Page 29 of Witchlight
Unfortunately, Safi couldn’t let him sit again.
“The best way to recruit new soldiers is to show them for whom they fight.”
“Yes, and for what they fight.” Safi scrubbed a hand at her eyes as she walked the length of the table again, her tan breeches rubbing against the wood. The map of Marstok showed ample soldiers in Habim’s forces, but all were blocked by mountains thick with blizzards. The one pass the Marstoks could cross was still held by the Raider King. His people would die. The Marstoks would die. Cartorrans would die, and even the Carawen monks. And for what?
War, war, war. All in the name of peace. All in the name of the Cahr Awen.
But then, that is why we’re leaving.
“Your plan was such a foolish one,” Safi said, her voice fuzzy as she tried to count justhow manypeople would die—or how many she might be able to save. “So many years,” she went on, “and so many people. How did Mathew describe it?There are big wheels in motion. Wheels your uncle and many others have spent years rolling into position.” She shook her head. “What a waste of your time and energy.”
“Stopping a war is a waste?” Eron’s voice wasn’t, for once, angry. Nor even insulted. If anything, he sounded surprised—and mildly amused.
“The way you did it, yes.” Safi turned to face him.
“Except that war in the Witchlandshasceased, hasn’t it? Marstok no longer fights; Cartorra no longer fights; and Dalmotti has withdrawn after a rout at Nubrevna. So I should think my ‘foolish plan’ has actually succeeded.”
“The Raider King still remains, though. Blood will be shed to stop him. A war’s worth.”
“Yes,” Eron agreed. “But once he is gone—once you and your Threadsister have healed the final Well, peace will reign.”
“And you think I am the naive one?”
There—that finally did it. Eron set his jaw and turned to face the window. He stared over the soldiers, over Hell-Bards, over the servants and tradesmen rallied to an imperial banner.
In seconds, Safi was back at the map of Poznin and Arithuania. Ofcoursethe stack she needed was stuck beneath the primary map littered with the Aetherwitched figurines. She gripped the edge, hoping to slide it sideways—
“There has been some good news from our spies in the north.”
Safi snapped her gaze toward her uncle. He wasn’t turning around—thank the Twelve. “Oh?” she half squeaked. “And what is that?”
“Baedyeds are leaving the Raider King’s banner, now that Habim has agreed to their demands in Marstok.”
“So they will get back their Sand Sea?” Safi tugged again at the map. Figurines wavered on the top, and she recalled a street performer she’d once seen. The woman had snapped a cloth off a table without disrupting a single dish or saucer.
Safi, meanwhile, was disrupting everything. Three of the Red Sails figurines fell. One of the Baedyeds too. “But what of the people who live in the Sand Sea now? What will happen to them? They will be displacedjust as the Baedyeds were a century ago. Have Habim and Mathew made accommodations for them and their families?”
Eron shifted as if to turn.
And Safi gave up on stealth. She yanked like the street performer had, but without the grace. Six more figurines toppled. Then the map was in her grasp. She instantly dropped it to the floor.
“Crap!” she barked, right as Eron finished his aching turn. “I, uh… knocked over your toy soldiers.” She pasted on a face of contrition.
Eron, meanwhile, didn’t respond. He simply sighed, all antagonism sliding off his face. He was once more a tired man doing his best to run an empire. “Safi, please: Will you at least consider traveling to Praga? Discuss it with your Threadsister. I’m sure she understands how much it will help our cause.”
Safi rubbed at her forehead. Now that she had what she’d come for, a headache was coming on. One of the monstrous ones that never let her sleep. “I promise to make a decision,” she murmured.Lie,her magic frizzed. Because her decision had already been made.
“Thank you.” Eron opened his hands. They trembled. “Your consideration is all I ask for.”
Safi didn’t respond. Instead, she dug her fingers into her temples. The pain was building fast behind her left eyeball. Soon it would leap across to the right. “I need to lie down, please.”
A flash of understanding—possibly even sympathy—crossed her uncle’s face. Though Safi had never directly told him of her headaches, they all must have noticed how often she vanished into her room. And the servants certainly saw the blindfold she’d fashioned out of velvet. It had become her nightly routine to tie it as tightly as she could around her head, until the pressure on theoutsideof her eyeballs felt as if it matched the pressure within.
“We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow,” Eron said. “Over breakfast.”
“Yes,” Safi agreed, even as her magic skittered and clawed:There won’t be a tomorrow! There won’t be a breakfast!She swooped down, and after sliding the map into a loose sleeve, she gathered up the fallen figurines. “Sorry,” she said as she dropped them onto the map.
And once more, Eron sighed.
