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‘What does he say?’ By the tone of Tared’s voice, he was prepared to fade to Phurys this very moment to break a couple of phoenix noses, diplomacy be damned. ‘Do they want anything from you?’
‘No,’ Lyn said, gaze bleakly scanning the letter again. ‘No, but … Oh, hell. Em?’
‘Yes?’ My voice came out higher than usual. ‘What is it?’
She hesitated, then muttered another curse and handed me the letter, lips a thin line. ‘Read for yourself.’
The parchment trembled in my fingers, blurring Agenor’s messy writing.Bad news, the note started – not even a salutation to soften the blow.
Phoenix elders seem determined to trust the Mother’s version of events. Very politely called me an idiot for not seeing the issue with our most dangerous weapon being fully under the Silent Death’s control, etc. etc. They told me they will reconsider their decision not to join if and only if Em makes a bargain that she won’t exchange a word with C. ever again.
I have no clue how to even bring this up with her. Will defer to your wisdom.
A.
I stared at the words with unseeing eyes, the firelit kitchen a haze as the full implication of my father’s words sank in.
A bargain.
To stay away from Creon.
A breathless laugh fell from my lips, horror more than any other emotion. No. No, not a chance in hell. Even if we needed the support of the phoenixes – even if we needed every little bit of support we could get – surely we didn’t need themthatbadly? The others would agree, wouldn’t they, that even an army of fire mages couldn’t be worth …
Would they?
My breath quickened as I tried to imagine what Edored would say – what the Council would say. A hundred and thirty years of desperate resistance, a hundred and thirty years of human suffering, and was I really going to shove all of that aside and risk losing this war just because of some childish sentimentality? Because of some murderer? Clearly they’d always been right not to trust me, and …
Fingers plucked the parchment from my hand.
‘Hey!’ I snapped, snapping around before I had the mind to register the crude black scars running over that offending hand. ‘Will you …’
And then I found myself chest to chest with Creon, chest to chest with a generous six feet of wings and leather and bulging muscle, and the breath caught in the back of my throat.
He merely raised an eyebrow, gracefully stepping back as quietly as he’d arrived.
‘You could have justasked,’ I managed weakly.
With a shrug, he shifted his gaze to the rumpled parchment, granting Agenor’s writing no more than a slow, sceptical look. He did not meet my eyes as he lowered the note. He just turned away, wordless and careless – the way he’d turned away from me for hours and hours on end – crumpled the message between his slender fingers, tossed it into the stove with a single well-aimed gesture, and sauntered back to the pumpkin he’d been butchering.
As if the problem no longer existed with that note reduced to ashes.
And that … that was all he was going to do? Shrug at me and ignore the catastrophic choice that had just been forced upon me, or the consequences of the decision I would make?
‘What in Orin’s name is all this about?’ Beyla said behind me. ‘What did he write, Lyn? If they’re causing trouble …’
‘Em?’ Tared said. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I …’ The room spun around me, dragging my thoughts with it. I wasnotalright. I was further from alright than I’d been in ages, our hopes and alliances crumbling because of me and me alone, and why was Creon juststandingthere scooping seeds from his gods-damned pumpkin as if he didn’t feel the blood running cold in my veins?
‘Not a very pleasant note, I take it?’ Naxi said, sounding amused.
‘Emelin?’ Nenya’s voice was hard through the exhaustion, her sharp-minded wariness returning. ‘What is the problem?’
I couldn’t tell them.
If I told them, the Council would know before the week was over – and right now, theonething that would make everything worse was Valdora of Svirla trying to force my hand in a conflict where I’d rather die than give her what she wanted. But their voices were coming from all sides now, asking questions, demanding answers, and then there was Creon’s silent, uncaring back …
The door.
