“What about the princess Mellony and your cousin Julianna?” Magret said. “I know they are worried sick.”
“No other visitors,” Ash repeated. “If need be, tell them that you are worried that the poison has contaminated the room, and you don’t want anyone else exposed to it. I want my mother’s meals fetched directly from the main kitchens by one of you. Use the tunnels so you’re not seen. Ty, I’m putting you and Magret in charge of the queen’s care.”
Ty eyed him suspiciously. “Why do I get the impression that you’re not going to be here?”
“Because I won’t be.”
“Prince Adrian.” It was Talbot, her back straight, her expression a mixture of nerves and resolve. “Would it be possible to speak with you and Captain Byrne privately?”
44DREAMS TO NIGHTMARES
Lyss knew that Celestine would be watching her and her new officers for signs of collusion, conspiracy, or betrayal. Meanwhile, her Highlanders probably wondered what the hell was going on—how their Captain Gray had ended up commanding the empress’s army.
It was urgent that they get their stories aligned, but it was also a risk. Though none of them had the blank, blunted expressions she’d seen on the bloodsworn, it was still possible that one or more of them were spying on her on behalf of the empress.
Hopefully they would be patient, keep their mouths shut, and wait for her to make the first move. In the meantime, she installed them in the new barracks Celestine had built for her swelling army, and scheduled a meeting with them for the next day.
At the appointed time, Tully Samara swaggered in, introduced himself as the commander of the empress’s navy, and said that the empress had asked him to sit in so that he could learn more about wetland tactics.
That might have been true, or he might have been there to spy for the empress, or to spy for himself. Whatever his motive, Lyss didn’t want to fight that battle at this particular time. So she proceeded with the briefing, reviewing the command structure and assets of the empress’s forces while the expressions on her new officers’ faces shifted from wariness to alarm.
She knew what they were thinking—how could the queendom possibly prevail against this? Which was fine. She wanted them to know what they were up against. They kept looking at one another, as if hoping someone else would ask a question.
Finally, Graves spoke up, asking what he probably thought was a safe question. “Captain Gray,” he said, “what should we know about these bloodsworn soldiers in order to . . . make the best use of them?”
“Having fought against them, you know that the bloodsworn are strong, fearless, and difficult to kill. They are also unflinchingly loyal to Her Grace, the empress.” She paused a moment, making sure the message hit home. “In other words, you can rely on them to stay loyal to their mistress, no matter what the incentive.”
Graves nodded, glancing at Samara, and then at his comrades. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Farrow cleared his throat. “Ma’am. Captain. It would help to know what our mission will be. That will help us better focus our training.”
The Waterwalker was missing an eye, and one side of his face had been badly burned. That made it hard to look at him straight on, but Lyss did. “The empress has not shared her plans with me, but I imagine that we will be deployed back to the Realms. No doubt that is why the empress has recruited officers who have experience fighting in that environment. Most of her forces are accustomed to naval battles and coastal raids.”
“So.” Graves again. “So we may be sent to fight against the Highlanders? The clans?”
“We will go wherever the empress sends us, which is the role of a soldier, after all,” Lyss said, conscious of Samara’s gaze. “It is not the job of soldiers to get into questions of policy. It is evidence of the empress’s mercy and confidence in us that we remain free men and women. The best guarantee of our future is to succeed in our mission, whatever it is.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Graves said, exchanging unhappy glances with the others.
“I never said that it would be easy,” Lyss said softly. She glanced at Samara, who was watching through narrowed eyes, and thought, There’s no way I can pull this off—outsmart Celestine under so many pairs of hostile eyes. She had never felt more alone.
I have to. I have got to find a way to survive, and get home. The line does not die here.
Every night after dinner, Lyss had taken to running up the slope from the waterside, both to keep her body in fighting condition and to wear off the anger and tension and dread that built up during the day. Beyond the area of the harbor, the land sloped steeply upward, evidence of the island’s volcanic origin. She would run and run and run, straight up the mountain, often with a full pack on her back, until her lungs were exploding and her knees trembled, threatening to give way.
She leapt over steaming fissures, granite boulders, and lava pools. She kept running until she was clear of the fuming sulfur scent that seemed to permeate everything at sea level, and she could breathe the clean cold air that reminded her of home.
Even at this height, the weather barrier that surrounded the island persisted, but she could see the stars overhead, and somehow that was enough. She’d lie on her back, her body steaming in the cold, looking for the Crown and Sword, the Wolf Pack, the Tears of the Queens, and the other constellations she’d known since childhood. Somehow, it made her feel closer to home.
She would pull out the rose locket her father had given her and study the tiny portraits of her mother, her brother, her sister. This is what you’re fighting for. This.
She often thought of Halston Matelon, wondering if he still lived. She hoped he did, and was looking up
