Page 85 of An Archer's Reckoning

“What will you do? When we have won, what is next?” I asked.

She set her glass down and studied me for a moment. “Danai, what do you think we are doing here? What does winning even mean?”

I sensed a trap but couldn’t figure out how to escape it. All I knew was the answer Isabel had given time and again. “You wanted to unite the continent under one banner, under one rule. Winning is just that. One land. One Kingdom. One Queen.”

She laughed.

Not a girlish giggle or subtle chuckle. She let out a long, sonorous cackle that rose from the depth of her gut. She laughed until tears of amusement formed and her eyes crinkled.

“Oh, Danai. You havenotbeen paying attention at all.” Her voice lost all mirth. “I amnotIsabel. I have no interest in ruling, or in having anything to do with the people of this land. I am here to take my vengeance on those who damned me all those years ago. I will hear them call for mercy, cry for death. I will watch as they draw their final breath with my face as the last thing they ever see.”

She rose and stood before the table.

“The Melucians, the Kingdom, this war? They meannothingto me. I will have my revenge if I have to kill everyone alive to get it. There are only four Mages remaining, and I will see them ended.”

Her eyes blazed with anger and hatred.

I wished I could flee.

She was definitelynotIsabel.

She no longer craved power. Death was her instrument, vengeance her only care.

How had I not seen that before?

How had I not known?

And now I was truly trapped.

“Your will be done, QueenIrina." I raised my glass to her and downed the last of my brandy. “I have a few preparations to complete before we leave. Marks said we depart in three hours. By your leave.”

She nodded absently and returned her attention to her half-empty glass as I backed out, my eyes never daring to leave her.

Chapter 30

Ayden

Traveling to Fleet Town was a useless mission. I was sure Captain Whitman knew it, too.

The trip from Grove’s Pass took twenty days. It would take the Rangers another day or so to gather, equip, and depart, then twenty or so more days, assuming weather cooperated in the dead of winter, to reach the headquarters.

The enemy was only days from the town when I left.

If that.

I spent much of the first few days mulling over why the Captain sent me away and fretting over how Declan fared. There could only be one answer for the former: I was the son of one of the highest ranking nobles in the country. The Rangers would send me on missions that might involve injury, but the Captain likely feared repercussions should I be killed in an avoidable conflict.

Avoidable conflict.

The very notion made me laugh.

There was nothing avoidable about any of this. The Kingdom was crossing the mountains with enough men and arms to crush us like a melon beneath a hammer. It would not matter if I had been born a cobbler’s son or the King of Vint, when the Kingdom’s trebuchets began firing, Melucia was doomed. We all were.

Thinking of Declan inspired an entirely different fear.

Worrying that I might be injured or slain was one thing. Seeing possible paths in which Declan lay bleeding on the frozen ground was another altogether. During those weeks headed on my mindless mission, I saw a hundred ways he might be killed.

By arrows in battle.

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