Finally, she turned back to Caedmon. “Release him.”
Caedmon’s head bowed forward as he audibly sighed with relief, but Evelayn had already turned away to stride up the stairs. “Assemble the entire war council immediately,” she announced, spinning to address the room again from the top of the dais. “Today we will finally make a plan to defeat King Bain and restore peace to Lachalonia.”
THE FIRE HAD LONG SINCE BURNED DOWN TO EMBERS and Ceren was unwillingly dozing off, her neck bent at an odd angle, when the door finally opened and Evelayn walked in. Without turning, Evelayn said, “Somehow I knew you’d be here waiting for me.”
“I have hot tea ready for you, and your favorite scone. Well … it was hot a few hours ago. Now I guess it’s tepid tea. Yum?” Ceren held up the cup she’d prepared long ago.
Evelayn didn’t laugh. Her shoulders sagged forward and the circles under her eyes were even more pronounced as she crossed the room and took the cup from Ceren.
The new queen slumped into a chair, took a sip of the cold chamomile-and-lavender tea—usually her favorite drink before bed—and made a face.
“I did try to heat it up again once or twice. But I gave up when the fire died for the second time. It’s too blazing hot to keep a fire burning tonight.”
Evelayn nodded in agreement and bravely took another sip before setting the cup down. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought we’d never finish.”
“More meetings?” Ceren asked carefully, not wanting to pry, though she was near to perishing from curiosity. She hadn’t seen Evelayn since she’d marched out of the dining room earlier to question the Dark Draíolon. Rumors were racing around the castle.
Evelayn nodded again and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose.
“Do you wish me to call for Tyne to bring you something for your head?”
“No, don’t bother her. Let her get some sleep.” Evelayn stood up and moved over to her window, staring out into the dark night.
“I could put this tea to good use and pour it on a cloth—then you could lay it over your eyes. Maybe that would help?” Ceren offered, standing as well.
Evelayn flashed her a grateful smile. “That sounds lovely actually.”
“Turn around. I’ll help you undress, then you can go lie down and I’ll get it ready.”
Evelayn’s lips trembled and she sounded near to crying when she whispered, “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
“Oh, stop,” Ceren protested, though she warmed at the sentiment. “Let me undo these ties. They must be cutting off your oxygen to make you talk like that.”
She pulled Evelayn in for a quick hug, then spun her around before she could protest and began to pull at the strings that Tyne had done up that morning. As she worked, Evelayn began to talk, the whole story tumbling out in a rush. How she’d questioned Caedmon, what he’d told her, how her mother had died—and what King Bain was planning.
“So what are you going to do?” Ceren asked, her mind whirling as Evelayn finally stepped out of the dress and went to lie down in only her shift. It was too hot for a nightgown. Ceren began to pick up the dress to hang but Evelayn waved her hand.
“Leave it. I don’t ever want to wear that dress again.”
Ceren paused and then slung the beautiful gown over the back of a chair instead. Tyne could take it away in the morning and reuse the fabric or give it away. Though she tried to hide it, some of the dismay she felt must have shown on her face, because Evelayn hurried to add, “I found out so many horrible things today. That dress will only serve to remind me of them. You may have it, if you wish.”
They were almost the same size, though Evelayn was taller, so Ceren would have to have it tailored, but she was secretly thrilled. Though she was from the nobility, her family was nowhere near as wealthy as the queen of éadrolan. It was rarely a point of conflict between them, as Evelayn shared everything she had with Ceren willingly. “Thank you, perhaps I will have it remade into something so it won’t remind you of today when I wear it.”
Evelayn nodded and closed her eyes, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose again. Ceren quickly got to work preparing the makeshift tincture for her friend. The other reason Ceren had never truly begrudged Evelayn her wealth and position was she knew full well it came with more pressures, more worries, and more death than Ceren would ever wish upon anyone—not even Julian, the Light Draíolon who had teased her ruthlessly for years when they were younglings.
Ceren gently laid the cool, moist cloth across Evelayn’s eyes, and her friend sighed in relief, blindly reaching out to grab Ceren’s hand.
“I don’t know how I’m going to defeat him,” Evelayn finally whispered, her voice broken. “Even if we plan everything perfectly, it still falls to me to do it. I’m the only one with enough power to kill another royal.”
Ceren squeezed her hand tightly. “You can do it, Ev. I know you can. You reclaimed our magic, didn’t you? You harnessed the power of the sun! Surely this can’t be harder than that.”
Evelayn suddenly shot straight up, the cloth falling to her lap. “The power of the sun,” she repeated. “That’s it!”
“It is?”
“Oh, Ceren, you’re a genius!”
“I am? I mean, yes, I am. But just for the sake of argument, why, exactly, am I a genius?”
But Evelayn had jumped to her feet and rushed over to her wardrobe. “Hurry, help me put on a dressing gown or something. I have an idea.”
“I thought you had a headache …”
“There’s no time for headaches. I must reconvene the war council.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
Ceren shook her head, but hurried over to help Evelayn get dressed once again.
THE DIMMING LIGHT OF DUSK CREPT THROUGH THE west windows of the council room. It had been a week since Evelayn had come up with her idea to defeat King Bain, but they were no closer to figuring out exactly how to pull off her plan than they had been seven days earlier.
“He’d never fall for that. Bain would scent the other Draíolon and recognize the trap.” General Kel was arguing with Olena—again. Every time someone presented a new idea for how to ensnare King Bain long enough for Evelayn to follow through with her part, someone would inevitably point out why it was flawed or wouldn’t work at all.
Evelayn’s headache had become a nightly nuisance. And daily, too, if she was being totally honest with herself.