The King either didn't see my apology or didn't care. He went on steadily, “It pains me to say this, but Lord Brendallen has been acting out of sorts for many years. I believe the war has taken its toll on his mind. Whatever the case, he will be allowed to make a statement. I sent for him hours ago; he should be arriving any moment now.”
My hands clenched into fists. Sure, everyone deserved the chance to defend themselves, but I wasn't looking forward to listening to whatever lies Brendallen would spout to save his ass. He was a smooth talker, and I was worried he might wriggle his way out of this. Dal's hand slipped over my fist and squeezed. I flattened my hand to weave our fingers together. He looked pointedly at the Coyote Soul, and I smiled. No matter what Brendallen said, he wouldn't talk his way out of this; the Coyote Soul's testimony outweighed his.
“Perhaps we should conclude this meeting until the Coyote Lord arrives?” King Zanerelle of the Eagles said. “There's no sense in discussing his punishment before he—”
A knocking came at the door, interrupting the Eagle King, who sent a venomous look at the Coyote knight who stepped into the room.
“King Wanerel, the guards have returned,” the knight said as he cast a wary look around the table.
“Yes?” the Coyote King growled. “And where is Brendallen Caisse?”
“He fled, Sire,” the knight reported tonelessly.
Dalsharan cursed as the Royals of Varalorre stiffened. These were people who weren't used to being thwarted.
The Coyote King looked as if he had misunderstood. “Repeat that.”
“The Coyote Lord was not in camp when our soldiers arrived to apprehend him, Your Majesty,” the man stammered. “Evidence was found of some hasty packing.” He cleared his throat. “The warlord's personal guard and the higher ranking officers of his army left with him.”
The Coyote King growled, low and with great menace.
“You're sure he's alive?” I asked.
“There was a lot of blood in his tent but no body, my lord,” the man said.
“A corpse cannot pack,” King Zanerelle drawled. “Brendallen is a warlord, he's not that easily killed, Valorian.”
“A beak to the throat hardly seems easy,” I muttered.
King Zanerelle gave me a slow smile. “Believe me, there are far more difficult ways to die.”
I cleared my throat and looked away.
“Has the Coyote Army been secured?” King Wanerel asked.
“Yes, Sire. Several guards stayed behind to watch over the army until a new warlord is sent to lead it.”
“Very good. Dismissed.” The Coyote King waved a hand at the soldier.
The man bowed and left eagerly. As soon as he was gone, the Royals began arguing. It wasn't merely a warlord missing, it was his elite officers and guard. All of them had information about Varalorre, the Fae, and the Fae Armies that could prove useful to the Farungal. That was scary, and people with power get angry when they're scared.
Everyone talked over each other, raising their voices like a bunch of children. I slid down into my seat and propped my head in my hand. All of that rushing, all of that frantic flying we'd done to get to that meeting had been for naught. Despite what he'd bragged to Kervel, Brendallen had been wise enough not to take his chances with his king. He had used what little time he had to escape, and he was probably ensconced within Gremara's fortress by now. The soldier in me snarled that we'd wasted time going to Varalorre to convince the Royals of his betrayal when we should have just gone back to the Coyote camp and made sure Brendallen was dead.
But then Dalsharan wouldn't have been reinstated as Hawk Lord.
I glanced at the pendant hanging in the V of Dal's neckline. It caught the light and glowed. Had it missed the Hawk Lord while it was tucked safely in a box? Did it speak to him now? What would it say to me if it could? Probably to get off my ass and do something instead of pouting.
I stood up and left the table.
The room went silent as I strode toward the door.
“Valorian, where are you going?” King Avamael called after me.
I stopped and turned back to face my King. The Hawk Lord had twisted in his seat to watch me with a bemused expression.
“I'm going to Alantri,” I said. “That son of a bitch betrayed us, and the monster Queen he serves has a spell that has put a target on my lord's back. I'm not sitting here a second longer. You may argue all you want, but I'm going to kill the Coyote Lord, and then I'm going to kill Gremara.”
“No, you are not,” the Hawk Lord said crisply as he stood. “We are going to kill them together.” He turned to his king. “By your leave, Your Majesty?”
“You have my blessing and my army,” King Avamael said. “Finish this and bring that traitor to justice.”
“Yes, Sire!” The Hawk Lord bowed before he strode over to me, his guards falling into line behind him.
“If any of you care to help the Hawk Lord, you know where to find his army,” King Avamael said as he stood too. He offered his hand to his queen, helped her up, and escorted her past Dal, leading the way out of the room.
I grinned at Dalsharan as we fell into step behind our monarchs.
Chapter Forty-Three
Our actions prompted the other royals to send their armies to assist us. Not just the Sidhe armies either. The Unsidhe came and set up their tents on the outskirts of the other camps, considerately putting some distance between their camp and the humans. The Hawk camp grew to the size of a prosperous city. It stretched for miles down to the coast to either side. And in the center of that madness, eleven Sidhe warlords and twelve Unsidhe commanders met with their generals to discuss one of the largest war maneuvers of their lives.
The Farungal always came to us. They crossed the Bellor Sea at night and dug into whatever toehold they could find before we could spot them. Then we'd fight. That's how it's always been, with our side ever on the defensive. Now, we talked about offense. We gathered ships as well as weapons and debated where would be best to invade Alantri—where should we land before pushing inland, toward the Queen. The number of ships alone that we'd need was staggering.
It took two weeks to get everyone prepared and our battle plans settled. Two weeks of gathering supplies, hiring ships, training the various fae to fight together, and getting the humans accustomed to the Unsidhe. That may sound like a long time but it's really not. Especially not when it comes to war. A fight goes fast and can be over in an hour, but wars drag on, and planning its strategies can be a lengthy process. Two weeks is a shockingly small amount of time to prepare a collection of armies for what we were about to do. And yet, I was tired of it. So fucking over it. As a corporal, I'd never been a party to battle planning. I just went where they told me to go and tried not to die. But this... this was fucking brutal. I understood why Dal wanted out.