“I’m aware of the irony.”
I clear my throat.
“Then forgive my forwardness, sire, but while I may deserve to be hanged or enslaved, many others do not. I would fight for Faelen, Your Highness, if you would commit to do the same. Fight for all our people. Otherwise . . . you may not like what you get from me.”
Colin’s gasp is audible, but I don’t really care. It’s a fair challenge, and one I’m quite aware I can’t lose at this moment while it’s just the three of us in here and the static is rumbling across the late afternoon sky.
If the king is shocked at my boldness, he doesn’t show it. He just walks over and picks up the scroll from the desk and situates himself in the chair opposite us, from which he continues his study of me. An elongated minute tramps by. He taps the scroll against his leg, then holds it up. “Do you know what this is?”
“A peace treaty. But you’ve not decided whether to sign it.”
A tired smirk tweaks his features. “I’m still undecided as to whether I can trust King Odion’s word. And whether doing so is in the best interest of our people.”
I nod, keeping my gaze on him.
“On one hand, this treaty will mean the survival of our nation. On the other, it will mean unlimited access for Bron through our kingdom and waterways, and a way for them to make war against Cashlin and Tulla.” He suddenly turns to Colin. “You are from Tulla, are you not?”
“I am, sire.”
The king rubs his day-old scruff that is thick enough to belie his young age. “So you see, it comes down to sacrificing Faelen and our sister kingdoms in the name of saving them, or else fighting a war we cannot win. Either way, Nym, the innocent will suffer. There is little I can do about that. However, seeing as there is something you can do, I’ll ask you to consider your own responsibility while explaining such a bold challenge to your king.”
My misshapen hand tingles.
I scratch my palm. My fingers.
“In truth, Your Highness, I’ve been asking myself if this version of Faelen is even worth saving. If we actually deserve to survive—particularly when our last war treaty was at the sacrifice of our own people.”
Uncomfortable inhale.
Just keep going.
“Your Majesty, if I fight for Faelen, there’s no guarantee of victory. My power is still . . . maturing. But what you choose to sign or not sign with Bron, as well as the laws you allow or revoke, will determine the true heart of Faelen and whether what we value as a people is worth defending. And that is something no one can do but you.”
My stomach is clawing its way up my throat as I watch the king chew his lower lip. But to my relieved surprise, he doesn’t look angry. Just small and weary. A boy with the weight of the world on his crown.
Suddenly I want to reassure him, to tell him it’ll be all right.
But when he gazes up at me, somehow we both know it won’t ever be all right, no matter what he decides.
Another knock taps on the door and Rolf enters along with another knight—this one wearing a Faelen surcoat.
King Sedric stands and beckons us to do likewise. “Behind me, you’ll find a door and stairs that lead to my rooms. You may lie down in the first, for in truth, you both look like death warmed over. When I’m ready to see you again, I will call for you. In the meantime, my knights are alerted to your presence. If you try to leave or complete your mission as Adora laid out, they will be forced to kill you on sight. Although, I choose to believe we have reached an understanding. And, Nym,” he adds quietly, “I trust we’ll both do what needs to be done when the time comes.”
Without waiting for a response, he turns. “James, take them to the apartment next to mine and see that no one leaves or enters.”
Bowing low, Colin and I follow Sir James out. Colin brings up the rear on the stairwell—to ensure I don’t fall, I suspect, as my leg has me limping and grasping for the wall. When we reach the apartments, we’re ushered through the nearest door into a scarcely furnished room. Sir James leaves us, but I hear him settle against the wall outside, and a few seconds later another door closes. The king’s, I assume.
Colin helps me to the bed before moving with an ill expression to the room’s only chair. “Adora lied,” he mutters, a splash of anger blooming on his cheeks. “Question is, why?”
I shake my head. I’d have guessed she intended to hitch her plans to Lord Myles’s, except he was trying to prevent our attack. Standing, I ease my way over to open the window through which I can hear the airships hovering through the incoming storm clouds—the droning engines pounding into my head the reality that none of this makes sense.
“It’s bizarre how much King Odion looks like him,” Colin says after a minute.