Page 95 of Shadows and Roses

"Only a thousand?" Trishve frowned.

"A show of good faith on both our parts. Five thousand more will join for each of the terms that we agreed upon. They are reasonable terms." She outlined what had been discussed at the rebel camp.

The council wouldn't like most of the concessions, even disguised.

Officially presented as a tax increase on the commoners, soldiers would accompany tax collectors to make sure the goods ended up with the military—and also that no more than could be spared was taken. She didn't have much hope for actually reducing the burden on the people, but it was a start.

A healer would also accompany the tax collectors. Previously, the collector or a guard would check on households for any clawed girls. The nobles, if they noticed this change at all, would be told that the healers were there to better find andidentify the girls. Their actual purpose was to distribute calming herbs and teach local women how to administer them properly.

She couldn't stop the rape or starvation, but they could make things a bit better.

"Some of these will take time, but training commoners and finding a place for the sudden influx of troops will also take time. Once this is truly begun, and we have earned the people’s trust, there will be more. For now, a few thousand will be enough to give the other nations pause."

And the nobles as well. The army and the crown had always been one unit—the primary reason the nobles fell in line.

The Escorts took notes and commands; nothing from the negotiations was unexpected. Jerome was quiet. He’d likely said all he needed to in his report. With only a bit of guilt, Anais hoped Madeline would be more forthcoming about her captain’s thoughts.

An hour, and they let her rest, dispersing to their duties.

Vern stayed behind. Once the door closed and they were alone, he crossed his arms.

She sighed. "Father—"

"Yes, I am your father, and I am entitled to be thoroughly enraged with you right now."

"Yes, father." She bit back her smile.

His glare turned into exasperation. "Anais. You are going to be the death of me."

"Probably," she mumbled, looking down. "Have you heard from Octavius?" Castien had been moved to a small cottage a few days' ride away with Octavius as his healer. All she’d been able to think about for the last day was Castien—if he was eating, how glad he’d be to see his friends in the palace, when she could visit.

If he was still alive.

"The weekly reports are arriving on time. He is regaining awareness."

Her heart rose, then dropped even lower. At this stage, he’d be drowning in memories, in tears, and fighting Octavius’ care.

Vern reached over to cover her right hand, his voice gentle. "Perhaps it’s best if we let him go."

Her eyes shot up. "You said he would be fine. You were so optimistic. What has Octavius reported?"

He shook his head. "Nothing unusual. It’s only that his condition is markedly worse than I imagined, and it affects you too much."

"So you mean I should execute him. Do you think my mother would have done that to you? To me?"

"You're not your mother. And no, not to you at least. That would have broken her."

She pulled her hand back. "Then don't ask it of me. If Castien dies, I will burn this world and every last one of the snakes. Even if everything else burns too."

"He wouldn't want that," Vern replied quietly.

"Dead people don't get a say," she snapped.

"Like your mother?"

She flinched, then lifted her chin.

"Don't be cruel. He'll get better. I'll be fine."

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