“That Mordain is the reason Cirilea did not fall to you that first night.”
Radomir has reliable sources, then. “Not Mordain. A few casters working on their own.”
“To what end?”
“Does it matter?”
His eyes wander past me, into the tunnel behind us, and they flare with shock. “All those years of hiding in holes within the ground, starving while feeding information to your cause, and your queen did not think my people may find value in a place like this?”
“You know about it now.”
“By design or desperation?” His lips twist with disdain. “After decades of service, Queen Neilina promised us the sun, and yet here we are, still dwelling in darkness. Meanwhile, three score of my men lie in a smoldering heap in a field south of here, and you arrive, doling out threats and expecting continued alliance.”
He sounds well educated. Who was he once? “Your men attacked us.”
“And they will continue to do so, by my orders or those who follow, should you kill me.”
“Why? Our deal isn’t over.” Whatever it was.
“Forgive me if I do not rush to Ybaris’s aid again, but you are as treacherous as your mother, something others have not yet realized.”
A dig at Zander, clearly. And a fair one, for an outside observer. That he’s surrounded by Ybarisans and still throws out insults and threats like he’s hiding behind a wall of protection is brave. He hasn’t shown a hint of fear.
“It sounds like we have no more use for you, then.” Jarek takes a menacing step forward.
As one, the saplings shift their cloaks aside to reveal the coiled strands of glowing silver merth strapped to their sides and the swords already drawn.
No wonder the Ybarisans are giving them a wide berth. Just being near drains their strength.
Radomir has no chance of riding away tonight, unless they expect the Ybarisans to stand by idly and watch. Or worse, join in.
Or all he cares about is killing me before Jarek ends him.
Kienen’s hand sits on his pommel, but it’s sheathed. He might be waiting for an order from me, but he could just as easily be waiting to see this play out. The Ybarisans around him shift uneasily in their saddles, glancing to one another.
In this perilous moment, my affinities rise to the surface, crackling beneath my skin, begging to be unleashed, and I know I could kill them—all of them.
But Radomir’s words strike a chord.
Queen Neilina promised us the sun.
Of course.
“Would you like to see what’s inside this mountain?” I blurt.
“Romeria!” Zander barks in warning.
I ignore him. This is the opposite of telling them nothing. This is telling them everything. But if I’m right … “Would you like to see Ulysede, Radomir?”
Radomir’s eyes narrow with suspicion.
“You won’t be harmed, you have my word.”
“Your word means nothing.”
“Keep provoking me.” Jarek grins in a way that begs for it.
“Aren’t you curious to see what you’ve been missing all these years?” I gesture toward the gate. “Only you, though.”
The sapling studies the tunnel ahead, then his men at his back. “If we do not return to our stronghold by tomorrow’s nightfall, they will peel the skin from your legionary, strip by strip. They will do such hideous, vile things to him. Things your worst nightmares could not even conjure.”
“Fair enough.” I nod toward Kienen. “You’re coming too.”
I’m sure I heard Zander’s groan.
Kienen seems even less excited about the prospect, his wary gaze drifting over Jarek, who morphed into a thing of Ybarisan nightmares not five minutes ago. But I am his princess, and I see the moment he accepts he has no choice. “Aziel. The men are yours.”
A Ybarisan with lengthy dark hair nods once, his expression hard.
Wearing a look of resignation, as if he’s heading to his death, Kienen guides his horse forward.
“Relax.” Jarek backs away from its path, a taunting smile on his lips. “No one here wants your toxic blood.”
Radomir follows behind the Ybarisan. “What about my blood?”
My commander’s grin turns into a grimace, earning Radomir’s laugh.
“On foot, sapling, and leave the merth behind,” Abarrane barks, sparing me a glare that promises I’ll be getting an earful from her later. That she hasn’t openly argued with me in front of them is an improvement, though.
Radomir obliges, tossing the glowing cords and reins to his closest sapling and dropping from his saddle. He strolls toward me.