“How do you know?” He sounds curious when I expected belligerence. Maybe, deep down, Carver hasn’t truly given up on love.
Lowering my hand, I look at him like he’s one Centaur short of a herd. “Soothsayer, remember? I know stuff.”
A spark of the old, always-teasing Carver brightens his face. “You’re a fake. With a fake crystal ball and a flashy sign.”
My mouth pops open in protest. “I am not a fake! And in this case, I’m not even just making things up.”
Carver arches both brows, clearly skeptical. Standing, he pulls me up with him. “I don’t blame you for what happened to Piers,” he suddenly says.
I freeze, something jolting in my chest. Carver has lost a lover and a brother. I pray he gains from now on, rather than loses more.
Carver kisses my forehead and then folds me into his long arms. “If Piers had bothered to get to know you, he would have loved you. He almost ruined a lot of lives because he refused to see past his own nose. Whatever he’s doing in Attica, I hope the next time he gets involved in something he doesn’t understand, he does what you just advised me to do—make a better choice.”
CHAPTER 19
Volunteers arrive daily, mostly from Sinta and Tarva. Our army doubles in size, which gives Kato and Flynn plenty to contend with. Carver dedicates himself to the Fisans with the single-mindedness of someone who wants to forget everything else, and I hardly see Griffin because he’s so busy overseeing it all. Everyone but me is exhausted. Even Bellanca finally dims to a soft glow from the sheer fatigue of trying to wring useful magic out of people who don’t have very much.
My days consist of walking around, a crown on my head and Ianthe’s pearls at my belt, waving, nodding encouragement, and trying to look regal—if dusty. Being seen and not getting into any trouble seem to be all anyone needs or wants of me at the moment, leaving me bored, increasingly restless, and privately grumpy.
But while the inaction grates on me, I know this is the time we need to take in order to get the army fully equipped and into fighting shape. And more importantly—into a cohesive unit. The already mixed Tarvans and Sintans come together fairly easily. They’re mainly soldiers to begin with, or at least men and women with fighting experience. The Fisans mostly have no military background and some magic, setting them apart in all ways. And while I’m careful to spend equal time among the groups and to encourage them to mix together, my heart calls me toward the Fisans. Maybe they need me more. Or maybe I know what it’s like to not fit in.
Little Bean is hardly showing, but she certainly isn’t a secret anymore. I can barely move without dozens of people asking me if they should carry me on a litter, or bring me water, or go get the King. It’s incredibly annoying. Do I look like my feet don’t work? Do I look like I’m about to faint? Do I look like I need Griffin’s help to take the last two steps to the bloody chair that’s always waiting for me wherever I go?
By the end of each day, I’m growling to myself and ready to explode. But each day I sit, because that’s what’s expected of me, and I grind out a smile as I plant my bottom in the chair, because that’s what’s expected of me, too.
My knife hand starts to twitch more often, and the rest of me feels like it needs to take off at a run. Not to run away. Just to move. I’m trying to give the soldiers what they want, what seems to motivate them, but it’s strange and hard to reconcile. The warrior princess inspired them. Rallied them. The pregnant Queen had better sit down and fan herself, or the world might end. It makes no sense. Then again, human emotion rarely does.
People definitely look at me differently than they ever have before. I think it’s because of that very first day when we arrived at the army camp, and I humbled myself on my knees in front of a Fisan shepherd. Sure, I killed a Cyclops, but almost no one here actually saw that. Their first real impression of me came from watching a small woman dressed in regular clothing sedately ride into camp and then kneel in the dirt among her people, among Thalyrians. On my knees, I humanized myself in their eyes. In an instant, the legend got eclipsed by the person, while Griffin remains larger than life to them.
Was it a mistake? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I didn’t do it on purpose, that’s for sure. But I feel the difference everywhere around me—in looks, in whispers, in hearts and eyes. Before, these soldiers would have fought to please and impress me. Now, they’ll fight to protect me. I think I know what’s worth more.
And that’s why I let myself get plunked down in this bloody chair, day in and day out. Because it makes these people happy to take care of me. Because it makes them feel like there’s something they’ve already won—me. I’m theirs. I’m everyone’s. I’m Elpis.
At least the training sessions and interactions are interesting to watch, and the daily improvements are impressive. I only wish I were more actively helping them to come about. But maybe that’s not my role anymore. Maybe it never was.
Beta Team thankfully doesn’t treat me like I’m in need of constant rest or assistance, but we only come together for the evening meal. Griffin and I have the nights, and thank the Gods he doesn’t treat me any differently, either. He’s still tender when the mood takes him, just like he’s always been, but it’s not any more often than it was before. I would miss our wildness if he changed. He knows I want both, the fast and the slow.
Just like I want to be the warrior princess as well as the expecting Queen.
CHAPTER 20
I’m getting antsy enough to almost blur the lines and get involved in drills when Griffin proposes a training exercise and asks me to help oversee it. Something to do, thank the Gods. He wants to put a reduced number of soldiers—sixty men and women, but the best trained and most natural leaders we have—through the paces of a mock assault on a fortified city. He thinks it will help them to know roughly what to expect and to be better prepared to help organize and execute an attack on Fisa City, which we all know is the inevitable outcome.