Queen Maren watches me with a considering look. Then she smiles. “The girl hardly looks beguiled, Adaia. How frustrating for you, Prince. You’ve barely managed to gain a foothold.”
“Patience holds its own rewards,” he says.
I can’t help feeling as though I’m the bone thrown between a pair of snarling dogs. “Stop it. All of you. I am nobody’s pawn. And I will not be used to amuse you all.”
Silence falls.
Every single one of them stares at me as if I’m an amusing dog who’s performed a trick.
“The die was cast. The game begun,” Lucidia murmurs, “but now the players intend to make their own rules. It shall be interesting to see how this will end. I think… I will back the girl.”
“It’s all very amusing, but this is a waste of my time,” Queen Maren says. “Where is Kyrian? He should be here by now.”
We wait.
The bells remain silent, motes of dust shivering through the air.
“Perhaps he’s avoiding me,” says my mother, with mock sincerity.
“I cannot understand why,” Queen Maren murmurs.
The two share a smile.
“The request said midday,” Queen Lucidia growls. “You have ten more minutes of my time. I have important matters of business to attend to.”
And so, Prince Kyrian’s chair remains empty.
I can sense Thiago’s frustration. No doubt he hoped his one ally would be here to stand at his side. In a realm filled with queens, the pair of them are considered brutal upstarts, and the three queens will be disinclined to believe him.
“The request was sent,” Maren says. “His absence speaks to his lack of care. Begin, Prince. We’re all dying to know what this mysterious summons is all about.”
Thiago wastes no time. He cannot afford to. “Angharad is trying to resurrect the Hallow in Mistmere.”
Queen Lucidia sucks in a sharp breath. “She wouldn’t dare.”
But it’s Queen Maren that leans forward with glittering eyes. “Have you any proof?”
“None beyond what I’ve seen with my own eyes,” he replies.
“So we’re to take your word for this?” My mother sneers. “The word of a prince who murdered his queen’s rightful heirs?”
“The word of a prince who dueled those heirs for his throne,” he corrects. “My word has been good in the past. Or are you calling me a liar?”
The pair of them stare at each other like cats contesting their turf.
Instantly, I can see this meeting deteriorating until it’s nothing more than accusations and insults.
“I saw it,” I call.
The room stills.
Four pairs of eyes turn to me, and my mother’s hold murder.
“I saw it too,” I repeat. “The Hallow stones are nearly all standing. Angharad had tribes of captured goblins working pulleys, and a couple of enormous trolls. The entire city was guarded by banes wearing her sigil, and her banner flew over her tent.”
“Did you see Angharad herself?” Queen Maren asks.
My mother’s fingers drum, one by one, on the arm of her throne.
I tilt my chin. “No. But Isem was there.”
“How close did you manage to get?” Lucidia demands, her blind eyes staring straight through me.
Not close enough. I know what she’s asking. “We were half a span away. On a rooftop. But it was there. The Hallow was risen.”
“When you say you saw the Unseelie queen’s tent there,” Lucidia murmurs, “was the banner over the tent waving in the wind?”
What?
“Why does that matter?”
“Illusions are the prince’s gift,” Queen Maren murmurs. “How are we to know if what you’re saying is the truth? If you were closer, then you may have been able to see if the scene was real.”
“Illusions are difficult to control on such a large scale,” Queen Lucidia adds. “It’s the small things that slip. A banner standing still in the breeze. The lack of scent of rank, unwashed troll. The echo of a bane’s howl.”
A muscle in Thiago’s jaw pulses. “First, I’m toying with her mind, and now I’m conjuring illusions to fool her. What an elaborate scheme I have planned.”
“What you’re suggesting speaks of war,” Queen Maren replies coldly. “We merely wish to ascertain the truth before we commit to an action that will drag the entire alliance into a bloody battle that none of us wish to fight.”
“You also speak of Mistmere, and those territories have long been disputed,” Queen Lucidia adds. “The game is already afoot between you and Adaia. It ends in a few brief months, which makes this the perfect time for a distraction.”
“Angharad has signed the treaty,” my mother adds, “with her own blood. To break it means instant death. So why would she encroach in lands not her own?”
“As I recall, she turned away to slice her wrist,” Thiago snaps. “I certainly didn’t see if it was her blood that dripped into the cauldron, or her servant’s. I’m not the only one with the gift of illusions.”
“But you have an interest in Mistmere,” Lucidia says.
“What possible cause does Angharad have to raise the Hallow?” My mother arches a mocking brow. “The Old Ones are trapped. And she has her own Hallows in Unseelie lands if she wishes to travel.”
“Nor did she serve the Mother of Night,” Maren adds. “She was bound to the Horned One.”
It seems as if they’re working in tandem against him.
Realization dawns: they are.
I told my mother about Mistmere, and she came prepared. But why would she do this? Does she not care about the Unseelie threat? Or does she think it may rid her of her most dangerous enemy?
“I don’t know what her interest in Mistmere is formed of,” Thiago says very quietly and very coldly. “Perhaps you can ask her.”
We’re getting nowhere.
He warned me that this meeting would be frustrating, but I’ve never truly witnessed the pettiness of the alliance.
How in Maia’s name did they ever drive the Unseelie back?
“If it was an illusion, then it was a grand one,” I tell them. “I felt the power of the ley line igniting. The heat of a bane’s blood splashed across my cheek, and the sensation of their teeth drove into my flesh. I could feel the warmth of their breath on my skin, and the shiver down my spine at the sound of their howls. I know you struggle to believe him, but what if he’s speaking the truth?”
I turn to Maren. “You share a border with the Unseelie kingdoms. Both you and Evernight will be the hardest hit if Angharad is truly plotting something.”
She and Lucidia share a look.
“And the alliance still hasn’t recovered from the last war,” I continue. “Mistmere is an empty land frayed at the edges by the claims of several others kingdoms. The Mountain Kingdom of Taranis lies fallow, its scorched plains peopled by monsters and howling winds. All that’s left are the four kingdoms represented here and the Isles of Stormhaven, where Prince Kyrian resides. Unless Angharad builds a fleet, he’s the only one of us who can consider himself safe.”
“Do you think we’re unaware of our geography?” my mother sneers.