“They have all that raw merth cord.” That we assume Princess Romeria brought with her because the Terren Mountains in Ybaris is the only place it grows, but I don’t know for sure. I have to be careful what I say.
“A conciliatory prize, according to them. They do not believe the queen will ever deliver on her promises. They do not think Mordain will support her.”
Which means this deal between Ybaris and the saplings was about more than some paralyzing weeds to help catch their meals.
“As for the ones who attacked your camp, they likely did not realize you were among the Islorians.”
“Or maybe they did. It’s impossible to trust anyone. Hence …” I wave a hand toward the arrows, lowered but still nocked. “Can you reach the saplings in the mountains?”
“They are a quarter-day’s ride from here.” He pauses. “Do you have a message for Radomir you wish me to deliver?”
I resist the urge to ask who Radomir is. Princess Romeria wouldn’t ask that. I assume he’s the sapling’s leader.
Before I have a chance to speak, Abarrane steps forward, her dagger in her grip as if there isn’t a gate separating them. “You will show me exactly where those vermin are hiding.”
Kienen is unfazed by her sudden venom. “You wish to enter a cave with hundreds of saplings waiting to feed off you?”
“No. I wish to rescue my warriors.”
“You won’t succeed. We don’t even go up there. I would not recommend it.”
“Do not feign worry for me, Ybarisan,” she spits out.
Kienen’s expression is stony as he shifts to me. “What is your order, Your Highness?”
Abarrane growls.
If this situation weren’t so tense, I might smile. Kienen has a spine. “If Telor is two days away, we need you here, Abarrane, not running into caves that you won’t come out of.” Not with hundreds of saplings and God knows how much raw merth. I shudder at the thought of that many immortals, with their sunken cheeks and bulging foreheads. “Radomir has two legionaries captured in Norcaster, and I am demanding that he return them to us immediately. Come back tomorrow night with him and the warriors, along with the rest of the Ybarisan army.”
Kienen’s face tightens. “I do not know that Radomir will agree to such a demand, Your Highness. As I’ve said, they do not have much faith in Ybaris anymore. He may agree to release the warriors, but I cannot see him traveling here.”
“Tell him I’m alive and I always keep my word.” I hold my breath, hoping that’s vague enough. Whatever bargain they struck, the prize was enough for that sapling to come to Cirilea to help Ybaris in their attack.
“Unless he’d prefer we seek him out in his home and help him see the light,” Zander adds, that cool, calm edge to his voice scarier than all of Abarrane’s barking. “Do let him know how you found his companions and that Nulling beast.”
“I will share both your messages.” Kienen bows. “Do you have a letter for the queen that I can send with the taillok?”
His request throws me off. “Uh … I’ll have one ready by the time you return.”
With a fleeting look toward the legionaries and their nocked arrows, as if one might land in his back, Kienen marches toward his waiting horse. As one, they turn and ride off.
“I do not trust him,” Abarrane declares. “He is too young and smug. And Ybarisan.”
“We do not have a choice. But if he shows up here tomorrow night with Drakon and Iago and two hundred and fifty-four Ybarisan soldiers, then we know we can put at least some trust in him,” Zander answers. “Well played, Romeria.”
“Thank you.” I let out a deep exhale. Only now do I feel how stiff my body was, how much tension coursed through my limbs.
“Why bring the sapling here?” Jarek asks.
“Because Ybaris made a deal with them that involves Mordain. Don’t you want to know what it was?”
“The more information, the better,” Zander agrees. “Though if they’ve discovered what we did to their kind, no bargain may be sweet enough to win him over.”
“I do not want to win him over. I want to kill him.” Abarrane sheathes her sword.
We retreat to our horses, the queen’s letter firm within my grip, teasing my curiosity. “What is a taillok?”
Zander smirks. He’s always amused by my ignorance. “The queen’s messenger. A bird of a sort. I have only ever seen it once when it arrived with a letter to Cirilea.”