—” He cuts off, catching himself with whatever he was going to say. “That he would ever accept you again. We assumed it a tale spun by drunks around a campfire. No one believed it. And the saplings are convinced that the bargain made with Ybaris is broken. They are no longer allies to us.”
“They have all that raw merth cord.” That we assume Princess Romeria brought with her because the Terren Mountains in Ybaris is the only place it grows, but I don’t know for sure. I have to be careful what I say.
“A conciliatory prize, according to them. They do not believe the queen will ever deliver on her promises. They do not think Mordain will support her.”
Which means this deal between Ybaris and the saplings was about more than some paralyzing weeds to help catch their meals.
“As for the ones who attacked your camp, they likely did not realize you were among the Islorians.”
“Or maybe they did. It’s impossible to trust anyone. Hence …” I wave a hand toward the arrows, lowered but still nocked. “Can you reach the saplings in the mountains?”
“They are a quarter-day’s ride from here.” He pauses. “Do you have a message for Radomir you wish me to deliver?”
I resist the urge to ask who Radomir is. Princess Romeria wouldn’t ask that. I assume he’s the sapling’s leader.
Before I have a chance to speak, Abarrane steps forward, her dagger in her grip as if there isn’t a gate separating them. “You will show me exactly where those vermin are hiding.”
Kienen is unfazed by her sudden venom. “You wish to enter a cave with hundreds of saplings waiting to feed off you?”
“No. I wish to rescue my warriors.”
“You won’t succeed. We don’t even go up there. I would not recommend it.”
“Do not feign worry for me, Ybarisan,” she spits out.
Kienen’s expression is stony as he shifts to me. “What is your order, Your Highness?”
Abarrane growls.
If this situation weren’t so tense, I might smile. Kienen has a spine. “If Telor is two days away, we need you here, Abarrane, not running into caves that you won’t come out of.” Not with hundreds of saplings and God knows how much raw merth. I shudder at the thought of that many immortals, with their sunken cheeks and bulging foreheads. “Radomir has two legionaries captured in Norcaster, and I am demanding that he return them to us immediately. Come back tomorrow night with him and the warriors, along with the rest of the Ybarisan army.”
Kienen’s face tightens. “I do not know that Radomir will agree to such a demand, Your Highness. As I’ve said, they do not have much faith in Ybaris anymore. He may agree to release the warriors, but I cannot see him traveling here.”
“Tell him I’m alive and I always keep my word.” I hold my breath, hoping that’s vague enough. Whatever bargain they struck, the prize was enough for that sapling to come to Cirilea to help Ybaris in their attack.
“Unless he’d prefer we seek him out in his home and help him see the light,” Zander adds, that cool, calm edge to his voice scarier than all of Abarrane’s barking. “Do let him know how you found his companions and that Nulling beast.”
“I will share both your messages.” Kienen bows. “Do you have a letter for the queen that I can send with the taillok?”
His request throws me off. “Uh … I’ll have one ready by the time you return.”
With a fleeting look toward the legionaries and their nocked arrows, as if one might land in his back, Kienen marches toward his waiting horse. As one, they turn and ride off.
“I do not trust him,” Abarrane declares. “He is too young and smug. And Ybarisan.”
“We do not have a choice. But if he shows up here tomorrow night with Drakon and Iago and two hundred and fifty-four Ybarisan soldiers, then we know we can put at least some trust in him,” Zander answers. “Well played, Romeria.”
“Thank you.” I let out a deep exhale. Only now do I feel how stiff my body was, how much tension coursed through my limbs.
