War Storm
Page 82
So does Cenra. It’s why she dared to leave her borders. She knows I hold her daughter in the palm of my hand. I don’t doubt she wants to extricate Iris from our marriage. But she needs this alliance as much as I do. Without me, she faces Cal and his band of traitors and criminals. A united front against her. I’m her shield, as she is mine.
“My queens,” I say, bowing slightly to them both as they approach.
Her daughter looks more like a soldier than a queen made and princess born.
The queen of the Lakelands dips into a shallow curtsy. Her sleeves brush the deck. “Your Majesty,” she replies.
I turn my face to the horizon. “Harbor Bay has fallen.”
“For now,” Cenra says, her voice offensively calm.
“Oh?” I sneer, raising an eyebrow “You think we can win it back? Tonight, perhaps.”
Again, she dips her head. “In time.”
I finish for her. “When the rest of your armada arrives.”
Queen Cenra grits her teeth. “Yes, of course,” she reluctantly grinds out. “But—”
“But?” I ask. The sea air feels cold on my bared teeth.
“We do have our own shores to guard,” she says. At her side, Iris looks smug, glad to let her mother fight this battle. “The Lakes must remain defended, especially from Montfort. They can cross Prairie and strike our western border easily. As can the Kingdom of the Rift on our east.”
I have to laugh. Sneering, I wave a hand at the horizon. Full of Samos traitors and Montfort usurpers, all beneath my brother’s idiot command. “Strike your border with what army? The one currently occupying my city?”
Cenra flares her nostrils and a flush heats her face, dusting over her cliff-like cheekbones. “Samos has the Nortan Air Fleet, one of the biggest on the continent. Not to mention Montfort’s own capabilities, whatever they are. Your brother has the advantage from the air, and he has the speed. Anywhere could be at risk of attack.” She speaks slowly, as if I am a child who needs his hand held through war. It tingles my fingers. “That cannot be ignored, Your Majesty.”
As if on wretched cue, a battalion of airjets races over the coast in formation. The distant scream of them reaches us slowly, a dull and stretching roar. I fold my arms over my chest, tucking away my hands lest they ignite.
“Bracken’s Air Fleet should be enough to hold them off,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the jets as they move. Circling the city. Protective maneuvers.
Iris finally finds her voice. “The bulk of his fleet was cannibalized by the Montfort occupation. They can’t match what we’re up against.” She clearly delights in correcting me. I let her take this small comfort instead of losing my temper.
To look powerful is to be powerful. Mother said that too many times to count. Look calm, still, strong. Assured of yourself and your victory.
“Which is why we have to return to a place of strength,” Cenra says. “We’re no good out here on the waves, waiting to be picked off from the sky. Even the nymphs of Cygnet Line are not invincible.”
Of course they aren’t, you proud nit.
Instead I blink at her, trying to burn through her with my eyes. “You suggest a retreat?”
“We’ve already retreated,” Iris snaps. The healer at her side steps back a little, cowed by her anger. “Harbor Bay is one city—”
I clench a fist and a burst of heat ripples on the air. “Harbor Bay is not the only piece of my country lost to my brother,” I say quietly, slowly. Low enough that they must strain to hear. “The south is his, the Rift and Delphie. He took Corvium from me. And now he has Fort Patriot too.”
My sneering queen doesn’t quail against my checked fury. “Fort Patriot will be of little use to them for a long time,” she says, looking like a satisfied cat after a particularly big dinner.
“Oh?” I reply. “And why is that?”
She glances sidelong at her mother, sharing a look I cannot decipher. “When it became clear the city was lost, and that Tiberias would win the day, I flooded the fort as much as I could,” Iris explains, proud and still. “The seawall came down. Half of it is underwater, and the rest is cut off from land. I would have sunk the battleships if I could, but the escape took too much out of me. Still, the repairs will slow them down, and I’ve taken valuable resources from their effort.”
And from me. Even if we win back the city now, the fort is destroyed. What a waste. Jets, the War Port docks, arms and ammunition, simple infrastructure.
I hold her gaze, letting a bit of my mask slip. Letting her know that I realize what she’s doing. Iris and her mother will incapacitate me little by little, cutting me off from my own resources.
The nymph queens are cunning. They don’t have to put me in the water to drown me.
It’s simply a question of how long that will take, and how to balance their actions against my own. They’re letting Cal and me waste ourselves on each other, hoping to face the wounded victor in later days.
Iris stares back at me, her eyes tipping like a scale. She is cold and calculating, still water hiding a riptide.
“So we return to Archeon,” she replies. “Gather the full mass of our strength, everyone that can be spared. Bring the full fury of this war to bear on their heads.”
I lean back against the rail of the ship, exuding an appearance of calm detachment. Sighing, I glance at the waves as they stain red with sunset. “We’ll move tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Cenra balks. “We should go now.”
Slowly, I grin, careful to show my canines. The kind of smile that sets people off balance. “I have a feeling my brother will be sending us a message soon.”
“What are you talking about?” Cenra murmurs.
I offer no explanation and look out to the east instead. On the darkening horizon, smudges stand out against the stark line of the sea. “The islands will be neutral ground,” I muse.
“Neutral ground,” Cenra repeats, turning the words over in her mouth.
Iris says nothing, but her eyes narrow to slits.
I drum my fingers against my chest, huffing out a low breath. “What a joyous reunion this will be.”
I can only imagine it. A rainbow of scowling backstabbers and betrayers seated across from us, ready to preach and preen. Evangeline, with her claws and her put-upon arrogance. That Red general, Farley, who will bleed for all she’s done to my kingdom. Moping, methodic Julian, trailing my brother like a forgotten ghost. Our own grandmother, Anabel, another person who was supposed to love me and never did. The Montfort leader, still a mystery and a danger.
Of course, Mare will be there, a storm in her skin.
And my brother too.
It’s been a long time since I’ve looked into Cal’s eyes. I wonder if they’ve changed.
For I certainly have.
Will we make terms? I very much doubt it. But I want to see them again, both of them. At least once more before this war is done, ended in whatever fate. Their deaths or mine.
Neither future frightens me.
My only fear now is losing the throne, the crown, the reason for all this misery and torment. I won’t destroy myself in vain. I won’t let this all be for nothing.
TWENTY-TWO
Iris
When Maven returns to his own ship, I fear he might force me to go with him and deny me a few more hours with my mother. To my surprise, his petty rage and his political cunning do not extend so far. We are left alone on Mother’s flagship once more, given over to our own devices. With room to talk at length, and time to plan. Either he doesn’t see us as a threat, or he doesn’t care to fear us. I would venture the latter. He has more immediate enemies right now, and can spare little thought for his own wife.
“My queens,” I say, bowing slightly to them both as they approach.
Her daughter looks more like a soldier than a queen made and princess born.
The queen of the Lakelands dips into a shallow curtsy. Her sleeves brush the deck. “Your Majesty,” she replies.
I turn my face to the horizon. “Harbor Bay has fallen.”
“For now,” Cenra says, her voice offensively calm.
“Oh?” I sneer, raising an eyebrow “You think we can win it back? Tonight, perhaps.”
Again, she dips her head. “In time.”
I finish for her. “When the rest of your armada arrives.”
Queen Cenra grits her teeth. “Yes, of course,” she reluctantly grinds out. “But—”
“But?” I ask. The sea air feels cold on my bared teeth.
“We do have our own shores to guard,” she says. At her side, Iris looks smug, glad to let her mother fight this battle. “The Lakes must remain defended, especially from Montfort. They can cross Prairie and strike our western border easily. As can the Kingdom of the Rift on our east.”
I have to laugh. Sneering, I wave a hand at the horizon. Full of Samos traitors and Montfort usurpers, all beneath my brother’s idiot command. “Strike your border with what army? The one currently occupying my city?”
Cenra flares her nostrils and a flush heats her face, dusting over her cliff-like cheekbones. “Samos has the Nortan Air Fleet, one of the biggest on the continent. Not to mention Montfort’s own capabilities, whatever they are. Your brother has the advantage from the air, and he has the speed. Anywhere could be at risk of attack.” She speaks slowly, as if I am a child who needs his hand held through war. It tingles my fingers. “That cannot be ignored, Your Majesty.”
As if on wretched cue, a battalion of airjets races over the coast in formation. The distant scream of them reaches us slowly, a dull and stretching roar. I fold my arms over my chest, tucking away my hands lest they ignite.
“Bracken’s Air Fleet should be enough to hold them off,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the jets as they move. Circling the city. Protective maneuvers.
Iris finally finds her voice. “The bulk of his fleet was cannibalized by the Montfort occupation. They can’t match what we’re up against.” She clearly delights in correcting me. I let her take this small comfort instead of losing my temper.
To look powerful is to be powerful. Mother said that too many times to count. Look calm, still, strong. Assured of yourself and your victory.
“Which is why we have to return to a place of strength,” Cenra says. “We’re no good out here on the waves, waiting to be picked off from the sky. Even the nymphs of Cygnet Line are not invincible.”
Of course they aren’t, you proud nit.
Instead I blink at her, trying to burn through her with my eyes. “You suggest a retreat?”
“We’ve already retreated,” Iris snaps. The healer at her side steps back a little, cowed by her anger. “Harbor Bay is one city—”
I clench a fist and a burst of heat ripples on the air. “Harbor Bay is not the only piece of my country lost to my brother,” I say quietly, slowly. Low enough that they must strain to hear. “The south is his, the Rift and Delphie. He took Corvium from me. And now he has Fort Patriot too.”
My sneering queen doesn’t quail against my checked fury. “Fort Patriot will be of little use to them for a long time,” she says, looking like a satisfied cat after a particularly big dinner.
“Oh?” I reply. “And why is that?”
She glances sidelong at her mother, sharing a look I cannot decipher. “When it became clear the city was lost, and that Tiberias would win the day, I flooded the fort as much as I could,” Iris explains, proud and still. “The seawall came down. Half of it is underwater, and the rest is cut off from land. I would have sunk the battleships if I could, but the escape took too much out of me. Still, the repairs will slow them down, and I’ve taken valuable resources from their effort.”
And from me. Even if we win back the city now, the fort is destroyed. What a waste. Jets, the War Port docks, arms and ammunition, simple infrastructure.
I hold her gaze, letting a bit of my mask slip. Letting her know that I realize what she’s doing. Iris and her mother will incapacitate me little by little, cutting me off from my own resources.
The nymph queens are cunning. They don’t have to put me in the water to drown me.
It’s simply a question of how long that will take, and how to balance their actions against my own. They’re letting Cal and me waste ourselves on each other, hoping to face the wounded victor in later days.
Iris stares back at me, her eyes tipping like a scale. She is cold and calculating, still water hiding a riptide.
“So we return to Archeon,” she replies. “Gather the full mass of our strength, everyone that can be spared. Bring the full fury of this war to bear on their heads.”
I lean back against the rail of the ship, exuding an appearance of calm detachment. Sighing, I glance at the waves as they stain red with sunset. “We’ll move tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Cenra balks. “We should go now.”
Slowly, I grin, careful to show my canines. The kind of smile that sets people off balance. “I have a feeling my brother will be sending us a message soon.”
“What are you talking about?” Cenra murmurs.
I offer no explanation and look out to the east instead. On the darkening horizon, smudges stand out against the stark line of the sea. “The islands will be neutral ground,” I muse.
“Neutral ground,” Cenra repeats, turning the words over in her mouth.
Iris says nothing, but her eyes narrow to slits.
I drum my fingers against my chest, huffing out a low breath. “What a joyous reunion this will be.”
I can only imagine it. A rainbow of scowling backstabbers and betrayers seated across from us, ready to preach and preen. Evangeline, with her claws and her put-upon arrogance. That Red general, Farley, who will bleed for all she’s done to my kingdom. Moping, methodic Julian, trailing my brother like a forgotten ghost. Our own grandmother, Anabel, another person who was supposed to love me and never did. The Montfort leader, still a mystery and a danger.
Of course, Mare will be there, a storm in her skin.
And my brother too.
It’s been a long time since I’ve looked into Cal’s eyes. I wonder if they’ve changed.
For I certainly have.
Will we make terms? I very much doubt it. But I want to see them again, both of them. At least once more before this war is done, ended in whatever fate. Their deaths or mine.
Neither future frightens me.
My only fear now is losing the throne, the crown, the reason for all this misery and torment. I won’t destroy myself in vain. I won’t let this all be for nothing.
TWENTY-TWO
Iris
When Maven returns to his own ship, I fear he might force me to go with him and deny me a few more hours with my mother. To my surprise, his petty rage and his political cunning do not extend so far. We are left alone on Mother’s flagship once more, given over to our own devices. With room to talk at length, and time to plan. Either he doesn’t see us as a threat, or he doesn’t care to fear us. I would venture the latter. He has more immediate enemies right now, and can spare little thought for his own wife.
