Page 48 of A Queen This Fierce and Deadly

My throat thickened as a strange feeling burroweddeep into my gut. Fury. It was fury. That’s all it was. “In times of war, sacrifices must be made,” I snapped.

Something that might have been grief flickered across Pelysian’s face before his eyes turned cold. Remote.

“So be it.” He took a step back from me. As if I were contagious. As if he were repulsed. Blood roared in my ears, until I barely heard his next words. “You are the second most recognizable person in this kingdom. I cannot keep you safe here,” he said. “You must join with the hybrid heir.”

I sniffed. I had no desire to go crawling to that little bitch, with nothing but the clothes on my back. But his declaration was not a surprise. I’d had hours in this place to ponder my options after all.

I had a choice to make. Bury my pride long enough to get close to Prisca, or hide somewhere until the war was over and my son was ready to take the throne.

The decision was easy, despite my distaste. It was finally time to see my son.

ASINIA

Torinth was alive.

Yesterday, we’d received the news from one of Demos’s contacts in Gromalia. And Demos’s expression had transformed into pure, unadulterated joy. That look on his face…it had made my knees turn weak.

But within moments of reading the message, he’dturned silent once more—even though Tor had agreed to meet us. Ever since, Demos had become increasingly withdrawn as we traveled, his expression distant.

Already, we were traveling north through Gromalia toward Prisca and the others in Sorlithia—a city Tibris and I had never seen, and one Demos had visited when he was so young he could barely remember.

Not only was Tor alive, but he’d been living in Thobirea. And he’d agreed to travel west to meet us in one of the larger villages, where we would find a tavern grimy enough that four hooded visitors wouldn’t draw any attention.

The rebels had begun evacuating before we’d left camp. Tibris had been busy up until the last moment, ensuring those who were leaving were in good health, and giving final instructions to the human healers traveling with them. I’d caught the last of his goodbye with Herne, their low, pained voices barely reaching my ears. I’d had to look away, unable to watch their faces, tight with suppressed grief and fear—not for themselves, but for each other.

Shockingly, Conreth had given permission for those who were heading toward the Asric Pass to travel within the fae lands, along the border—preventing the need for them to step foot into Eprotha. He’d even ordered a group of fae guards to meet the rebels and escort them—likely to ensure no one wandered off and stumbled across a wildkin.

When I’d expressed my surprise at Conreth’s sudden cooperative nature, Demos had shaken his head. “The idiot killed his brother and almost killed my sister. This islikely a temporary lull in his bad decisions. But we need to take full advantage before he changes his mind.”

As we traveled, we occasionally stopped at small villages to find supplies. There, we came face-to-face with signs mourning Eryndan’s death. The Gromalian king’s death had shocked his kingdom. Worse, there were also plenty of signs with Prisca’s face, declaring her to be the king-killer.

Regner’s lies had reached even here.

By the time we reached the village of Ardanor, none of us were speaking. Vynthar had disappeared to do whatever it was the Drakoryx did when he wandered off alone. Tibris was distracted—likely worrying for Herne and the other rebels. Demos was brooding and somber as he prepared to face Tor. And I was consumed by the thought that he might not help us.

I was also consumed by another thought.

The same thought I’d attempted to ignore even as it continued to poke at my subconscious.

A thought that felt like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

A thought that intruded even into my dreams.

A thought that insisted I needed to be a larger part of ending this war.

One day, when this continent finally knew peace, I wanted my name to be mentioned in the old tales.

I wanted it written that while I might have been partially responsible for the start of this war, I was also responsible for ending it.

That I had been brave and loyal and true.

That I had beenworthy.

“Asinia?”

I lifted my head. We’d reached the tavern, and Demos was waiting for me to dismount.

“Sorry.”

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