Page 34 of Prince of Night and Storm
“Note what was just said,” the Commander stresses. “He retreated to regroup. Retreated. No one with the winning position retreats. This is the time to strike.”
“If you tell us to stand down, Lady,” Numair says, “we will.”
For a blinding moment I hate him. He thinks he’s demonstrating support—what he’s doing is placing the weight of the decision all onme.A life and death decision I have no right to make for everyone. This isn't like executing a small strike. This is going up against an Old One.
“We don't make a decision without our allies,” I say finally. “We need their warriors. Let me be clear, this is not a decision any one person should make for others. Either we all agree, or we all stand down.”
“I already sent word,” Tereille says, entering the room from the side door leading to the hallway offices. He gives Édouard an oblique look, his expression absent mischief for once. “Wyvenne and Ramonne will join us shortly.”
“There's also Sivenne,” Juliette says, expression tightening. “They betrayed us. If we don't respond right away it will encourage future misbehavior. All that misbehavior gets tedious after a while.”
Tereille snorts. “You should know, darling.”
“The White Guard,” Numair says, fingers still digging into my shoulders.
“Finally, someone speaks sense,” I mutter.
Édouard shakes his head. “The White won’t break their neutrality. As long as we don’t breach the palace, they’ll do nothing but decorate the walls.”
“If their Prince comes to the field, they aren't remaining neutral.” Tereille hums. “At least the next few days won't be boring. I’m always game for a good gamble.”
I rub a hand on my forehead, muttering something pithy about positive people. “We wait to see what our allies say. A game is no good when you go it alone.” I stop, and scowl. “Damnit, Tereille.”
He widens his glimmering green eyes. “What?”
High Lords Manuelle Wyvenne and Louvenia Ramonne arrive a short time later with their Heirs and Commanders. Manuelle’s dark hair is the kind of wavy that would be closer to curls if it wasn't past his broad shoulders. Shimmering, thick lashed dark eyes set in a light brown face make him look almost pretty except for the chiseled line of jaw and cheekbones—and those eyes simmer with thoughts that are anything but pretty. He’s in the black-and-flame yellow cloak of his House, and when he enters the room, his gaze immediately begins scanning.
I almost smirk. I know who he's looking for, and she's hiding behind several of our Fae cousins.
Louvenia glides in at his side, her floaty lavender dress and cloak edged in burnt orange. Her hair is a touch too red to be called brown, her skin a touch too yellow to be called pale, more of an aged ivory. Her eyes are a swirl of greens, and she'salways smiling, but the smiles are not always pleasant and they match the look in her eyes that says she knows something you don’t want her to know.
I give her a nod. I’m glad she’s an ally, because I have a feeling she really does know something I don't want her to know. Always dangerous, when dealing with House Lords, but a dangerous female is levels more challenging. The males circle and growl, but the females strike.
Despite my reservations—I’m not the only one, but we’re the minority—by the end of the heated discussion, several dozen feral gazes staring at me, I bow my head in submission to the consensus.
“If it seems we will lose all, signal me,” Manuelle says, “and I’ll call a wyvern.”
Everyone feels a rush of flames in the silence.
“Very well,” I say slowly. “Then are we decided?”
Wyverns.Darkan’s flat voice.
If they want to do this mad thing, I will do it with them.
No wyverns, Aerinne Kuthliele.
We live together, we die together.No one left behind to suffer.
“We'll attack. We'll storm the Realms' cursed White Palace, and if we all die, at least we die as Faronne and not as vermin crushed under the heel of a tyrant.”
A roar of approval. And, Ancients help me, the eager bloodlust sweeps me along in a tidal wave of anticipation, but if we die together I’ll escape the pain of their loss. A clean ending, together, is not the worst fate. When it comes I’ll embrace it, unflinching, as my paternalandmaternal ancestors embraced their mortality.
“This has to be about more than thinning their ranks or itisn't worth the risk,” I warn when we all settle down. I meet everyone's stare, starting with the Lords. “Your task will be to thin the forces, and then retreat before you're overwhelmed. My task will be to kill the Prince, should he take to the field.”
I have so Vowed; so I must do. Dark fury in me stirs, my shoulders flexing in anticipation?—
—and probably die trying, at the hands of a male my mother called brother.
