Between Lord Wellimton, Percival, and Gwen whispering to each other, I can barely hear the silver-haired general stuttering. Like a little boy trying to cover his embarrassment for a game he’s losing. He looks over at me for a second. I don’t know if he reads my horror or my flinch as the iced poison bleeds deeper into my veins.
I clench my teeth and will it to recede, but it doesn’t. It just settles like a low vibration in my blood.
General Cronin is back to glaring at the king. “A positive step, King Eogan.” Except his tone is as challenging as the sneer on his face. “But may I ask when and how you propose we do so?”
Draewulf slides a paper in front of him. “Your report stated thirty-five airships are still battle sure. It also states you have enough men to operate them.”
“Enough engineers, yes,” the old, wrinkled general chimes in. “But many of our soldiers are still out of commission. Practically speaking, we can be ready in six months, but—”
“Good, General Naran,” Draewulf cuts him off. “Then we won’t need to wait.” He stands again and splays his palms to the room. “I plan to move on Tulla immediately. To give—”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I don’t see how that’s possible,” General Naran interrupts. “Our warboats—”
Draewulf’s expression turns lethal. As quick as a lightning crack, he lifts a hand and touches it to the older man’s arm. The general doesn’t wince, but his voice cuts off even while his mouth continues forming words. It takes him a second to notice and fumble to a silent halt as confusion forms around his wrinkled eyes.
Sir Gowon looks sharply from Draewulf to me. I look at Princess Rasha.
She’s still studying Lady Isobel, who peers up and says in a tone so low that I swear it rattles the floor beneath my feet, “We only need the airships and a few waterboats.”
The silver-haired general stirs from staring at the silenced man. He scoffs. “Only? And what, may I ask, do you know of this? How do you propose we provide the soldier-power?”
Draewulf holds out his hand to Lady Isobel in an invitation to stand. She rises beside him and stares at the Assembly with disgust.
That chill in my bones shifts. Until it’s rattling, spiking, warning that something is off.
Draewulf’s teeth poke out through Eogan’s lips as he announces, “Lady Isobel’s Dark Army will provide the soldier-power.”
CHAPTER 23
AS IF IN UNISON, EVERY SINGLE MEMBER IS YELLING.
“Your Majesty, the Dark Army doesn’t exist!”
“Are you insane? Lady Isobel hasn’t even answered for her attempt to betray us to Faelen!”
The old, wrinkly-eyed man, General Naran, who’d been silenced, speaks up. “Going to war is one thing. But this is inviting war to our very doorstep! These things—these monsters—have no sense of morality! Rumor has it they’ve already laid waste to the western border.”
“Not just laid waste!” someone in the crowd yells. “They’ve invoked a bleeding plague! First on the livestock, then on our nomads! It’s the same thing that wiped out our forces on Faelen’s island cairns—it wasn’t the Faelen army, but the plagues and monsters!”
The anger, the fear in here—it’s humming around me, and my nerves are soaking it up.
Feeding off of it.
This is what Draewulf had planned?
The king raises his hand for silence, and I peer up at Sir Gowon. Now does he believe me about Eogan?
“I assure you the Dark Army does in fact exist,” Draewulf says. “Is it dangerous? Yes. But a dangerous army is exactly what’s needed, and if one has already been developed by a country under our subjugation, I see no reason not to utilize it to the full extent of our purposes.”
General Cronin stands, his silver hair glinting beneath the lights. “You knew about them and yet kept that fact from us once you arrived yesterday?”
Draewulf flips around. “Treasonous words considering every top general here heard news of such an army months ago—and a week ago you received evidence confirming it.”
“We kept it quiet until the rumors were verified,” General Naran says. “We saw no need to worry our people until we sent soldiers to investigate.”
“And what did they find?”
“Half . . . half of them didn’t come back.”
“Because of the plagues,” someone calls out from the crowd.
General Cronin pounds the table. “Because the Dark Army is a menace which she”—he points at Lady Isobel—“is controlling!”
I glance at Lady Isobel who sits watching, then my gaze falls to Rasha. Her expression is complete horror. This is what she was seeing on Lady Isobel’s face a moment ago. The army. The plagues. I recall my ride through Litchfell Forest where the plagues had struck just before Bron attacked. The treetop houses reeked of death and disease. Even the bolcranes had left the bodies alone.
She peers over at me. What have we done by keeping him alive?