Maile looks at me as if she forgot I was here. She shakes her head. “Twenty,” she says.
“Actually, none,” Artemisia says. “No trained Water Guardians. Twenty people with raw power but no training.”
“Twenty, though,” I say slowly. I think of what Artemisia has done on her own, then multiply that by twenty. I understand what she’s saying. I understand the difference, I do, but I also remember what I could do even before I started my training. My power was a wild, untamed thing, yes, but it was strong. And we don’t have any other options.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” I say to Maile before looking at Artemisia. “And we aren’t fighting, either. With the number of troops Cress will have with her, and our own forces recovering from this morning, it is a fight we would lose. So instead we’re going to hide in plain sight and wait for this to pass. Then we will continue on our way without the Kalovaxians any the wiser.”
“And the Sta’Criverans?” Heron asks.
“We can take them out before they even set foot on shore. They aren’t experienced warriors, and they are less experienced sailors. With the help of a few Fire and Water Guardians, we can destroy the fleet.”
“That’s all well and good, but the Kalovaxians will still find a destroyed camp,” Maile says.
“No they won’t,” I tell her. “They’ll see the camp exactly as it was, exactly as they expect to. And Prince Avaric and the Sta’Criverans will be on the shore, waiting and ready to strike a deal.”
The others frown, confused, but Artemisia meets my gaze. “You’re talking about using untrained Guardians,” she says. “You know better than most, Theo, how raw power is different from trained power.”
“I do,” I say. “And under different circumstances, I wouldn’t suggest it. But as it is, I have to ask: Can it be done?”
She hesitates before nodding. “In theory, yes.”
“In theory will have to be good enough.”
“And what about the trade?” Heron asks. “Cress wants Jian and Brigitta, but if what Brigitta told you is correct—”
“She can’t have Jian,” I say, shaking my head. “Whatever happens tonight, that much I know. We’ll tell her he died on the journey here.”
“She won’t be happy about that,” Artemisia says.
“I’m sure she won’t be,” I say. “But I’d rather deal with her temper than put that weapon in her hands.”
“And Brigitta?”
I hesitate, biting my lip. “If we don’t have either of them, she’ll grow suspicious,” I say. “And Brigitta isn’t dangerous to trade. Cress’s interest in her is sentimental, not strategic.”
“She’ll kill her,” Heron points out.
She will, I know, but not right away. I’m sure Cress has more in store for her. Perhaps I’ll retake the capital before Cress can kill her; perhaps it won’t make a difference. But Brigitta was right: I am a queen, and I will do what needs to be done.
“We’ll trade Brigitta, but the Kalovaxians cannot be allowed to find Jian. If this plan doesn’t work…” I trail off, but Artemisia catches my meaning.
“They may take the rest of us, but they won’t take him alive,” she says.
HERON WORKS ON HEALING THE Water Guardians as quickly as possible while Maile herds the former slaves and anyone injured in battle into their barracks, where they will remain out of sight until the Kalovaxians leave.
While those preparations are being made, Artemisia, the other Fire Guardians, and I make our way to the seashore, a couple of miles from the camp.
“Could you kill her if you had to?” Art asks me as we walk.
I look at her, surprised. I don’t have to ask who she’s talking about.
“That’s not part of the plan,” I say. “Today we just need to survive and keep their army from growing. Killing Crescentia would accomplish nothing. If we do, someone else would take her place quickly enough. I’d guess the nobles have had contingency plans ready since the Kaiser died. Longer, even—if my dreams are to be believed, she already thinks they’re planning some kind of coup. We just need to survive this so that we can win another day. Sometimes surviving is enough.”
I don’t realize I quoted the late Kaiserin until the words are out of my mouth.
“If you had to, though,” she asks again, and I realize what she’s actually asking. Not whether I physically could do it—I’m not sure either of us really knows the answer to that—but whether I could stand before the girl I once called my heart’s sister and end her life.
I open my mouth to say that yes, of course I could, but no words come out. It’s easy to remember that Cress is my enemy when I think of her as she was the last time I saw her in person, but the Cress in my dreams—or whatever they may be—has her claws in me as well. Could I kill Cress?
I don’t reply, but Artemisia must hear my answer anyway because she doesn’t press it.
The sun is high in the sky by the time we make it to the shore, where we linger in a copse of cypress trees, out of sight from the Sta’Criveran ships lying in wait about three miles offshore. It’s hard to tell their size from this distance, but I have to assume they’re large enough to carry not just Prince Avaric and his guards, but also the army he promised Cress.
“They won’t come closer until it’s time to meet,” I say. “But if they see Kalovaxians on the shore with prisoners, they’ll assume the Kaiserin arrived early, and we can lure them in.”
Artemisia nods. “Into positions,” she says, loud enough to be heard by the Fire Guardians.
The eight of us cluster into two groups, six of us to be Kalovaxians and the other two to be the Sta’Criveran guards who escorted Brigitta and Jian. Facing us, Artemisia closes her eyes and lifts her hands, weaving them through the air in a set of intricate patterns. As she does, it feels as if a net of air falls over us, covering us head to toe. Finished, Art opens her eyes and nods once.
“You’ll do from a distance,” she says.
I look at the others in my group, their tawny skin now pale white, various shades of dark hair turned blond. She took my own appearance a step further, altering my plain shift into a flowing gown of slate-gray silk, though when I touch the material, it still feels like cotton.
The others stare at me, their eyes lingering on my neck. The skin there feels like my own skin, but I assume Artemisia changed that too. She made me into Cress, or a close enough approximation. The Sta’Criverans have never met Cress, but they must have heard enough stories about her.