Page 83 of A Song of Air
Arlo let out a low chuckle. The man was looming over his thick, oak table, leaning against the map-covered surface with his knuckles. His posture was relaxed, the beating of his heart a steady thing. He didn’t even tremble in the prince’s presence like others would.
He was arrogant.
Uric hated him.
“If that is the case, then what is the reason you’re in my tent?” His tone was suddenly laced with boredom.
“I wanted to speak with you once again regarding the war.”
Arlo stared for a long moment, his gaze still and assessing. Finally, he sat himself down on his high-backed chair, leaning against the plush cushions while placing his elbow against the armrest. “By all means.” He flicked his fingers. “Speak.”
Uric kept his growl contained when he felt Valerio bristle at the command.
“A war has started,” Valerio said calmly.
“From where I’m seated, the war has ended, and it was your family and all Fae who were caught on the losing end.”
Uric heard the grinding of Valerio’s teeth. “I’ll not argue with you about what has passed. The present is what’s important, and I promise you a war is coming.”
“A war is coming foryou,” Arlo drawled. “Because of what you did in Dana and The West Isles. The emperor will retaliate, and you will fight a losing battle. Again.”
“I see.” Valerio leaned back on his heels. “You think because you hide in the trees, you are safe.”
“IknowI’m safe,” Arlo argued, his eyes flashing. “We are safe because we do not involve ourselves in the affairs of others.”
“Stealing prisoners from the emperor’s wagons seems like you’re pretty involved to me,” Uric interrupted. He knew he shouldn’t speak, but he couldn’t bring himself to hold back the words.
This man, Arlo, was a hypocrite. Anyone with eyes could see it. He was involved. He was thieving directly from the emperor. That in and of itself was a challenge; it was courting trouble, yet he was using his dislike for the Resistance and the Seelie Prince to deny them what they wanted.
His reasons for hating them were still unclear.
Arlo’s eyes flashed at Uric’s words, mouth twisting a single fragment of a second before his expression cleared. Stoic, he leveled that stare at Uric. “I rescue those who have been enslaved.” That glare slashed in Valerio’s direction. “Because of the waryourfamily started. The Fae I bring here are broken, traumatized. They are not fighters. Would you really be so selfish as to ask them to risk their lives again, when they’ve already given so much?”
There was a pregnant pause. By Mana, Uric wanted to curse. Arlo was manipulating Valerio. He knew just what to say to make the guilt consume the prince, to make him think twice. As if the prince did not suffer enough already.
“I would never force anyone to fight a war they did not want to,” Valerio finally said, his voice quiet and reasonable. “But do not pretend you are far from the reach of soldiers, that you are immune to what is to come.”
Arlo leaned back. “Immune? No, not immune. But we are far safer here than we would be among your ranks.” He slapped his palm against the table before he pushed himself to his feet once more. “I think you’ve taken up too much of my time already. I have a great many things to do. Please, see yourselves out.”
Uric’s spine straightened, and a growl entered his words. “So that’s it, then? You refuse to help us?”
Arlo’s eyes flicked up. “Was I so unclear before that you need me to repeat myself?”
Valerio stepped closer to the halfling. “The Resistance—”
“Is no problem of ours,” Arlo interrupted, his thick brows pulling together in irritation. “You have made your war once and brought it back again. The first time, you nearly eradicated us. This time, we will not help you wipe us from the face of the world. You created this problem, then by all means... you fucking fix it yourselves. Now get out of my tent.”
Uric barely contained the snarl that wanted to rumble past his lips. He choked it down with such a force that it scraped through his throat. He looked to his prince, his palms itching, his body vibrating with the vicious need to pounce. All he needed was the order to do so. His fingers twitched near the handle of his obsidian blade, grazing the smoothness of it.
Valerio didn’t give the order, though.
The prince let out a small, soft breath. “Forgive us,” he said tightly. “For having wasted so much of your time.”
Uric could tell he did not really mean the words, as they were said with much disdain.
They didn’t wait for Arlo to say anything else. They merely turned and exited the tent. It wasn’t until they were several feet away that Valerio finally spoke. “You are right, Uric.”
Uric blinked and the prince turned to him, his mouth twisted with disapproval.
