This is the commander in league with Neilina? This is Princess Romeria’s real father?
His jaw clenches. “Your Highness.” His bow is delayed. The soldiers behind him follow immediately.
Do they know how deeply in bed he was with Neilina, both literally and figuratively?
What I know is that there is no way I can let him continue leading Ybaris’s army. My army now. “Tell me, was it you or my mother who drove the blade into King Barris’s chest?” I say it loudly, so all around us can hear. I watch his face as it morphs in stages—from shock to anger to grim determination.
He doesn’t deny it, though.
I see the moment he makes his decision. He knows his days as commander are finished.
“Don’t do it,” I warn a second before he draws his sword.
Solange moves faster than any of the legionaries, driving a blade through his throat. He collapses with a gurgling sound.
Jarek inhales sharply. A tell that he’s impressed.
Zander leans in to whisper, “You need to name a new commander for the Ybarisan army immediately. This cannot wait.”
I nod, thankful to have him by my side. In this instance, the decision is easy. I know the perfect, trustworthy soldier. “Send two legionaries to get Kienen.”
Abarrane nods at Iago and Drakon, giving the order.
“Good choice,” he whispers.
“I know.” I offer him a playful smile.
Solange wipes her bloodied blade on her uniform before tucking it away. “This way, Your Highness. She waits in a tent. I hope. She is a wily one.” There’s a hint of deference in Solange’s voice, even as she mocks whoever I am to meet.
The Shadows lead me toward a cluster of tents. People outfitted in simple dresses and breeches rather than armor loiter around. They watch with curiosity, anger, and fear as I pass, followed by a string of Islorians.
Solange stalls at a green tent. “There is not enough room for all of you.”
“There is enough room for me.” Jarek lifts the tent flap and barges through without asking or waiting for an order.
“He’s still pissed about Caindra.” I step into the tent, Zander and Solange on my heels.
In a wooden chair inside sits an elderly woman, her face creased with wrinkles that have seen many decades, her white hair pulled back in a wispy bun.
When she sees me, her cloudy blue eyes widen, flipping to Solange. “Your Highness!” She eases out of her chair with difficulty and bows. “I was not expecting you.”
“Queen Neilina is dead. This is Ybaris’s new queen.” Solange removes her mask and headpiece, revealing a woman in her late thirties with tightly braided chestnut-brown hair. “This is Caster Agatha.”
“Agatha.” I know that name. “You’re the Master Scribe.”
Her face splits with a grin. “My dear Gesine has told you about me.”
“Yes. Your letter arrived in Ulysede the other day.”
“That took forever. I was wondering if it would make it.” Her aged gaze darts behind Zander’s and Jarek’s looming bodies, searching. “Did Gesine not travel to the rift with you?”
The perpetual ache flares. “She died yesterday.”
Agatha’s shoulders sink. “The change?”
“No. An arrow from an enemy.”
The caster’s face crumples as she settles back into her chair, as if standing for that long is a strain. “She was a special one.”
“She was,” I agree. “She helped me learn so much about myself, and so quickly. She trusted you without hesitation. She told me I could trust you.”
“I would never have expected an old scribe to voluntarily show up at the rift before a battle.” Solange smirks. “When I spotted her, I knew she had to be up to something, so I pulled her aside for an explanation.”
“I believe there were threats involved,” Agatha retorts crisply.
The Shadow shrugs. “I needed the truth.”
“You knew the truth already, but you and the Prime chose to ignore it.”
“The Prime ignored it, leaving me little room to do anything at all,” Solange snaps back.
“What did you tell Solange?” Zander asks Agatha, interrupting the bickering.
“Everything I know or suspect,” Agatha admits, turning to me. “You have opened the nymphaeum door, have you not?”
I sigh. They have figured that out on their own. Gesine did say Agatha was smart. “Yes.” They know this and yet no one has tried to kill me yet. “At the height of Hudem’s moon tonight, Islor will be free of the blood curse.”