Page 95 of An Honored Vow

The Elf bit her lip as she did the calculations. “Assuming none of the Fae were gravely injured, a fortnight at least.”

Riven’s shoulders fell. “More than enough time for Damien to devise a defense.”

“Or an attack,” Gerarda interjected.

Syrra lifted her chin. “I agree with my nephew. It is our duty to ensure we defeat Damien. We cannot spread our resources thin now.”

Nikolai gave her a sniff nod.

Vrail crossed her arms, her leg still bouncing. “I want to fight.” She gave Nikolai an apologetic look. “For the Halflings and for the burial sites. They cover the mountains of Volcar, all from my clan. If Damien destroys them, then I cannot use my gifts to reclaim that history. We’d be losing more than lives.”

“There will be nothing left for you to reclaim if Damien holds onto his reign.” Riven stepped forward from the wall, the tendons in his neck flexing as he nodded at Nikolai. “I concur with Nik. Defeat must be our priority. Ouronlypriority.”

Something softened in Nikolai’s brow for a moment but then it was gone, his mouth hard and tight once more.

“The Faemother gave me my gifts.” Elaran stood from her seat. “I shall use them as she commands.”

Gerarda nodded in agreement. “My sword will swing wherever Keera needs it.”

Myrrah pushed her chair back from the table. She had been entirely silent since Pirmiith and Dynara walked in.

She made her way to me and grabbed my hand. “It is unfair that so many choices have been left to you in this fight. The one who wins the battle is not always the smartest, but the one who can swing their blade swiftly and with confidence.” Her fingers squeezed mine. “There is no one else I would trust to make those decisions than you, Keera. My sails are yours to command.”

My lip trembled as I looked up at Feron. In the dim light from the hearth, I could see the years that had marked his face. The ages of loss he had lived through and the decisions he had made to survive them.

“What say you?” I asked, ignoring the way the words shook along my tongue.

Feron leaned on his cane, his brows pinched as he considered the question. “I would say that I am not a seer, but I am someone who once had to choose between fighting for all and saving a few.” A tear fell from Feron’s cheek, his voice cracking before he spoke again. “And I have lived with those regrets every day since, yet my people have survived. I have no way of knowing if making a different choice would have meant the end of us.”

“How did you decide before?” I turned to Vrail and Nikolai. They could give us the exact numbers to analyze if we gave them enough time. But every minute wasted would mean more Halflings lost.

Feron let out a deep breath. “Nothing but my intuition. That is all you ever truly have.”

Myrrah squeezed my hand and gave me a pointed look. Who else had been balancing these decisions for decades and who else knew Damien as well as I did? My gut was not a blunt object, but a sharpened weapon, specifically honed for a moment such as this.

There was no time to convene a council. There was not even enough time for more debate. Someone had to make the decision,and I was not going to back down from the choice this time. I didn’t care that Elverath had marked me as a leader the day my eyes turned gold, or if the Light Fae had the day they sealed me in that tree, none of those choices mattered.

But this one did. Because it was mine.

I turned to Syrra and Gerarda, my decision made.

“Prepare everyone.” I tightened my weapons belt and walked toward the door. “We leave at midday.”

Riven grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to Damien.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN

DAMIEN WAS EXPECTING MY VISIT; he pulled me into his dream the moment the elixir put me to sleep. I appeared sitting in a chair in the grandest inn in Volcar. It had been one of Damien’s favorite haunts when he was a young prince. I didn’t want to think about any of the activities he had gotten up to in this very room.

“Why are we here?” I seethed, looking at the falling snow outside of the wide wall of windows.

Damien lifted his chin so his breath fogged the chilled glass. “A good leader always watches over his men on the eve of battle.”

I crossed my legs and leaned back in the chair. “You’re not really here.”

Damien turned to the table behind him and poured himself a cup of wine. He poured a second goblet, filling it and pushing it to my side of the table. I didn’t touch it.

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