A heavy silence followed our small group through halls bright with morning light. I’d woken early to wash and oil my flying leathers, running over words in my head that I still hadn’t settled on, even as we approached the throne room. Though with Res following a step behind and Kiva on one side and Caylus on the other, the daunting task of the looming alliance meeting didn’t feel quite as impossible.
Except Estrel wasn’t here.
We waited for her outside the throne room. Everyone else was already inside, and my anxiety rose at the steady murmur of voices.
“I’m sure she’s just running late,” I said to Kiva’s skeptical look, even as an image of the withdrawn, indecisive Estrel I’d seen last night flashed through my mind. She wouldn’t leave me to do this on my own…would she?
As the time of the alliance meeting came and went and Estrel still hadn’t arrived, I had no choice but to accept she wasn’t coming.
Silencing the emotions that came with the knowledge that she had abandoned me again, I faced the throne room, determined.
“You can do this,” Caylus said.
“We’re here for you,” Kiva added.
Res trilled softly in agreement.
I took a breath and stepped inside.
Instead of walls, rows of columned arches surrounded the perimeter, easily large enough for two full-grown crows to pass through abreast and guarded each by a monk. A domed ceiling, painted with amber foxes winding through colorful flowering vines, rose far above our heads.
Queen Luhara and King Galren Rebane sat on plush cushions on a raised dais ahead of us, a circle of similar cushions set in a ring before them. Most of them were already occupied, some by the crown prince and princess and others by the council. One seat remained empty in honor of Kuren. Elkona sat to the side, Samra beside her.
A hushed muttering broke out as we entered, all eyes finding Res. We approached a section of open cushions, each of us bowing in turn to the king and queen before we took our seats. One remained empty. I refused to look at it.
“Welcome, Princess Anthia,” said Queen Luhara. “We’re glad you’ve arrived in Eselin safely.” She wore her dark, spiraling curls gathered atop her head, framing a serene, friendly face. Especially compared to the quiet, stony expression of her husband, who simply nodded in greeting.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I replied. I knew little about Kuren’s parents. Every free moment, I’d spent furthering my training to be a rider, neglecting things Caliza could recite in her sleep. Not for the first time, I wished I’d paid more attention in our lessons.
“We’re here today to discuss an alliance between the kingdoms of Rhodaire, Trendell, Jindae, and the Ambriel Islands,” the queen continued, her voice soft but firm. Her dark gaze scanned the crowd as she spoke, addressing everyone equally. “Everyone who wishes it will be given an opportunity to speak, but we’d like to begin by hearing from Princess Anthia.”
Queen Luhara nodded to me, and my heart fluttered. She was yielding the floor. Which meant I needed to stand up and talk.
Saints. I swallowed hard, standing. Caliza had given me a few pointers on the formalities: stay in front of your cushion, don’t talk directly to one person but rather address everyone, speak slowly and clearly.
Faced with so many expectant eyes and such great stakes, every last piece of advice fled my mind.
Caliza should be here, not me. This was what she did, what she excelled at. The only words I was good with were the sharp, sarcastic kind. I didn’t have Samra’s surety and control, Caliza’s tact and knowledge, Estrel’s strength and experience, or even Ericen’s commanding presence.
I had a half-baked plan, a nearly grown crow, and part of a room that hated me, judging by Elkona’s burning gaze and Samra’s dark skepticism.
With a start, I realized everyone had been waiting for me to speak for an uncomfortably long time. My hands curled into fists reflexively, and I forced them to relax, resisting the urge to brush away the gathering sweat beneath my leathers.
“We have a common enemy,” I began, louder than I’d intended. My voice echoed, corralled by the dome and thrown back again. I winced and caught Elkona smirking in a way that made the scars trailing along her face twist. She was enjoying this.
My discomfort. My inevitable failure.
Res recognized it too, the bond thrumming with annoyance. My jaw set, my nostrils flaring. Did she think this was a game? Our lives, our families’ lives, the very survival of our kingdoms were at stake, and she found this amusing?
I straightened. Holding out my left hand before me, I removed the fingerless glove, sparing a brief thought for the prince who’d given it to me, and held up my scarred hand.
“I got these scars pulling Estrel out of a burning rookery.” This time, my voice came steady and controlled, even as my mentor’s absence yawned dark and gaping inside me. “She’d gone in to try and save my mother, who in turn had been trying to save the crow eggs. She failed.
“That day, my mother died, countless numbers of my people were murdered and irreparably scarred, and our way of life was reduced to ashes.” I lowered my hand but left my glove off. As I spoke, I let my gaze rest on each and every face, letting them see the pain.
“Then I found a crow egg in the blackened remains of a rookery.” I stepped aside, letting the circle get their first unimpeded view of Res. He rose taller, the sunlight setting the iridescent sheen beneath his dark feathers aglow.
“With Resyries, we have a chance to save our people. Razel will not stop until every citizen in every kingdom is hers. She will continue to kill and burn and tear families apart. She has already destroyed kingdoms, but she will keep destroying until every ounce of fight, of hope, of life that survived is ground into dust.”
At this, I looked first at Samra and then Elkona. Despite their kingdoms being conquered, they kept fighting. But Razel would crush them too in the end.
“Rhodaire is not strong enough to stop her alone.” I lifted my gaze to the king and queen. “Trendell is not strong enough to stop her alone. What remains of those fighting in Jindae and the Ambriels cannot stop her alone.”
Res’s shoulders lifted as his wings spread just the slightest, making his already impressive size look all the larger.
“Together, we have the power to end Illucia’s reign. Alone, we’ll fail.” My words echoed through the cavernous room.
Then, “That felt almost like a threat.” It was Elkona, risen from her cushion to address the gathering. A defense leapt to my lips, but I swallowed it. The look on her face—I knew it well. I’d seen it a hundred times in Illucia. She was just trying to bait me, to undermine my power. As Trendellan court custom bid, I relinquished my place and retook my seat. Kiva squeezed my arm.
“The princess makes a fine point,” Elkona continued, her voice a low rasp. She wore a soldier’s uniform of green and gold, the metal lightweight Alorr. It clung to her wiry frame like supple leather, the joints left free for easy movement. “Alone, none of us can defeat Illucia. What remains of my rebel forces is thin, Korovi is isolated as ever, and the Ambriels are half-enamored by their masters.”
Beside her, Samra prickled.
Elkona didn’t seem to care. “But what I do not understand is why I should ally my forces with the very people who left them to die. People who even now court the enemy.” Her eyes flashed to me.
My heart sank. I’d known Ericen would come up eventually, but I hadn’t expected it to sound so vicious when it did.
Elkona looked to the king and queen. “Trendell has a long history of avoiding war. It has for ages been a neutral kingdom, and I respect that, even if I do not agree with it. You offered my people aid when they needed it and have since harbored us despite Illucia’s looming threat.”
Her gaze swung around to me, alight with a dark fire. “But what did Rhodaire do? You turned your backs on us.”
I flinched.
“With all your power, all your wealth, all your magic, you stood aside and let us die. Let us burn. Why should we not do the same to you?” She had eyes only for me as she spoke. “Tell me why I should ally my people with leaders that dishonorable.”
It was the same thing Samra had said to me back in Illucia under the guise of Diah, and the answer I’d given had been very similar to what I’d said now. Without each other, we would fall.
Elkona was suggesting that if they banded together, even without Rhodaire, they could survive.
She was suggesting they leave us to our fate.
My mouth turned dry. Without Rhodaire, they would die. They didn’t have the numbers. The Illucian army was expertly trained from birth for one thing: war. They wouldn’t be defeated by a ragtag group of rebels and a peacetime army, no matter how skilled the Trendellan monks were.
I opened my mouth to tell Elkona this, but movement to her side made me pause. Samra had stood. With a final sharp look in my direction, Elkona retook her seat.
Nervous energy rippled along my skin. I stared at Samra, unable to force the shock from my expression. She didn’t meet my gaze.
“Rhodaire’s failure cost countless lives,” she began, and my hope tumbled, disappearing into a familiar void inside me. “While they hid, families were torn apart, cities burned, and children stolen to serve a foreign queen. Our calls for aid went unanswered. No one came.”
Each word struck me deeper than the last. The despair Rhodaire had experienced had been felt a hundredfold in the Ambriels and a hundred more in Jindae. What I had lost, so many others had too, and so much more.
Why did I think they would want to fight alongside people who left them to die?
“But Princess Anthia is not her mother.”
My head snapped up, and I found Samra’s gaze locked with mine. “What she endured to hatch that crow and bring it safely here before us was no small task. It took strength and bravery and sheer, unwavering will on a level I’ve seen in few people. She is not responsible for the decisions made when she was a child. She’s responsible only for her own choices, and she decided to walk into the heart of Illucian territory, stand face-to-face with Razel, and set fire to her carefully laid plans.”
My throat tightened as I straightened.
“Over the last couple of weeks, Anthia has proven herself a leader I will follow.” Samra lifted her gaze to the king and queen. “The Ambriels will ally with Rhodaire.”
Her pronouncement echoed, both in the chamber and inside my head, a heavy refrain: A leader I will follow.
Samra sat, not looking at Elkona, whose very skin burned with the ferocity inside her. I knew that kind of hatred like my hands knew the familiar grip of my bow. I held it close to my own heart. There was nothing anyone could say to convince Elkona that I was not her enemy.
Several Trendellan council members rose to speak. They discussed the logistics of supporting a war, the impact on the Trendellan economy and its people. Some asked me questions about Rhodaire, and I gave the information Caliza had provided me, from the numbers in our army, to our food stores, to our access to ships. All the while, the king and queen remained in silent consideration, and I felt Elkona’s searing gaze cutting into me.
The Ambriels would not be enough on their own. We needed Trendell.
“Princess Anthia,” said a council member. “Could you please describe for us the extent of your crow’s powers?”
Reluctantly, I stood to take the floor. Sweat coated my palms, and I wiped them reflexively on my pants. Elkona’s sharp eyes missed none of my nervousness.
“Res is a storm crow,” I explained. “His abilities are well suited to fighting large numbers. We can damage the Illucian army in a variety of ways with the things he’s capable of, from impacting the battlefield to direct, widespread attacks. However—” I hesitated. Telling them about Res’s other abilities could secure the alliance, but what if they asked for proof? I couldn’t be certain Res would give it to them.
The room waited, all eyes on me. Then—
“Show us.” Elkona’s voice dropped like a stone through the silence.
“What?” My voice caught in my throat.
She stood, brazenly disregarding the speaking procedures. “If he’s so powerful, prove it. Show us what he can do.”
I swallowed hard and looked to Res. He cooed softly, shrinking down.
Please, I begged.
“Well?” Elkona asked. “Does he even have magic?”
“Of course he does!” I snapped.
She gestured to the room. “Whenever it pleases you then.”
“Come on, you bloody chicken,” Kiva hissed under her breath.
Res, please! I couldn’t hold back the wave of anxiety that flooded down the line. Res reared back, cawing, but I felt his power surge. Felt him reach for it—and turn away. He stepped back, shaking his head, his gray eyes bright. His fear, his sorrow, his apology—they all surged along our connection in a tumbling mess.
“Princess Anthia?” Queen Luhara’s normally steady voice betrayed her confusion.
I whirled back to her, panic rising. “He can do it,” I promised. “He’s just scared right now.”
“Scared?” one of the council members asked. “Of what?”
I started to respond, then stopped. What could I say? That Res feared his own magic? Elkona would laugh in my face.
“We had a run-in with the Illucian blockade on our way here,” I said. “He’s just a little shaken from his first battle. He just needs a couple of days.”
Elkona snorted, folding her arms. “How convenient.”
“Watch yourself,” Kiva growled, rising to her feet. “Or are you calling Anthia a liar?”
Elkona’s brow rose as if to say “so what if I am?”
“Thia isn’t a liar,” Caylus said, now standing at my other side. “Kiva and I have both seen Res’s powers.”
“And aren’t you just as likely to lie for her?” Elkona snapped back.
I looked helplessly to Samra.
The captain gritted her teeth, then rose to her feet. “I have also seen the crow use his powers. I can vouch that he is a powerful storm crow and also has access to other crow abilities. Without him, we wouldn’t have escaped the blockade. He destroyed a good number of their ships with ease.”
Relief swept through me, but it was short lived as the same council member asked, “And how was his control of those abilities? He’s quite young, isn’t he?”
Samra looked to me, an apology in her eyes. She wouldn’t lie. “He’s still learning,” she admitted, and my hope dwindled with every word. “He lost control toward the end of the battle and—”
“Lost control?” Elkona asked. “So what you’re saying is he not only refuses to use his powers now, but if he did, he might strike us all with lightning?”
A murmur rippled through the room at that, uncertainty breaking openly on more than one person’s face.
“No, he wouldn’t,” I said hurriedly. “It was only a momentary lapse. He thought I’d been killed and—”
“And promptly started electrocuting everything around him?” Elkona demanded. “So if you fall in battle, what then, Princess? We contend with the Illucian army and a deranged crow?”
If you fall in battle. The words chilled me, even as my frustration mounted.
“You don’t understand,” I argued.
She flicked a hand in a dismissive gesture. “I understand just fine. Your crow can’t control his magic, and now he’s afraid of it or of battle or of losing you. In any case, he’s useless.” She looked to the Trendellan rulers. “Rhodaire has already broken one alliance with my kingdom. Who is to say they won’t break another? They are as dangerous as the Illucians they fight. Jindae will not join this alliance, and I advise you do the same, lest you send your soldiers to the slaughter.”
I gaped at her, desperately trying to conjure the words that would fix this, stop this alliance from slipping through my fingers like ash.
Queen Luhara evaluated me, her hands folded before her mouth. Then she rose. Everything inside me went still and cold.
“We have heard all arguments regarding the matter of an alliance between our nations,” she said. “Based on the evidence that’s been provided, I am not prepared to enter Trendell into any such coalition. You have a place of safety here for as long as you need it, Princess Anthia, but Trendell will continue to remain neutral in this war.”
Her words echoed through the chamber. Elkona smiled. I staggered, Kiva’s quick hands the only thing that kept me upright.
We’d failed.