by Mary Weber
Wellimton sniffs. “Young lady, I’m not sure why Lord Protectorate Myles or King Sedric deemed it necessary for you to come, that is, if in fact the king did allow it, seeing as we were only told about your attendance once in the air. But considering you’ve not been raised in politics, nor in a High Court home, I don’t expect you to understand the process, nor the level of trade by which we’ll be negotiating. We’re clearly prepared for anything as long as you stay out of the way.”
“Anything?” I can’t help the smirk.
“I think the better question is, are you prepared for anything?” He bats a hand my direction. “Is that storm gift of yours under control?”
“Lord Wellimton,” Lord Percival interrupts. “Perhaps we should be more charitable toward the heroine who is the only reason our nation is intact enough to trade with Bron. I’m positive the lady is quite capable of controlling it without Eogan even around!”
“A fact for which I am exceedingly grateful,” Wellimton says. “As long as she’s able to keep that level of control needed—at least until we get the negotiations wrapped up.” He glances over at the Bron guard.
“I can say with certainty that I am the least of the problems you’re walking into,” I murmur, and ignore Rasha’s look that says to quit egging him on.
“Good.” Wellimton lowers his voice my direction. “And in regard to any rumored affections you might have toward the Bron king, I trust, if called upon, you’ll do well to remember whose side raised you from childhood.”
Gwen leans over to pat my hand. “Because, of course, if anything goes wrong, we’re now counting on you to do your part, dear.”
Do my part? I draw back from them both and stick a piece of fruit in my mouth. And shove down my cough before it gives away the fact that whatever expectations they have of using me are complete litches.
One, two, three moments of silence settle in, during which Rasha flicks me with cautious glances. I, in turn, extend sympathy to her for these ridiculous political games she’s stuck in. Is this how the High Council operates? No wonder her Luminescent self gets overwhelmed by too many people in one room. Constantly hearing barely civil words being said while sensing what’s left unsaid. It’s all laced with suspicion and need.
The quiet is broken by Lady Gwen setting her cup down too loudly. “And what, Princess Rasha, may I inquire is Cashlin hoping for most in terms of negotiation and trade?”
“Our hope is to begin a friendship with Bron and build our way up from there. As far as trade, that will greatly depend on what Bron has that we deem worth trading for.”
Lord Wellimton smirks. “A very to-the-point statement, Princess. Some might even say supercilious once you enter the negotiation chamber. Especially considering your kingdom avoided taking sides in the war at all costs.”
“Cashlin makes no apology for being a pacifist nation.”
“Of course not. But you can see how a good intention such as that could be misinterpreted at the negotiation table. It could appear your interests only lie toward what you can gain rather than in hard-fought-for unity.”
Her voice stays steady but her shoulders tense. “Cashlin enjoys its friendships, Lord Wellimton, and we unabashedly support unity. However, we’ve discovered that taking sides in a war does not always result in desirable unity, nor does it mean we feel obligated to give up our natural resources easily. As I said, our hope is for the start of a relationship between Cashlin and Bron, just as we have done with yours.”
Lord Percival tips his head in apparent approval just as the airship dips and rattles. From what Colin once told me, tipping his head is what Lord Percival does best. “It’s his most pleasant and worst feature,” Colin had whispered one evening while we were spying on him at Adora’s. “It’s like he can’t ’elp but agree with everyone on everythin’, includin’ the king and the council. Even his wife from what I hear.”
“Smart man,” I’d mumbled, and Colin had punched me in the arm. But somehow that head tipping makes me now inclined to like him.
“And what about you?” Rasha continues. “What are you most hoping for?”
Wellimton shoots Percival a look. “Ahem. That’s currently a matter of private discussion. You unders—”
“Access to your waterways for trade with their metal mines?” Rasha says in her airy tone. Her brown eyes exhibit a slight red glow. “With maybe some airships thrown in?”
The delegates’ faces pale.
Before anyone can respond, I stand. “While this has been most interesting, I think I’ll take a walk on the deck outside.” I look at the Bron and two Faelen guards for permission, but the entire room shudders loudly and tips. With a clatter, the plates and food tumble across the floor and it’s all I can do to hold on to the back of my chair, which, mercifully, is bolted down as is the rest of the furniture. I keep my feet beneath me until the ship tilts back. It trembles again and then the Bron soldier is holding his hand out to us. “My apologies, but the storm is picking up. I must return you all to your quarters.”
“Why?” Lady Gwen asks.
“For safety. Now you’ll all come with me, please.”
“Oh Nym, take care of the weather, won’t you, dear?” Lady Gwen flutters her hand at me. “That way we can stay and finish our chat!”
Percival nods. “Yes, show us how it works for you. It’d be fascinating to watch an Elemental control a storm. Here, what do you need from us?”
“That would be highly dangerous,” the guard interrupts. “The use of her abilities would threaten not only this airship, but the one travelling behind us. Please, I’ll see you to your rooms.”
I shoot him a grateful eyeful, which he ignores, and step toward him when a shimmer of lightning flashes maybe seventy-five terrameters in the distance. Despite the ache it brings, I stride over to watch the three, four, five lightning bolts follow it. Because something about feeling its effect on the sky creates a fleeting sense of normal. A sense of power, even if from the outside rather than within, if only for a minute.
Lady Gwen’s screech is jolting. “But those strikes are going to hit us. She can stop them!”
“No, mum, they won’t. But we need to get you someplace secure. Miss?” the guard says in my direction.
I brush past him without replying, and as Lord Percival, Lady Gwen, and Lord Wellimton are led through a door separating their rooms from our corridor, Percival whispers, “You will stop them though if we need you to, right, Nym?”
When we reach the room, Rasha plops down on the cot. I sit beside her and pull my legs up, folding my arms around my knees. “Well, that was rather dramatic. Are you all right?”
“In regard to the fact that we’re riding in a metal ship near lightning or those ridiculous politicians?”
“Both.”
“I wouldn’t be queen someday if either upset me.” But she’s wringing her hands as if to banish her nerves even as the words tumble out. Her hesitation is followed by, “And why wouldn’t I be all right? I’ve got excellent political acumen.”
I bite back a smile. “You were most definitely the smartest, most rational person in that room.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” She sniffs and a pleased expression replaces her worried features. “Although now I’ve got a stomachache,” she confesses with a grimace. “I tend to eat fast when people get intense. What about you? They were rather needy about your abilities, I’ll say.”
“I’m wondering if we shouldn’t just tell them.”
Her look suggests I’m a daft fool. “About Eogan or your abilities?”
“My powers. The delegates seem to have rather high expectations,” I admit.
“Who cares? Your ability is none of their business.”
“Maybe. Except those expectations are only going to get higher. And when the time comes—” I drop my voice with the sudden awareness that the vent boy could be listening. I peer up at the metal square in the wall.
“You’re not their obligated savior, Nym. They were going to
Bron before they even knew you were coming.”
I’ve not heard anything in the pipes other than air blowing since we entered, but I keep my tone low enough to be covered by the ship’s noise just in case. “True. But even at the party the other night . . .” I scowl. “It’s like they think I’m some kind of token that will protect them. It’s suffocating.”
Her smile turns sly and she pats me on the head. “Of course you’re a token. A magical one who’s only disappointing in matters of clothing choices.”
A chuckle bubbles up in spite of myself. “I’m serious! Look at this.” I tighten my deformed fingers into a fist. There’s not even the slightest tingle in the air.
“So you’re saying the power you always wished you didn’t have is gone, but because everyone admires it, now you wish you had it back?”
“Not admires it. Expects it. And I’d rather they’d not do either. But at the same time . . .” I search for the right words. “Maybe it’s that I finally just learned how to use my curse to actually help people, and now . . . now I’m very likely going to let those people down.”
She chews her lip and grows sober. “While I might not have known you for long, Nym, I can tell you your strength doesn’t lie in your powers or the ability to cause a storm or whatever else the rest of them want to call your gift. It lies in your ability for compassion.” She pokes a finger in my chest. “It lies in you.”
I nod. Right. Except having compassion without the power to change anything is useless. I should know. I tried for years to untwine those two and it couldn’t be done. And not just useless, it’s dangerous. Because it breeds false hope.
Not only that but . . . being me is being Elemental. I feel out the bandage beneath my sleeve and press into it until my skin aches. I don’t know how to explain it to her.
“Besides, if Bron and the delegates found out right now, can you even imagine what would happen?”
I roll my eyes and groan.
“And anyhow, the delegates wouldn’t believe us. They’d just see it as a political stunt, and I’m not sure how that’d protect Eogan.”
“I’m pretty certain I can protect Eogan without giving them false security in me. But I’m beginning to wonder if it’s really a good idea to let them find out I’ve no power while we’re in an environment Draewulf controls.”
She shrugs, as if it’s the question she’s been wrestling over every bit of her waking moments with no solution.
“Exactly.”
She leans her head against the window and stares out of it. “Draewulf won’t completely control everything—he still has to prove himself to the Bron people. If that’s even his intention.”
“You think Draewulf will keep the façade up in Bron?”
“He’s actively trying to eradicate all internal trace of Eogan, so my guess is yes. Especially since even the Bron guard on this ship doesn’t know Eogan is Draewulf.”
I follow her gaze through the rain lines beginning to drizzle down the pane—to the purple-gray ocean and, in the distance, the sun’s muted glimmer. “Or maybe Draewulf’s trying to eradicate Eogan because he knows Eogan can survive if the shape-shifter leaves his body too soon.”
Her expression softens. As if she knows how much my heart is hanging on that one single hope. She opens her mouth. Closes it. And allows us to simply sit there, staring together at the ocean shimmering a few terrameters beneath us as the ship continues its race toward Bron.
“About your arm.” She rouses after a bit. “You want to talk about it?”
“It was a mistake. I’m better now. Do you think Myles knows what Draewulf wants?”
She makes a sound very much like a scoff but doesn’t say anything. Just shakes her head.
“What if we ask Draewulf the questions straight to his face—about what he plans to do with us and if there’s a way to free Eogan? Could you determine Draewulf’s thoughts then?”
She scrunches her cheek and peers back over at me. “I’m not sure. With Eogan’s block in the mix, I could probably see if Draewulf’s lying but not read his mind. Unless he’s clearly planned out his path and Eogan’s not confusing it. I’d have to be near him long enough to get a better sense, but even then . . . If the things you’re hoping for have never been done, Draewulf himself may not actually know the answers.”
“So it’s worth a try.”
Her smile is gentle. “I think so. But the better question is, can we get him alone for a few minutes to try it?”
I look down at my cut arm. At my fingers as I flex them into a fist.
“Let me take care of that.”
CHAPTER 10
I HEAR THE BOY A GOOD HALF MINUTE BEFORE HE reaches the metal grate, mainly because he’s grunting and cursing up a storm. The wall square squeaks, then pops out to fall and hit the floor again just before Kel drops into my already-darkening room.
He scrambles up and tries his best to look very serious, which ends up with him merely showing those big white teeth.
“You’re back.”
“Told you I would be.”
“Well? What do you want?”
He shrugs. “Just making sure you’re not doing anything you shouldn’t be.”
Because I assume he’s doing enough of that for both of us. “Who have you been trying to stab this time?”
“I haven’t. I’ve been sleeping mostly. I was listening in on the delegates for a while, but all they talk about is stuff they want from King Eogan. Well”—his face sours—“except for the cranky one. He talks a lot about his head and his back and his hard bed and the ship’s noise.”
I grin. “So does that mean you can get anywhere on this ship?”
His little face turns furiously proud. “Just about.”
I eye him. “Such as the room where King Eogan is?”
He frowns. “You want me to spy on him?”
“It wouldn’t be spying. I just . . . want to know if he’s all right.”
“You want to spy on him.”
“Look, boy—”
“Kel.”
“Look, Kel—”
“Is it ’cuz you want to kiss him?”
“ ’Cuz I want to—what?”
“When a person likes someone and wants to marry them and have babies, they kiss them. And I heard one of the delegates say you like King Eogan. Is that why you’re spying on him?” His tone says he finds this not only unnecessary, but wholly repulsive.
I stare at this boy who is the strangest small person I have ever met in my entire seventeen years. And burst into laughter. “No. I most definitely am not spying on him so I can have babies with him. I simply . . . want to ensure he’s feeling all right. He’s been ill and—”
“Then why’s your face turning redder than the carpet?”
“I am not turning red.”
He rolls his eyes and walks around the room, poking at the walls and lightly kicking the cot I’m seated on.
“Look, can you or can you not get near King Eogan’s room?”
He shakes his head. “The only air vents I can travel are along this and the other delegates’ corridor. Also, the kitchen and bathrooms and a few soldier areas. Besides, I wouldn’t listen in on the king for you anyway.” His face takes on that stoic expression, which is promptly darkened by a flash of fear. “And I don’t think you should have babies with him neither.”
Good, then we’re both agreed. Except . . . I frown. “Did you know King Odion?” I ask on a hunch.
He nods and looks out the window into the night.
“Not very nice, eh?”
“He was a great king, brave and strong, the most powerful in all the Hidden Lands.”
Right.
His small brow furrows.
“But?”
“He wouldn’t have liked you. And he wouldn’t have approved of you coming to Bron—not just ’cuz you defeated his army, but because he wouldn’t have liked that you tried not to harm my people.”
“Not to harm them?”
He
nods again. “My people believe power is a responsibility to be used for striking down those who’d endanger our community. They’d think what you believe weakens it.”
I don’t tell him that at the moment I’m tempted to agree with his people and dead King Odion. “And what do you believe?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe power comes in different forms, and maybe we get a choice how we use it.” He glances down and his eyes darken. “Maybe not everything that seems weaker is.”
Then he looks back up. “But I gotta go now.” He climbs onto the bed. “And you’re not going to see me again until you’re in Bron. But when you do, don’t let them know you’ve met me. My father and family, they . . . they wouldn’t like that.”
I almost grab his foot to pull him back as he clambers up through the square hole. He can’t go. I have more questions!
Too late though.
He’s already through and scritch-scritching away.
CHAPTER 11
THE BRON GUARD DOESN’T ALLOW ME OUT OF the room again until the following afternoon, and just like before, the two Faelen bodyguards follow as well. Rasha and I are barely in the hall when she stops us all and says, “Can you give us a minute, handsomes?”
Is she going to bring up the boy, Kel? Has she seen him too?
The soldiers wait as she tips toward my ear and lowers her voice. “In case I don’t get the chance to say this later, I want you to know I believe Myles is going to offer you something once we reach Bron. And on absolutely no condition should you accept.”
Oh.
I glance toward his room. Offer something? What could he have that’d be remotely desirable versus nauseating?
“I sensed it the other night when we snuck on board and ran into him.”
I wait for her to elaborate. She doesn’t. “Okay. And his offer will be . . .?”
“I don’t want to say in case he changes his mind. I simply wanted to make sure I mentioned it before the day was out. Mainly because what he’s got in mind is . . . unnatural.”
Ha. I bet it is.