Page 7 of The War of Four Winters

Aryn's absence felt pointed until he slipped in through a side door, followed by Daraith. The necromancer looked better than he had after the working, though exhaustion still shadowed his eyes. My gaze caught on the way Aryn's hand brushed Daraith's arm as they separated, the gesture so subtle I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching.

Hawk's familiar bulk filled the space behind my chair, my commander's presence both protection and a reminder of my own authority. The old warrior's scarred hands rested on his sword hilt, ready for trouble despite the supposed peace of a war council.

"The messenger's words have been confirmed," Ruith's voice cut through the murmured conversations. "Homeshore has fallen. The Order of the Divine Shield has landed in force. Three thousand zealots led by Michail himself, with more ships on the horizon."

My fingers clenched on the arm of my chair, but it was the only outward sign of my anger I allowed.

"An army of fanatics at our backs while Vinolia's battle mages camp at our doorstep," Victorin said, his tone grave. "The timing is too perfect to be coincidence."

"We face armies on both fronts now," I said, leaning forward. “And Michail's zealots believe they fight for their gods. Men like that don't break, don't retreat."

"And how do we know you hold no sympathy for them?" The question came sharply from beside the Runecleavers' empty seats. Lord Northfire stepped forward, his long brown braids held in a loose tie at the base of his skull. "You’re human, are you not? Is their faith not your own?"

The bile rose in my throat at Lord Northfire's accusation. Every eye in the chamber turned to me, waiting to see how Ruith's consort would handle this first real challenge to my authority.

I glared at Lord Northfire. “Michail’s zealotry is not my faith. The gods I serve would never condone a genocide. He’s twisted the faith, turned it into something ugly. Somethingevil.”

Ruith's hand found mine beneath the table, a subtle gesture of support that none but Taelyn could see from her position. The queen's storm gray eyes held approval at my response. She understood the delicate dance required here, how even the smallest gesture could tip the balance of power.

"Pretty words," Lord Northfire pressed. "But blood calls to blood. How do we know you won't betray us when your brother's armies reach our walls?"

Before I could respond, Taelyn spoke. "The same way we trust that your ambitions won't lead you to ally with Taratheil, should we defeat the Runecleavers."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. The accusation hung in the air, sharp as a blade. Everyone knew the dance of power between the great houses, how quickly allegiances could shift when victory seemed certain. The lord's face flushed beneath his tan.

"My commitment to our cause is not in question," he snapped.

"Neither is mine." I rose slowly. "I've bled for this cause. Died for it." My gaze swept the room. "How many here can say the same?"

The silence that followed held weight. They all knew the story: how I'd fallen defending Calibarra, how Ruith had sacrificed part of himself to bring me back.

Victorin Stoneriver cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should focus on the immediate threat. Homeshore's defenses..."

"Are compromised," Hawk interrupted, speaking for the first time. "With Homeshore under his control, Michail sits between us and the Yeutlands," Hawk said, his voice grave. "He could cut off Khulan's forces before they ever reach us."

"Then we strike first," General Niro suggested from behind Ruith's chair. "Clear the road to D'thallanar before he can fortify his position."

"Homeshore's position makes it a natural fortress," Katyr pointed out. "The mountains at its back, the sea before it. A frontal assault would be costly." The battle mage's fingers traced patterns on the table's surface, leaving faint traces of power that made my skin prickle. "Vinolia won't waste such an opportunity."

"She's already moving," Aryn said quietly. All eyes turned to where he stood near Daraith, the two of them a study in contrasts: Aryn's ice pale coloring against the necromancer's darker features. "My sources report increased activity around her camp at Valdrenn. Supply lines being strengthened, troops conducting night drills."

"Preparing for a winter campaign," Ruith mused. His thumb stroked across my knuckles beneath the table, the gesture almost unconscious. "Bold, even for her."

"We cannot fight on two fronts," the Empress of Bones stated. "Choose your battlefield carefully, young king. The bones of your ancestors whisper warnings of divided forces."

Ruith's fingers drummed once on the table's surface, a rare tell. "The Shikami," he said finally. The temperature in the room seemed to drop at the mention of the assassin clan.

"They maintain neutrality in matters of succession," Victorin reminded him carefully.

"This isn’t about succession and civil war,” I said. “This is about preventing a genocide. Michail doesn't distinguish between rebel and loyalist. His zealots see only elves to slaughter. They’re not going to stop just because you asked them to. They believe they’re on a holy mission to kill every last elf and claim this land for their gods."

“Your gods, too,” Lord Northfire reminded me.

"The gods I serve value justice and mercy," I replied, meeting Lord Northfire's cold gaze. "What Michail brings is neither."

Ruith's grip tightened beneath the table, but his voice remained steady. "The gods themselves are not our concern. The armies at our gates are." His dark eyes swept the room. "Vinolia gathers her forces at Valdrenn while Michail fortifies Homeshore. We must decide where to strike first."

"Vinolia is the greater threat," Victorin argued. "Her battle mages could reduce Calibarra to rubble given half a chance."

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