Page 71 of Crown of Iron
P.S. I wasn't surprised to learnyou talk about me in your sleep. I'm sure I would have done the same if I was able to take my eyes off you.
I fall back into the mountain of pillows with burning cheeks and a smile. He stayed, and he was so intrigued by me that he watched me as I slept. Another spark of giddiness shoots through me and I kick my feet.
“Your Grace.” The door flies open, and I sit up, shoving the note behind me. The older woman, who sees to my needs when Salone is busy with her studies, stalks across the room, her wide hips swaying as the hem of her blue uniform skirt brushes the ground. She quirks her thin lips and folds the blankets away from my body. “You must get up. His Majesty is requesting that you report to the war room.”
“For what?” I ask.
My feet barely hit the ground before her plump hands reach for my nightgown and lift it over my head. She pushes me toward the washroom, saying, “I'm not sure. I was just instructed to have you down there in twenty minutes.”
Before I leave my room, I cram Kyron's letter in the pocket of my red cropped jacket and adjust my tunic so the V neckline accentuates my chest without plunging too deep. As I make my way through the palace, I contemplate the reason for the last-minute invite to the second day of summit proceedings. I didn't expect Micah to allow me to attend, especially after Borin confronted me about Kyron.
When I reach the war room, I check that the hairs pulled back into a sleek ponytail lay flat against my head and wipe my damp hands on my leather trousers. With a deep breath, I open the door.
Dozens of commanding officers in green jackets sit around a long table. They hurry to their feet and bow at the waist as I enter, but I remain focused on the king. He sits at the head of the rustic wooden table with a massive map of Pliris adhered to the center. A distinct line separates the land down the middle, and figurines are strategically scattered throughout both Lucent and Stigian.
“You called for me, Your Majesty?” I ask, lowering my head in reverence.
Micah motions for me to take the empty chair at his right side. “I thought it important that you meet our military leaders and hear their concerns about the war.”
Some would bristle at the term war, since Stigian has held the upper hand in our conflict from the beginning. We have spent the last thirty years defending our land, reluctant to do much more. They would like to see us take riskier measures, but the lives we would lose if we were to do that would be countless.
I take my seat next to Micah and the generals sit.
“As I was saying,” comes a deep, smooth voice from the opposite end of the table. Kyron leans back in his chair, with his jacket opened and the top of his white tunic loosened. Our eyes meet for a moment, and I struggle not to let that giddy feeling inside me morph into a smile. “The newest Stigian attacks appear to focus on small towns. Our surveillance at the border was outstanding until they found new ways to sneak by. If they destroy one of the bigger communities, it could have dire consequences for our food sources and weapons supply.”
A woman with short black braids and mahogany skin straightens in her seat. “Last week, a small Stigian force ransacked a border town, leaving seven dead. They appear to have a very specific intent, but we were unable to detain any of their warriors for questioning.”
My fingers inch down to the side of my thigh, and I press the tips into the stone laying beneath my skin. Would a Stigian admit what they are seeking, or would they rather be tortured and killed? If Esmeray threatened them with promises of withholding the Posseda, they just might choose death over the pain of siphoning withdrawals.
“We are a sitting target,” chimes in a slender man with a wide nose and blond hair to his waist. “It's time we stop letting the Stigians come to us and take the war to them.”
The images of the only battle I've fought rush into my head. We weren’t outnumbered, but with half of our forces defenseless against the amplified powers of the Stigian's Khiros, wewereoverpowered.
“And will our Cyffred soldiers act as the bait?” I ask the general.
“Of course not, Your Grace. But the cost of war ishigh?—”
“But necessary,” I finish, leaning forward and clasping my hands on the tabletop. “My father taught me that saying but applied it to the principles of Lucent. I always thought it meant an equal sacrifice of Khiros and Cyffreds lives to protect our way of life. Our Cyffred soldiers are at a vast disadvantage against a completely Khiros army. To make matters worse, our Khiros are dividing their attention between helping soldiers whose gifts remain dormant and defeating our enemy. Until the Cyffreds have an equal advantage on the battlefield, we’re bound to lose the war.”
The generals shake their heads and mumble their disapproval for my rational and honest observation. Would they be more comfortable if I pretended like war did not unevenly compromise the lives of Cyffreds? Perhaps they thought Micah summoned me to sit pretty and cheer on their banal tactics. If that is the case, they’re sorely mistaken.
Kyron crosses his arms over his chest and with a smirk says, “How do you suggest we give our Cyffreds an advantage during battle, Your Grace?”
I lift a brow and sweep my hand out in front of me. “Is this not a strategy summit with the most skilled military minds? I’ll leave the groundbreaking ideas in yourverycapable hands, General LeFur.”
“I'm humbled by your faith,” he says.
A middle-aged brawny man with a bushy beard mutters, “Humble is not a word I would use to describe you, LeFur. You've been a cocky shit since you were a wee lad.”
“Come now, Gorski, are you still pissed about the jacket?”
I disguise a chuckle by clearing my throat, remembering the story Greer, Terro, and Ulric told me about a young Kyron swindling the officer's jacket right off the back of the West Camp's General in a game of cards.
“Settle down,” Micah says, slapping the tabletop before facing me. “I understand your concern, but every soldier knows the risk they take when they join the army.”
“True, but that doesn't mean we stop searching for ways to protect them as they risk their lives for us or send them out to slaughter with the odds so highly against them.”
Micah runs his hand over his face and lowers his voice, saying, “My beloved has taught you too well.”
