I want to be this Vi.
He’s given me that.
The chance to bloom.
I won’t ever let him surrender to the weight that bears him down.
13
Thiago
The final morning of the queensmoot dawns, and with it, the last meeting of the alliance.
The Council of Queens makes its way toward the enormous rocky outcropping that looms over the field of tents.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Eris tells me.
So do I. “Enough, Eris. It’s done.”
I’m still wearing the braided strip of material around my wrist that bound me to Vi for the night. When dawn kissed the sky she slipped from my arms, pressing a finger to my lips to still my protest before she kissed me.
“I have to return,” she whispered. “Just this once. My mother must never suspect what has happened until it’s too late. We don’t dare give her the opportunity to plan ahead.”
We spent half the night plotting together about how to play this.
Adaia’s fury is a storm. It builds and builds and builds, finally breaking over you and hammering you until you’re bloody and defeated. We can’t afford to have her forewarned. Vi is leaving with me as soon as this meeting is done, before Adaia has time to launch a counterattack.
Eris chafes at the order, but she nods. “Fine. The tents are being stripped as we speak. Lysander’s in charge. He thinks we should be packed and prepared to evacuate within the hour. Baylor’s got ten warriors nearby, just in case. We didn’t dare bring any more. We leave as soon as this is done.”
I nod and duck beneath the lintel stones of the Hallow.
Adaia shoots me a glare from where she’s murmuring something to Maren. Lucidia merely looks curious, as if wondering why I changed my mind about our negotiations yesterday.
Kyrian is late, as usual, taking his seat soon after I take mine.
I’ve barely seen him this queensmoot and the look he shoots me says he’s aware of it.
Something I should know about, asks the quirk of his brow.
“Another chair, if you will?” I say to the attendant, loudly enough to snag the attention of my fellow rulers.
The attendant blinks. This is unheard of, and yet he snaps his fingers and a chair is produced, albeit somewhat less ornate than the one I—and the other rulers—sit in.
Four sets of eyes lock upon me.
“You need two chairs, Thiago?” Adaia’s lip curls in disdain.
“Perhaps it’s for his ego,” Maren murmurs, smirking into the glass of water one of her servants has produced. She looks like she spent the night frolicking and is paying for her sins this morning.
Lucidia’s eyes narrow. She alone seems to sense the tides shifting.
“Yesterday, when we met, I spoke of peace,” I reply, lounging back in the thronelike chair. “I offered a conciliatory gesture toward the Queen of Asturia, and I am here to hammer out the details of such an arrangement.”
“Mistmere is not yours to offer,” Adaia hisses, no doubt smarting from the loss of her bargaining chip.
“But it is mine to concede,” I counter.
“I thought you were no longer interested?” Lucidia asks.
“In peace? Yes. Though the terms have shifted.”
Adaia visibly seethes.
Queen Maren taps her long red nails against her painted lips. “I cannot help but think such an offer seems too good to be true. Why would you give away any rights to Mistmere? This is not done out of the kindness of your heart so you must forgive us if we question your motives.”
“What do you get out of this?” Lucidia asks bluntly.
“Peace. I speak of an alliance between two kingdoms that have been at each other’s throats for far too long.” I meet Lucidia’s eyes and then Maren’s. “The enmity between Evernight and Asturia affects us all. It weakens us against the threat of Unseelie.”
“This alliance.” Lucidia leans forward hungrily. “What would it consist of?”
“There have been treaties in the past,” Kyrian adds. “All broken. Why should this one be any different?” He cuts a look toward Adaia. “She’s not going to play by the rules.”
“Because… this time there is a reason for both Evernight and Asturia to hold the peace.” I stand and glance back to where Eris, Lysander and Finn stand guard, holding out my hand. “Vi?”
Finn and Lysander step aside and there she is, visibly swallowing. Gowned in white, she steels herself, tips her chin up and then strides forward with her skirts bunched in both hands. It’s the look of a queen focusing on the guillotine ahead of her. Defiant and proud until the last, but also choking down the lump of fear in her throat.
“What is the meaning of this?” Adaia pushes to her feet abruptly. “Iskvien, what are you doing here?”
“She is here because I asked her to be here,” I reply. “She is here because she is the answer to the war between our countries.”
Vi takes my hand, her fingers warm in mine, and I give them a squeeze. Look at me. Look at me and not at her.
It’s as if she hears me.
Our eyes meet, and though she shields her emotions well, I can see she’s merely waiting for the lash of the whip to fall.
“A marriage,” I say softly, though my focus is on her. “A marriage between two countries in order to hold the peace. Evernight will yield any claim to the lands of Mistmere if the Queen of Asturia stands her armies down and allows this marriage.”
“Marriage?” Etan of the Goldenhills shoves out of the Askan delegation, his face mottling with color. “But she is already promised! To me!”
Maren holds out a hand toward him, her cold eyes never shifting from my face. Etan—to his detriment—doesn’t notice her warning, and takes another step forward. Muraid, Maren’s lover and most dangerous general, shoves him back into place. He meets her gaze, but whatever he sees there makes him flinch.
He should cower.
Vi was hiding
