Page 17 of The Sundered Blade

“You place a great deal of confidence in Farhall’s ability to withstand an invasion,” the queen said at last. “And in me. We have been observing the swelling numbers of Garimoran troops, and they will crush us if they descend in force.”

“Which is why it was imperative we not give Garimore the opportunity to move the main body of their troops too far north,” Vaniell responded firmly. “If they must act swiftly, their forces will not be at full strength, and their supply chains will be unstable at best. A slim chance is better than none, and if we can reach Farhall in time, they too can prepare to meet the threat.”

Allera’s keen eyes fixed on his and her expression changed to one of calculation. “Prince Vaniell, I am willing to believe you only because Kyrion clearly does, and if there is one man who owes you no allegiance or respect, it is he.”

Just as he’d once told Karreya, trust could be a double-edged blade. Even if Allera trusted Kyrion’s suspicion far more than Vaniell’s sincerity, in this case, it would be enough.

“But I must demand that you take no further actions of this magnitude without consulting the other Thrones. The Vaniell we have all experienced up until this point would have no idea that an armyneededa supply chain, let alone how to destabilize one, and I will not countenance my people being sent to war at your whim when we know so little of your true character.”

“Sent to war?” Vaniell echoed softly. “Whether you send anyone or not, war is coming, and my aim is to ensure that Abreia survives. But if you wish to know more of me, know these three things—first, that I intend to fight for Garimore’s freedom from tyranny, whether you choose to support me or not. Second, that I believe in the necessity of five fully independent Thrones. There will be no empires on Abreian soil so long as I draw breath. And third, that I am indeed a mage, so if it is your ambition to persecute mages, you may consider us enemies.”

“That,” Caro said, a grim expression tugging at her lips, “makes two of us.” She drew a dagger from her belt, and as she held it up, a brilliant white flame flared to life around the blade. “And for that alone, you would have my support.”

“Which is whyyou,” Allera said dryly, “are not yet actually in charge. However”—she turned her gaze back towards Vaniell—“I will agree to take your point if you also accept mine. If we are to have five independent Thrones, those Thrones must find a way to trust one another, or our very independence will lead to our doom. And now,” she shifted her attention to Kyrion, “must you be on your way, or is there time for tea?”

“I intend to rest before we depart,” Kyrion replied, “so tea would be most welcome. And perhaps, for the princeling here… some clean clothing? I fear he is the worse for having disintegrated a sea monster two nights ago and the stench begins to wear on me.”

“You didwhat?” Caro’s expression of disbelief might have been insulting had Vaniell not wholeheartedly concurred with the sentiment.

“I didn’t say I was a verygoodmage,” he returned agreeably. “And you have no idea how many trade concessions I would be willing to grant you in exchange for a bath.”

CHAPTER6

Karreya had once considered herself to be intimately acquainted with pain. The Enclave was a harsh school, and one did not emerge without enduring both physical and mental anguish.

But the expression Senaya wore as she faced her daughter held an intensity of grief that Karreya had never dared to imagine.

“Did you envision some brutal and violent end? Some sudden tragedy that could not have been prevented?” Senaya shook her head. “Your father’s passing was so much worse. It was slow and silent. An invisible decline that we knew was inevitable, and yet… I could not convince him to save himself.”

Leisa’s face had gone white and still, but the story had only just begun.

“You know that the fae cannot endure violence—not even in proximity. The pain it causes them is the reason they have left this world behind, as it threatens their very survival.

“I told your father of my past. I warned him that I could not promise him a future. But he loved me—and you and your sister—so fiercely, that he endured the pain of living among humans in order to be with us.”

There were no tears on her cheeks, and yet, agony was etched on every line of her face. As if these wounds were still so fresh that her heart bled with every word.

“When he began to fade, I begged him to leave me. Better to know that he was alive and whole, even if we could not be together. But he would not go. Would not accept a future apart. He said that…” Her voice broke. Her jaw clenched, and her eyes closed. “He said that I was worrying for nothing, but even if the worst happened, he would rather have one day with me than a year with nothing but memories.” Her eyes, when they opened, were stark and deep in her grief-ravaged face. “And so I watched as he slipped away from me. Watched, powerless, as he grew weaker and weaker from the day-to-day struggle of survival. From each time my mother’s people caught up to us and tried to take me by force.”

Her next words were soft and heavy with remembered pain. “When they die, the fae do not leave behind a body as we do. Their physical form turns to mist and air, and I spent months lying beside him each night, wondering whether he would be there when I woke. Wondering whether he would slip away while I was sleeping, while I was shopping, while I was talking to a neighbor, or harvesting herbs.

“And then, one morning, he was gone.”

Karreya had once asked Senaya whether she would make the same choices again. Whether she would risk the pain of loss for the sake of the happy moments with the ones she loved.

Senaya had not been able to answer, and now Karreya thought perhaps she understood. All of those happy moments were overshadowed by this fear—the fear of an emotional torment she could do nothing to prevent.

“Your sister’s illness was sudden and unexpected.” Somehow, Senaya was determined to continue, despite what it cost her. “It was a devastating loss. A child should never die before her parents, and that grief will never leave me, no matter how long I live. But to watch one you love die by degrees, knowing that their love for you is preventing them from saving themselves… That is a horror unmatched by anything my mother has ever inflicted, and I cannot imagine repeating the experience.”

Leisa’s eyes were as red as her mother’s by the time the story was finished, but her determination had not wavered.

“I am sorry for your loss, and for your grief,” she said. “I am sorry for the pain you have suffered. Sorry that I was never able to truly know my father. That I have so few memories of those times when all of us were together. But this… This is not the same. My death is not inevitable. I am not giving up for the sake of love—I am choosing to fight. Choosing to wage war against the very thing that stole my father’s life. And I am asking you to help me.”

Senaya gathered her reins, her features now set in an immovable mask. “Then I will help you,” she said. “But only insofar as I can teach you to use your magic. I will not enter Hanselm, and I will not watch as you throw your life away. You have me until the gates of the city, but not beyond.”

And then she turned her horse and rode away, never once looking back to see whether her daughter would follow.

Leisa’s mouth opened, as if to call after her, but she did not speak the words. Her shoulders slumped and her chin fell as she rested her hands on the pommel of her saddle and took several deep breaths.

---