Page 161 of What Blooms from Death

“I’ve already spoken with Aleksander about this as well,” he added.

I was momentarily speechless.

They’dspokento one another.

And agreed on something, at that.

Maybe there was a glimmer of hope for our future after all.

“I suggested he sit out this first meeting, to avoid adding more tinder to what will be an already-combustible gathering,” Bastian said, “and he agreed to this. But there will be an opportunity to explore his role in things in the days to come, I think.”

The thought of facing this initial trial without him made my chest feel uncomfortably tight, but I would manage, somehow.

I finished securing Grimnor at my waist, while also watching and taking mental notes on how my brother sealed the chamber shut behind us, and then we continued on.

We passed the kitchen, where the night’s dinner was already being prepared; the scent of roasted meats, herbs, and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, making my stomach growl. Predictably, this was where Phantom left us, shifting into a smaller, less frightening form before trotting into the kitchen. He’d made an art out of convincing the palace servants that hewas deserving of treats—I saw no less than three bits of food being tossed his way before he was out of my sight. I rolled my eyes but didn’t call him back to my side; at leastoneof us was going to enjoy the feast tonight.

A steady roar of noise hit us as we approached the area around the training grounds, made up of the hacking and swishing of weapons; the clanging of armor; and the cacophony of chattering voices interspersed with shouted orders and grunts of exertion.

We made our way through the halls above and into the parlor that overlooked the grounds, peering down at the bustling hive of activity.

Things were being pulled from the armory and inventoried. Cleaned. Repaired. Groups of soldiers practiced swordplay and drills, shaking the rust from their muscles with swings and thrusts. Servants moved with purpose, preparing equipment, sharpening blades, and ensuring everything else was in order.

We stood for several minutes, watching. My wide eyes darted back and forth, my mouth going dry as I tried to count and weigh everything I saw—as I attempted to determine how this waking army changed our odds.

“How many?” I asked my brother, quietly.

“Just shy of a hundred strong.”

It had felt like more when I’d been surrounded by them at Graykeep. Such a small number to rest such a heavy task upon—a task we still hadn’t worked out the details of.

Nine days.

Nine days to shape a formidable plan, to prepare our followers to carry it out. And I tried to keep my chin lifted and my spirits undaunted, but I couldn’t help asking, “Will it be enough?”

My brother tilted his head toward me, his expression impossible to read.

My heart pounded and my body tensed, bracing for a grim reply.

No. No, of course it isn’t enough. We’ll be crushed the moment we step through the gate, but we have no choice but to attempt something.

But what he said was, “Do you feel the change in the air since we came back from Graykeep? Have you heard the occasional laughter among their preparations? The excited chatter between the servants tending them? It sounds like hope. Like a chance in the darkness, however tiny it might be.”

I looked back to the crowd below us. Listening closer, now, to see if I could hear what he did.

“We are fighting for our future,” said Bastian. “The ones who would stand in our way are clinging to the past. And they have everything to lose, while we have nothing—which gives us an advantage, I think, with whatever strategy we decide on from here.”

I bit my lip, silently trying to will myself into believing he was right.

“There are several bright minds here to speak with us tonight; I’ve no doubt that together we’ll figure out the best way to make use of the resources wedo have.” His gaze lifted toward the sun, gaging the time. Frowning, he said, “Speaking of them, I should probably go see if I’m needed anywhere. I’ll meet you in the banquet hall in an hour, alright?”

I nodded, though I was tempted to admit that maybeIneeded him even more than our visitors might have. And I didn’t hate that he’d checked on me, after all. Whatever missteps we’d endured, he had become a familiar, comforting presence. But I couldn’t ask him to stay, knowing all the obligations awaiting him.

He kissed my forehead and then left, and I continued to watch my army for a few minutes before heading back to the main wing by myself.

My spirits lifted slightly when, after a short stroll, I caught sight of another familiar face: Zayn, leaning against the wall directly ahead. As I approached, I noticed the painting across from where he stood—another portrait of Calista, this one done in impressionistic strokes that seemed to dance and shift with the light, giving her an almost dreamlike, ephemeral quality.

“I feel as though we’ve lived this scene before,” I commented as I reached his side, cutting my eyes toward the artwork.

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