The air in the throne room was sharp with anticipation and uncertainty. Nobility from all over the kingdom crowded in, though not as tightly as on the evening of the coronation, or the king’s first audience. Also in attendance were the foreign royalty and dignitaries who’d traveled here for the memorial and coronation.
A hush fell as Tobiah strode down the aisle and stopped before a large table set in front of the thrones. His gaze swept over the paper, ink, and pens before he turned to address the assembly.
“There have been several more reports of the Red Militia’s movement across Aecor,” said King Tobiah. “It’s only a matter of time before Lien marches on Aecor City, so the Indigo Army is mobilizing troops.”
Soon the Indigo Army would march on Aecor City again. The image made me shudder.
“Because of this,” Tobiah said, “we are being forced to move ahead on several items sooner than expected. The first of these is, of course, the Wraith Alliance.” He motioned me forward, along with the dignitaries from Laurel-by-the-Sea and the other nearby kingdoms not yet flooded with wraith.
We approached the table, dressed in our best as though we were going to do something grander than sign a piece of paper. My silk gown was vermilion with gold embroidery along the hems. It was a beautiful creation that looked like dripping blood when hanging in my wardrobe.
I stood at the end of the line, next to the king from Laurel-by-the-Sea. When I faced the audience, lines of people stared back at me. There were the friendly faces of my Ospreys, who’d worked so hard to ensure we hadn’t missed anything. There was Meredith, tucked in with her group of friends. Chey didn’t look angry at me, for once.
Tobiah raised his voice. “Today, a hundred years after the first Wraith Alliance was signed in this very room, we are gathered to sign the agreement once more. The absence of those we’ve lost is keenly felt, and it is for them, and those who come after us, that the Wraith Alliance has been revised in order to begin a new effort to stop the wraith.”
Polite applause sounded through the room, but frowns deepened.
“For a century, we have believed that ceasing all magic use would put a stop to the wraith. For a century, we have been proven wrong. New findings show us that there may be a better way of protecting our kingdoms, and in light of that, the treaty will be revised to allow the use of magic in highly regulated experiments to halt the wraith’s approach.”
So many people gasped at once, it was a miracle there was any air left in the room.
“While this will likely be the most criticized revision, it means two things: a plan to prevent the wraith from further inundating the kingdom is already in effect, and magic users are invited to join in our effort.”
I doubted many flashers would walk up to the palace and offer their services, but at least they’d no longer be sent to the wraithland as punishment for having magic. What would happen to people illegally using magic—that was still under debate, but it wasn’t part of the Wraith Alliance, so we’d moved on.
“Previously, allies were obligated to shelter only nobility from wraith-fallen kingdoms, leaving thousands of people to suffer in refugee camps, or worse.”
Like being forced to remain in the wraithland.
“Under the revised Wraith Alliance, allied kingdoms guarantee entry into their lands to all citizens of wraith-fallen kingdoms. Our world is so small now. We must protect those who survive.”
That brought a more enthusiastic applause.
“Finally,” he said, “the exchange of information regarding the wraith will remain the same. Allied kingdoms will continue sharing, though emissaries will be sent into all kingdoms to ensure there are no omissions.”
For example, an entire kingdom’s worth of flashers pouring their magic into a barrier.
I hadn’t cared as much about that point, but when representatives from other kingdoms heard what happened with Liadia, the debate had lasted hours.
With the revised points out of the way, Tobiah gestured toward the audience. “You, my friends, are here today to witness this historic moment. Today, the new Wraith Alliance is born.”
He inked a pen and signed the bottom of the paper. The next man signed, and then the next.
When at last I stood in front of the document, the signatures of those before me already drying, I took the pen and drew a breath. I had no right to sign this. But I’d sworn I’d add my name, and so I would.
But first: “While I’m not yet Queen of Aecor, I sign the Wraith Alliance as a promise. For a century, my ancestors refused this agreement, a stance which has been a source of contention between Aecor and its neighbors. But today, I let go of the past. If there is to be a better world, we must forge it now. Today, I look toward the future.”
Light flared out the windows, chased by a long roll of thunder and the slap of rain on glass and stone. But the sound didn’t fade. When I blinked, I realized it wasn’t only thunder I’d heard, but the din of clapping, and cheering from the Ospreys—and even Meredith.