Page 76 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“There is always room for deception in the serpent’s words,” Jarek says from behind his matching costume.

“Our immediate problem is not getting the scribes out but dealing with the Prime,” Solange says. “She believes me still at the rift, preparing to march home with the casters. This plan only works until she discovers I am here.”

We were careful not to reveal our scheme to anyone in Ybaris, ordering the Shadows who sacrificed their armor to remain in Islor. All messenger casters have been sequestered. Her second-in-command, a Shadow named Mannix, is the only other who knows of what is happening in Mordain, and Solange assured us he would fall on a spike before he betrayed her.

We traveled by dragon and landed well outside Argon to avoid raising alarms that could reach Mordain. After procuring horses, we rode the rest of the way, sending Caindra, Valk, and Xiaric back to patrol the rift—far from us.

“Then we must not let her find out until it is too late,” Jarek says matter-of-factly.

“You cannot do anything. If you three try to pass through the gates, you will find yourself striking an invisible wall, and I doubt it will be painless. Romeria and I will be on our own against them.”

Zander’s jaw must be clenching beneath that mask. He hasn’t dared “forbid” me again, but the anxiety swirling around him is potent enough to choke a corpse.

“What does this Ring of Minerva look like?” I ask, steering the conversation away from any chance he has of letting Solange know exactly how much he doesn’t trust her.

“Nothing you might expect. A simple band made of gold and engraved with the old language that few can decipher, save for a handful of scribes.”

“From the age of the mystics?” The elemental wielders here before the casters, according to Gesine’s time in the library.

She shrugs. “I do not know who inspired it, but it is underwhelming to say the least. Regardless, it gives the Prime all the strength she needs and never leaves her finger.”

“Then it is simple. Cut off her finger first.” Abarrane has been quiet since the flight over. The moment her feet touched the ground, she declared she would ride a horse back before ever flying again. I imagine her complexion has returned to its healthier, less green shade by now.

“Spoken like a true Islorian fool.” Solange scoffs. “If we manage to get close enough to cut off the Prime’s finger before she discovers the ruse, it will not stop all the faction masters and remaining casters from pouncing in an instant to defend against an attack, and we will have yet another battle on our hands. We must do this quickly, but also wisely. The best way is to meet alone with the Prime.”

My stomach roils. She’s talking about killing people as if it’s a checkmark on a list of to-dos for the day. Will it come to that? Or will I be able to reason with these casters for the greater good?

“Abarrane has a bad habit of hastily removing body parts,” Jarek says wryly. “Ask Lord Isembert of Norcaster.”

“He was not going to give us anything,” Abarrane snaps, shooting daggers from the narrow slit in her mask.

“Now, now, children.” Zander grips the rail as our boat rocks against the waves.

The channel between Ybaris and Mordain is narrower than I expected, given the grim story Wendeline once shared. “Did Neilina actually ship three skiffs of dead babies across this stretch as a message?”

“They were alive when they left port. She used her wind casters to steer the boats, leaving them out there for days,” Solange confirms. “We’d already been cut off from our kind for decades. It took nearly seventy years to fill Nyos’s walls with grown casters again once we relented.”

I grimace. “What a monster.”

Solange’s gaze sears into my profile. “And what lengths would you go to as queen if Mordain refused the aid of elementals to your cause? Say, for a battle at the rift that you could not win without them?”

It’s a fair question, given our current predicament and the reality that we’re sailing across the channel with plans to kill the Prime. “I would start with honor and diplomacy. I sure as hell wouldn’t murder babies.”

“Do not forget that we had two honorable kings from two realms, and look how well diplomacy worked for us,” Zander says grimly.

“That was all Neilina, which is why she had to go.” I have yet to be hit by the guilt of killing her.

“And why this Prime must as well,” he counters. “She has denied truths in Neilina’s name for her own benefit. She is not a good fit for a leader. I know your head and your heart, Romeria. You are looking for ways around what must be done. But do not make the same mistakes I did as king. Remove all threats as soon as they make themselves known. Kill her the first moment you safely can.”

Even hours after he first declared this, I can’t digest it. “Doesn’t that make me a tyrant? Running around, killing people?”

“No, it makes you a queen who knows what is truly at stake. With Malachi here and Aoife who knows where, the realms need Mordain’s aid. If this Prime won’t grant it, make room for someone who will. Name someone you can trust.”

“The only person from Mordain I’ve ever trusted is dead.”

“Elementals cannot be made Prime,” Solange cuts in. “It is too dangerous to bind Mordain’s power to a mind that will fracture.”

That leaves Agatha, but I need her in Ulysede. “Why not let Mordain choose their own Prime?” Wouldn’t that be the way to step forward?

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