Page 77 of The War of Wings
Cielle shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “I wish I could be of assistance to you, your Majesty. I’m not sure–”
“Oh, thank the fucking Saints!” someone shouted from behind me. Cal and I were all but shoved to the side as a woman pushed through to Cielle and threw her arms around her. “I thought you were dead! You stayed behind for that Saints damned harp, didn’t you?Didn’t you?”
“Cenric?” Cielle asked, her voice urgent.
“He’s fine. Everyone else, too.”
Cielle’s relief quickly morphed into something else as her eyes moved from the woman holding her to where Miles stood. When the woman caught Cielle’s line of sight, she spun, a sour expression suddenly twisting her features. “Well, well, well, look who the fuck we have here,” the woman said, making no attempt to hide her disdain for Miles. “If it isn’t Lieutenant Spineless.”
“Nieve!” Cielle scolded, clutching the woman’s arm. “We’re in the company of the Daughter of Katia,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m so sorry, your Majesties.”
The woman — Nieve — turned to me and lowered herself into a curtsy. “Pardon my manners, your Majesty. I just never thought I’d get the chance to give this gutter rat a piece of my mind.”
“Nieve!” Cielle repeated, her eyes wide with horror. “That’s enough!”
Nieve’s eyes burned with hatred as she stared at Miles. What the hell was going on?
Some sort of silent exchange went on between Cielle and Nieve, until finally, Nieve crossed her arms over her chest. Nostrils flaring and lip twitching as she stared at Miles.
“It’s good to see you, Nieve,” Miles said carefully. “You’ve changed your hair.”
Cielle’s grip on Nieve’s arm tightened, squashing whatever response Nieve was going to say — which was no doubt sharp by the look on her face. A boy appeared then, rolling in a wheelchair through the few people still milling about in the ballroom. He looked to be ten or twelve years old, with bright blue eyes, though they were different from the blue of his sister’s. “Cielle!” he shouted. “You’re okay!”
Cielle lunged for him, bending to his level and pulling him close to her chest. “Thank the Saints,” she whispered, her eyes closed as she held the young boy before she pulled away. Cielle cleared her throat, gesturing to me. “Your Majesty, this is my younger brother, Prince Cenric of the Surging Isles.”
I blinked in surprise. My head was swimming after watching the exchange between Nieve, Cielle, and Miles. Cal and I were simply spectators to this reunion. But I lowered my head as Cenric folded into a bow. “Nice to meet you, your Majesty.”
“You as well, Prince Cenric.”
Cenric looked like he was about to respond, but then his eyes landed on Miles. “I remember you,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “From Taitha! You’re Miles! My sister says she hatesyou. But she doesn’t. I read the letters she sent when Nieve went traveling, and–”
Nieve delivered a swift slap to the back of Cenric’s head, a finger wagging in his face immediately after. “Cenric!”
“I think we need to… It’s time for…” I stammered, hiking a thumb over my shoulder. “It was lovely to meet you all, but we best be going.”
“Of course, your Majesty,” Cielle said, lowering herself into a curtsy once again. “It was lovely to meet you as well.”
I offered a polite smile before turning to Miles. His eyes were still locked on Cielle, as if he were memorizing her features. Maybe he was entranced. Either way, it was clear he could stand here all night, simply staring at her. “Lieutenant Landgrave, we will see you in the morning.”
“Actually, I think I’ll retire as well,” he said quickly. “It was nice to see you again.” He turned on his heel and was gone before Cielle could even say goodbye. With one more smile — this one apologetic — Cal and I retreated from the ballroom. It wasn’t until we made it to our suite that I turned to him and said, “Holy fucking shit.”
???
“Thank you for joining me today,” I greeted. My nerves sizzled and popped as I addressed the leaders that had filled the great hall. Early morning sunlight cascaded through the towering windows, bathing the hall in a light that didn’t permeate my mood. Cal was all king beside me, exuding an air of confidence I tried to siphon into my own body.They doubted you, I reminded myself. “I would apologize for inviting you to last night’s ball under false pretenses, but I find I do not feel apologetic at all.” It seemed as if everyone shifted uncomfortably. Good. Let them be uncomfortable. Let them feel a quarter of the dread that had been plaguing me since the start of this journey. “Now we face the question of how to moveforward. We know that Malosym will be returning with the intention of destroying the realm. We don’t know when or where, which means we need to be ready for anything. So, what is everyone able to offer?”
“What if we don’t want to offer anything?” a portly, red-faced man shouted from the front row. His question was innocent enough, but it was said with an air of entitlement, as if drivas and Saints and a war against evil were below him. “What if we want to close off the borders of our kingdom and shelter in place?”
“And you are?” I asked.
“King Nelsen of Ostad.”
I scanned through my brain. Nope. Never heard of Ostad. “Well, King Nelsen of Ostad,” I started, a tight smile on my face. “What you saw last night? The Occulti demons that managed their way inside the ballroom? There were no more than a dozen, and look at the carnage they left behind, even with the aid of the drivas. Malosym has an unlimited well of power and can form the Occulti into any shape or form. Including a driva.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, and I could almost smell the panic as it rose.
“Yes, he has created his own drivas. We encountered one on our flight from Astran to Nesan.” I looked down the table to where Tyrak sat, stone-faced. “That was just one, and it took three of our drivas to bring it down. You all saw what Adorex, Obitus, and Gehenna did to the castle’s exterior last night. They easily could’ve reduced the whole thing to ash. That should alert you to their true power, and the power held by Malosym’s drivas, however many he may have.”
King Nelsen’s red face had gone white, his eyes wide.
