I looked at Pauline, the struggle in her eyes, the truest daughter of Morrighan. She lifted two fingers to her lips and nodded.
The Royal Scholar added his nod to hers.
Tell them. Venda’s voice reached out to me across centuries, still stepping forward, unable to rest. She was blood kin to this kingdom as much as the kingdom named after her.
Only one thing was certain in my heart. Long, long ago, three women who loved each other had been torn apart. Three women who had once been family.
Tell them a story, Jezelia.
And I did.
* * *
“Gather close, sisters of my heart,
Brothers of my soul,
Family of my flesh,
And I will tell you the story of sisters, a family, and a tribe, blood kin of another kind, sewn together by devastation, and loyalty.”
I told them of Gaudrel, one of the original Ancients, a woman who led a small band of survivors through a desolate world, trusting a knowing within her. She fed her grandchild stories when there was nothing else to offer, stories to help a child understand a harsh world, and to keep her silent when predators drew too close.
I told them of Gaudrel’s siser, Venda, another survivor who kept her people alive with her wits, her words, and her trust. After being lured away from her family, she would not be silenced, not even by death, reaching through the centuries for hope for an oppressed people.
And I told them about Morrighan, Gaudrel’s grandchild, a girl stolen by a thief named Harik, who sold her to a scavenger for a sack of grain. Morrighan was a girl brave and true, who led the scavengers to a place of safety. She trusted the strength within her that was passed down by Gaudrel and the surviving Ancients, a knowing they turned to when they had nothing else, a seeing without eyes, a hearing without ears. Morrighan was not chosen by the gods. She was one of many who were spared, a girl like any among us, which made her bravery all the greater.
“Morrighan called on an ancient strength within her to survive—and helped others do the same. That is what we must do now.”
My gaze skimmed the plaza, the lords, and those standing on the balcony with me. My eyes paused on Rafe and my throat tightened. “Nothing lasts forever,” I continued, “and I see our end in sight.”
I leaned forward, focusing on the row of lords. “That’s right, Lord Gowan. Sight. I have seen the destruction and ruin. I have seen the Dragon bearing down on us. I have heard the crunch of bone between his jaws. I have felt his breath on my neck. He is coming, this I promise you.
“If we do not prepare now, hope is gone, and you will feel the bite of his teeth as I have. Shall we cower and wait for the Komizar to destroy us, or do we prepare and survive as our kingdom’s namesake did?”
A small voice.
Prepare.
Another, prepare.
A fist in the air, Gwyneth’s. Prepare.
The plaza ignited in shared determination to survive.
I kissed two fingers, lifting them to the heavens, one for the lost, and one for those yet to come, and called back to them, “We prepare!”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
“Your Highness.”
Rafe, Kaden, and I were just passing the plaza fountain when the general intercepted me. A dozen soldiers, including Gwyneth, Pauline, Berdi, and Jeb, came to a grinding halt behind us. The general reached out and took my hand, patting it. “Forgive me for my boldness, Princess Arabella, but I am relieved that the misunderstanding of your treason has been cleared up.”
I looked at him uncertainly, already sensing this wasn’t going to end well. I remembered him only vaguely, as one of the generals in longest service to the crown. “It wasn’t a misunderstanding, General Howland. It was a well-orchestrated lie and plot.”
He nodded, his lower lip curling in a pout. “Yes, of course it was, a plot by traitors of the worst kind, and we’re all indebted to you for exposing them. Thank you.”
“No thanks are necessary, General. Exposing treachery is the duty of every—”