The queen shrugged. “I would assume so, given your nature.”
Dyter neared, but I shot him a look to let him know I was okay. I’d put some of the pieces together myself since learning the Emperor was my father. My mother had run from him to hide in Verald; it didn’t take a genius to piece together she hadn’t liked him. But, since learning I was Drae and Phaetyn, I’d wondered how such a thing had happened with two Drae for parents. If what the queen said was correct, I was only Phaetyn because of Luna’s power.
The emperor hadn’t wanted a child with both sets of powers, just another Drae. If I’d been there, if he’d known what he was doing, he would’ve gotten way more than he bargained for. I blinked several times, processing. Remembering what the elm tree showed me earlier, I realized some of their story wasn’t quite true. They’d made it sound like Luna chose to leave the forest for selfish reasons, but that’s not what the tree had told me.
“Why did you encourage Queen Luna to leave the forest?” I asked.
17
The queen didn’t look well to begin with, but her color worsened, and she sagged against the headboard of her massive bed, her head lolling to the side. She took several deep breaths with her eyes closed as if she were trying to garner more strength.
This time, Dyter dug his nails in hard, and I inhaled sharply at the pinching pain before noticing all three Phaetyn had stilled.
Queen Alani’s breathing stuttered. “You have no idea how that memory tortures me, child.”
Not a child.
“We thought Luna could reason with the Emperor. The land was already showing signs of dying. My sister hoped to show Emperor Draedyn we were indispensable and use this as a bargaining chip.”
That’s not how the trees remembered the conversation going down, but I had enough wits about me now to interpret Dyter’s unsubtle warnings. We’d wandered into something deeper here, and my skin was crawling.
“That must have been hard for you,” I said with a smile.
The queen’s gaze landed on me, and I held my breath until she nodded and glanced away.
“It has been. I am now Queen of the Phaetyn, but our ancestral power is passed from mother to eldest daughter. I never possessed this power, and I never will. It takes everything I have to keep up the barrier against our enemies.”
Dyter spoke, “This is why you’re sick?”
Kamoi gripped his mother’s hand. “She gives everything so our people can survive here, yet the barrier is slowly crumbling without the ancestral power to reinforce it.”
“That is terrible.” I was speaking in earnest this time. If the barrier broke, the emperor and his Druman would descend on the Phaetyn in a flash.
Dyter peered at me with an intense expression I couldn’t interpret. He lifted his head, the expression gone, and addressed the queen. “Your Majesty, there is no better time for your people to unite with those of Verald against the Emperor’s rule.”
The king and queen broke into quiet laughter.
“Us? Fight the Emperor?” Kaelan said, shooting a mocking grin at a frowning Kamoi before facing me. “Why would we do that?”
I frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Let me ask another way,” he said. “Why would we help those who hunted us? When did anyone in this realm ever help us? They just used our powers and killed our children.”
“You would judge the entire realm based on the actions of two men?” Dyter asked.
Kamoi placed a hand on his father’s chest, stopping him from rounding on Dyter. I tensed, ready to kick some Phaetyn butt into the nearest talking tree.
“Don’t you?” Queen Alani asked. She looked at me. “Don’t you judge the realm by a few men? Don’t you wonder if the realm is worth saving?”
I glanced at Kamoi to confirm my suspicions. He gave me a sheepish look in return. The queen was aware of my time spent in the dungeons, judging by her comment. Her question dug close to something that had troubled me immensely ever since the night King Irdelron was killed. I had wondered the same thing—whether the realm was worth my time—whether the battle was mine to begin with . . . Whether I should find a small corner to escape to and leave the work to someone else. Why did I have to sacrifice my life for a cause? I’d never wanted to, never asked for this power. I’d lost so much, my own mother and friends, and to lose more wasn’t fair. Why did some people have to lose everything and some people nothing? Until now, I’d been determined that someone else could do the losing this time. Her words shamed me, and I swallowed. “You’re right, Queen Alani. I’ve asked myself the same question.”
Light flared in her eyes, and she leaned forward eagerly and asked, “And?”
I tilted my chin. “And I know what the right choice should be.”
“Nothing is more deceiving than the word should.” The queen smiled and closed her eyes, reclining into her pillows. “Even though you know what should be, you cannot give me a reason why this is the right thing to do.”
No, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t lie like everyone else. I refused to mislead her or anyone knowingly. I had that power.
“And yet, your barrier, your main defense against the emperor, is crumbling. That seems like a good reason to be proactive. At least to me,” Dyter said, scratching his chin.
“I grow weary,” the queen mumbled. “Please excuse me.”
Kamoi and Kaelan hurried to lay her flat, piling blankets upon her.
Her sickness seemed to rear its head at the most convenient times, in my humble opinion.
Dyter bowed. “We will leave you to rest, Queen Alani, and rest from our journey as well. Thank you for this audience. May your health return, and I hope to speak with you again soon.”
I didn’t bother curtseying or even inclining my head. If she could be conveniently ill, I could conveniently forget my manners. I stalked out of the chamber after Dyter without a word to anyone. To be gracious would be a lie, and I was over the lies.
“Wait,” my mentor cautioned me.
Blue scales erupted on my forearms, and my face burned. A pulsing need to transform and burn my way to the truth seized me. I was holding myself together, barely.
Dyter shoved me into the room where Tyrrik lay and muttered a hasty dismissal to the three guards.
I sat on the bed next to Tyrrik, glancing at him to check if he was still breathing. His chest rose and fell, and I rested my hand where the spike had torn through his aketon.
“What—” I started, but I cut off as Dyter held a finger to his lips. We listened in silence as three sets of footsteps receded.
Dyter popped his head out of the door and, after he’d closed it again, asked, “Hear anyone?”