His lips twist. “I’m listening.”
Behind him, Braylon and others shift in their saddles, restless, as if they think I might lash out at their lord, that I have no respect. My anger spikes at the nerve, but I squash it, keeping my focus. “You and I have sat across the table, late into the night, more times than I can count, fantasizing about a world where we no longer had to survive off the blood of mortals.”
“I recall those nights and that fantasy.” He smiles fondly, before it slips away. “I dare say you and your princess have taken it in a far darker direction than the one I dreamt of.”
“That is Queen Neilina’s dream coming to reality. Not mine, and not the princess who rides at my side. We are playing both pawn and scapegoat.”
Telor surveys my line of companions in the distance. “And your brother the king would claim you are still playing the lovestruck fool.”
“I would say the same if I knew as little as he did. But he is wasting your time, having you chase after me when he should be gathering Islor’s forces at the rift.”
“We are aware of the growing army on the Ybarisan side. I have soldiers there.”
“Not enough. Did you know you have traitors among your ranks? The mortals, certainly, but also elven.”
“I did not. How do you know this?”
“Because Prince Tyree delivered crates of poison himself. His right-hand man, who is with us now, witnessed it.”
“Lies to sow discord.”
“Possibly,” I agree. “But I would lean toward caution.”
Telor’s brow furrows as he glances over his shoulder at Braylon. No doubt he’ll be tasking him with ferreting out the truth as soon as we’re done here. “What do you know about what to expect?”
Far more than I care to share right now. “Neilina plans to claim our lands for herself, once and for all. A vast army is gathering from all over Ybaris, fueled by lies of King Barris’s assassination and their children’s murders. They will cross on Hudem. Soldiers and casters. She is drawing heavily from Mordain. Their elementals, all of their strongest.”
“And you know this how?”
“A letter from Neilina, delivered by the Ybarisans to Romeria. I have read it myself. It is true.”
He curses. “Does the king know this?”
“I’ve written to inform him. Whether he acts is another story.”
Telor curses again, his horse shifting to and fro with his growing agitation. “Armies have scattered across Islor, chasing after this poison. His Highness’s focus is on keeping Cirilea and binding Kettling. They will never be able to gather and make it to the rift in time.”
“No, likely not. Atticus cannot do much but rule from the throne. That leaves your army, ours, and anyone we can gather along the way. I’ve already written to Bellcross, pleading for Rengard’s aid.” Fortunately among the generous supplies Theon granted us were several messenger pigeons, trained to reach him.
The corner of Telor’s mouth quirks. “You wish to bring the Ybarisans to the rift to fight the Ybarisans.”
“Yes. As well as an army of saplings.”
His bellow of laughter carries. “You really have gone mad, my friend.”
“You do not know the half of it.” I waver over the urge to hold tight to what I know, protect Romeria a little longer. But I relied on secrecy and lies to rule before, and it ended up not serving me well. Besides, we won’t be able to keep this to ourselves much longer. Not when the Nulling opens on Hudem, and untold creatures crawl out. “What if I told you that, after two thousand years, the end to the blood curse is upon us, and the answers lie within the kingdom you see before you and the queen who rules it? One who wants peace for all.”
A slow breath slips from his lips. “I would very much like to meet this queen.”
“I can arrange that.”
Behind Telor, Braylon and his two riders approach. “Your son has grown too impatient to wait, I see.”
“Hold your ground. We are not finished yet!” Lord Telor demands without glancing behind him, but the riders keep moving in at a steady trot.
Behind me, hooves pound, moving more urgently. Rushing to catch up to their counterparts.
Telor scowls. “This generation … they do not show proper respect to decorum or rank.”
I chuckle, listening to Telor complain about his son a nostalgic song in my ear for all the times I’ve heard him say similar things in the past.
But the comfort evaporates as Braylon and his men draw their weapons.