Page 56 of Prince of Night and Storm
“You may want to pawn the family jewels, pick a fast wyvern, and leave town for a century,” I tell Manuelle, who is nursing his third mug of honey beer. Everyone has eaten their fill, so now it’s time for the post mortem.
He glances at me, brow raised. “Oh?”
“The Prince indicated a desire to speak with you regarding your—I directly quote—decision-making process. I survived a detailed demonstration in how such a discussion might go, and even so I believe he was merely trying to tire me out so I could be put to bed on time.” My faint smile is dark. I've had some time to think about Prince Renaud’s behavior. “A very fast wyvern.”
“We’re fucked,” Juliette mutters, “if today was an Old One’s idea of humoring the toddlers.”
We contemplate that unfortunate truth.
“I doubt I would warrant the tender mercy of Ishaan after,” Manuelle says. He shrugs, but his studied attention is keen.
My lips twitch, though it's not funny. But recalling the words and the undertone in which they were spoken, the Prince almost reminds me of Darkan and his acerbic, often overly verbose, criticism.
Darkan’s been quiet since the battle. Unlike after Embry though, his faint presence lurks in the recesses of my mind as if he understands this isn’t the time to cut me off, so I leave him be for now, settled in the knowledge he will come if I call.
He’s never failed me. Not when it mattered.
I push my plate aside. “I'll write him. I'll inform him the command was mine. I should've said so at the time.”
Fatigue, anger, injury, fear. . .none of that is an excuse. You don't throw your soldiers in front of a carriage for following orders. The General's head should be the first to roll.
Manuelle’s eyes erupt in flame, his shoulders shifting to indicate masculine displeasure, otherwise known as ego. “The day I allow a halfling adolescent answer for my actions is the day I walk into wyvern flame.”
I ignore “adolescent.” He's old enough he probably can't help himself. “The field was mine.”
He thumps his mug down on the table. “You don't rule me, Aerinne of Faronne. I am Lord of Wyvenne and the wyverns, in case you've forgotten.”
Shrugging, I abandon the argument though not my intention to speak to the Prince. His eyes spark with annoyance.
“You'll never convince him, darling,” Louvenia says. “Youdon’t have a cock, or a fire breathing pet. Might as well not even try.”
“You’re a strong leader, Aerinne,” Baba says gently, “and a responsible woman. But not all consequences are yours to shoulder alone. Don't infantilize your allies by refusing to share the burden.”
Tata Fatma snorts. “That sounds too much like the wisdom of elders. The young never listen. Remember our maîtû? She used to sit on her porch in that old rocking chair and?—”
“Watch us all fight and get into trouble, and said nothing.” Baba chuckles. He glances at me and reaches out to squeeze my hand, expression finally relaxing.
“She knew better than to waste her breath giving advice,” Tata Fatma says. “They always want to learn the hard way.”
Manuelle interjects. “Our youth are the same. I was the same.”
“I listen,” Murungaru murmurs.
“This is why you are your cousins’ example,” his mother tells him.
It's true. When I’m angry at my aunt or father, Murungaru will come and tell me the same thing they did, and I'll give in.
“But now we decide whether to accept the white flag, or if it is a ploy,” Louvenia says.
“I doubt it,” I say. Exhaustion weighs my body down and too many thoughts swirl in my mind, but with certainty, the Prince means his word. “He wants peace. He could have slaughtered us all and been home in time for an early dinner. It’s rather disheartening in retrospect. He babbled something about a bottle of red.”
Édouard looks up from his empty plate, expressionsharpening. He derives nourishment from harping over my every mistake, so he doesn't need food. “He said that to you?”
Louvenia drags her teeth across her bottom lip. “I didn’t imagine he would be so. . .informal.”
The Lord of Flames frowns at her. “He's not. I wouldn’t attempt it, if you enjoy living. Aerinne is Maryonne's daughter. . .Danon and Embriel were also close.” He gives Baba an inscrutable look. “We don’t know what leverage those connections offer.”
“Some,” my father murmurs.
