Page 41 of The War of Four Winters

"Exactly. You'd be there as the king, with full honor guard, all proper ceremony, completely above suspicion. No one would question why the Rebel King would seek an audience with one of the most powerful matriarchs in the realm, especially during a winter siege."

"She would be suspicious," I countered, "but curious enough to accept. Vinolia has always enjoyed displaying her power."

"Her vanity would compel her to receive you," Katyr agreed. "To sit across from you at a negotiating table, to make you wait while she deliberately arrives late."

The strategy had merit. I'd be relatively safe under formal diplomatic protections. Safer than Katyr and Daraith, who would be working from the shadows. And my presence would occupy Vinolia's attention, perhaps even flattering her pride enough to drop her guard.

"You're assuming she'll agree to meet."

"She will," Katyr said with certainty. "A winter siege is costly, even for her. She can claim the negotiations as her own victory."

A messenger arrived with a fresh stack of reports. I dismissed him with a nod, then turned back to Katyr once we were alone.

"What exactly would happen when you find this comb? Her phylactery?"

"It must be destroyed completely. Shattered, burned, the pieces scattered." Katyr said. "When that happens, her true age will catch up to her instantly. Centuries compressed into moments."

I considered the implications. "And then she dies?"

"And then she dies," Katyr confirmed. "More importantly, her magical grip on the weather patterns ends. The unnatural storms cease. Supply routes open. Her battle mages lose their amplification source."

"And the Runecleaver clan?"

"By law, leadership passes to me. I'd recall our forces immediately." Katyr's expression grew solemn. "Some will resist, of course. The traditional elements, those who've benefited from Vinolia's reign. But many more will welcome change."

It was a bold strategy, with considerable risks but potentially war-ending rewards. I would be placing myself directly in Vinolia's reach, trusting in diplomatic protections that she might well choose to ignore. Yet the alternative was slow starvation as winter deepened around our beleaguered fortress.

"How long would you need?" I asked finally.

"Not long." Katyr studied my face, reading my growing acceptance of the plan. "You would only need to keep her distracted long enough for me to get close."

"A few hours of diplomatic pleasantries with a lich," I said dryly. "I've endured worse."

"And if she does suspect something?" Katyr pressed. "If she tries to detain you?"

My smile was all teeth. "Then I'll remind her why so many have chosen to follow me rather than my father."

The rest of the war council would need to be informed, preparations made. A diplomatic mission required proper ceremony, honor guards, the formal trappings that would both protect me and convince Vinolia of the legitimacy of my approach. Taelyn would need to be prepared to rule in my absence, with clear instructions for succession should the worst occur.

“I will send a rider to Valdrenn,” I said.

Katyr nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'll inform Daraith at once."

When he was gone, I turned back to the maps and rubbed the ache in my ribs.I wish you were here, Elindir. We face our monsters better together than apart.

Ihungovertherailing of The Mirage, my stomach heaving for what felt like the hundredth time since dawn. Nothing came up, though the bitter taste of bile filled my mouth as the ship swayed beneath me. The morning sun pierced my skull like molten daggers, each shaft of light a fresh torment against my closed eyelids.

"Never again," I groaned, the words scraping past my raw throat. "If the gods are merciful, I'll die right here and be done with it."

"The mighty consort of the Rebel King, defeated by a few humble Savarran spirits," came Tariq's amused voice from behind me. I didn't have to look to know he wore that insufferable smirk. "How the Assembly of Elders would tremble to see you now."

I managed to crack one eye open and turn my head slightly. My newfound half-brother looked maddeningly unaffected by our night of excess, his elaborate coat pristine, his golden eyes clear and bright with mirth. The contrast to my own miserable state only deepened my suffering.

"I hate you," I muttered, clutching the railing as another wave of nausea rolled through me.

"You're not the first to say so, nor will you be the last." His tone was light as he approached, holding a steaming cup of something that smelled strongly of herbs and spices. "Here. Savarran hangover remedy. Tastes like a minotaur's backside, but works wonders."

I eyed the cup suspiciously. The liquid was thick, greenish-brown, and utterly unappetizing. "If this is another of your exotic spirits, I'll throw you overboard myself."

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