Page 63 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“What did he say to you?” I ask, pulling Mal to one side before we follow the council into the tower.
The rebel gives me a sharp smile. “He just called me asangquise.”
“Blood spiller?” I translate.
“Yep,” he says. He’s still smiling, but I can feel a brittle edge of resentment underneath his defiance. “It’s the word they reserve for dryads who break their vow and commit violence. Seeing as I never took a vow, he can take his disapproval and shove it up his ass. But listen, Morgana.” He draws me a little closer, checking the council won’t overhear. “Don’t be fooled. Just because they don’t fight with weapons and fists doesn’t mean these people can’t be as sneaky or treacherous as anyone else.”
I nod and then turn to join Leon. Mal stays outside with Phaia and the horses, but Tira and Alastor step forward to wait in the entrance chamber. As we walk through, I find myself thinking that the room is like the city—neither a natural formation nor manufactured. The walls are made of brown stone, polished so they have a warm luster to them. They slope downward like we’re in a cave, but the gradient is smooth. I feel embraced by the building, somehow, welcomed.
That’s what’s so confusing about all this. While the dryads are more standoffish—bordering on hostile—than I expected, Starfall itself sets me at ease. I’ve felt it ever since we emerged from the Miravow, a fresh energy finding me despite our tiring journey.
The council lead us into another chamber. The ceiling is higher here, positioned several levels up the tower, with tall windows so the sunlight cascades down onto us. Wooden pews are arranged in a triangle shape at the center, and Diomi offers us a seat on one of the benches as the council settle onto the others.
I’m about to offer them a compliment about the architecture when Leon jumps straight in.
“I expect Etusca explained to you that Her Highness is in need of healing.”
“The message mentioned that,” Diomi says.
“Her magic has been damaged by the Temple of Ethira,” Leon continues. “Their leader Caledon kept her captive for weeks, torturing her. If you have any respect for the sanctity of life, then I’m sure you’ll want to work to undo whatever he did to her.”
I know Leon’s priority is making sure I get better. He’s my best advocate. But I’m also not sure I appreciate how he’s talking like I’m not sitting right here next to him. The dryads aren’t happy either, their stern faces furrowing into frowns.
“I don’t think we require a lecture on the sanctity of life fromyou, Your Highness,” the dreadlocked dryad says, her eyes pointedly going to the sword at Leon’s belt. As always, Leon’s reputation precedes him. I wince. Leon does a better job of controlling his expression, but I can read him well enough to be able to tell that her words sting, as does every reminder of his mistakes in the war.
“You may disapprove of the actions I’ve chosen to take,” he says, his voice low with irritation, “but doingnothingis a choice, also. Here we are discussing whether you should help us, when I would’ve thought your vows answer that very clearly.”
“The treaty promises that we’ll send our people out into your nations in return for being left alone in our own,” Diomi points out sharply. “This is the opposite of leaving us alone.”
I get the sinking sense that Leon’s going about this all wrong. He’s making them feel cornered. I try to signal to him to stop, but he keeps talking.
“Are you really going to turn your back on Trova’s future queen in her time of need?” Leon growls. “If you want to keep relations cordial with your neighbors, you have a strange way of going about it.”
Dammit.Leon’s playing right into their stereotypes with these aggressive outsiders. The Agathyrians are more likely to stonewall us than roll over if we don’t shift the tone.
“Placane,” I say.I’m sorry. I project my voice as I continue, still speaking in Agathyrian. “Prince Leonidas is pushing hard because he’s deeply concerned for my wellbeing.He just has a very Filusian way of showing it.” I offer them an apologetic smile and feel a surge of hope when a few of the council members look amused.
I take a deep breath. I can feel Leon’s eyes on me, desperate to know what I just said that involves his name, but the gentle joke at his expense is just the first part of my plea. I switch to the common tongue for the rest.
“My issue with my magic is only part of the reason I have come to see you. I understand you are wary about foreigners—and that wariness is justified. But I needed to come here because there is a threat brewing in Trova, one I believe will harm all three nations if it is allowed to go unchecked.”
My approach is working, at least on some of them. Diomi definitely believes me, and many of them exchange looks, trying to gauge what to think from their neighbors. The short dryad, however, seems more irritated than worried.
“I’ll hazard a guess that this threat is your political rival, Marek Caledon?”
“He’s not a rival, he’s a maniac,” Leon protests. “He had the king and queen murdered. People you once went out of your way to help.”
While the dryads abhor violence, mentioning the assassinations won’t help our angle. After all, it’s not like we can offer any proof. And there are plenty who believeweare the ones responsible for the assassination. Sure enough, another council member shakes her head. She’s clearly one of the oldest council members, her hair nearly completely silver, with only a few hints of green showing through.
“It is not for us to enforce the law in other nations. We offer aid where we can—when it aligns with our abilities. What you’re asking now is for us to involve ourselves in another nation’s politics, and we don’t do that.”
“Forgive me if my question is impertinent, my friends,” I say, responding before Leon can get there first. “But wasn’t helping to hide my powers a political act, knowing full well that solari are forbidden by Trovian law?”
The older dryad hesitates, not ready with an answer. I continue, making it clear I’m not saying this to needle them about their hypocrisy.
“I think you saw that saving the life of an innocent spoke to an Agathyrian value more important than political neutrality,” I suggest.
There’s a small smile of approval on Diomi’s face. I guess he thinks I’m arguing my case well.
