Armel’s expression crumples and he turns back toward the fire. Cybel’s knife begins moving over the wood again. Drest grumbles, but shuts up.
We hear the footsteps a moment before Lugh bursts into my room. His hair is a mess, flying in every direction from a hand run through it too many times. His scowl is etched deep, and he mutters angrily to himself as he slams the door shut behind and glares around the room at us.
“Bad day?” I ask him, determined to break the awkward silence.
“When did my older brother turn into a copy of Mother?”
We look at each other and all shrug. Prince Lyne isn’t the worst in the royal family, not by a long shot, but there’s little we can say to defend him, especially when he’s raised Lugh’s ire.
“Did something happen?” Cybel asks. He phrases it as a casual question, the same way you would ask someone if they’d ever tried mutton, but it gives Lugh the opening he needs to vent his anger.
“You should have heard him in this meeting,” he says. “He’s so focused on winning the war, he hasn’t even stopped to consider the cost. All he sees is numbers. Doesn’t he understand that if we can’t face the Seelie head-on, the fighting will go into the Wylds and no one will be safe?”
“Did you tell him that?” I ask, sitting up in the bed and ignoring the way the movement makes my bones radiate fresh pain through my healing body. “Does he know about the Sluagh?”
“Not completely.”
“But you mentioned them?”
“I had to, Keir. And when I said I might be able to convince Aage to side with us—well, get the Northern clans to side with us—Roark and Mother finally started to listen. Mother’s even willing to consider what the Sluagh may request in exchange for their support. I mean, she wasn’t happy about it, and she kind of laughed when I suggested they be raised up as a third Court, but at least she listened this time and—” He trails off when he notices that none of us have moved. “Keiran?”
Breathe. Remember to breathe.
“Lugh,” I say, as calmly as I can manage when all I want to do is crawl from bed and wring his neck, “did you tell your mother and brother you would broker support from the Sluagh?”
“Well, of course I did. If we can’t get Sláine back and the Seelie attack us right now, we’re fucked. Mother needs the Sluagh. We might as well make sure they come out ahead on the deal, rather than being swept away by another war.”
“Lugh. Lugh,” I repeat, words failing me.
The men have all risen and move silently toward the door. Funny how they can complain about aching joints one minute and move like shadows the next.
“Let me see if I understand correctly,” I say. Lugh watches me with confusion, whether from my words or my deep breathing. “You told your brother, Prince Lyne, in a war council meeting with your mother, Queen Mab, that the Wild Hunt would call on the Sluagh to fight in the war. The Sluagh, who have stated in every village we’ve visited that they’d rather die than be tied to Courts who do not consider them political equals. The Sluagh, who hate these Courts so much that we have to hide you in costume for you to be safe traveling through the Wylds. You told your family you could bring those Sluagh to fight for the Winter Court in a war which isn’t theirs, without any binding promise of reward or recognition for their efforts?”
If this weren’t the end of the Hunt, it would be amusing to watch Lugh untangle all of that. He looks for help from the men, but they consciously avoid his eyes. He fiddles with the hem of his sleeve and mumbles under his breath, “Yes?”
I’m too exhausted for anything but brutal honesty. “They will strip you of your helm for suggesting this.”
Lugh sucks in a sharp breath.
“Give us a moment?” I ask Cybel. I’m proud of how even my voice is.
He leads Armel and Drest past Lugh and out the door, closing it behind them. I give it a few seconds for them to be away from the door before I speak again.
“Do you really intend to ask Aage for help?”
“I have to, Keir.”
I scrub a hand over my face. I wish this were some horrible dream I could wake from. “Lugh...” He steps toward the bed when I say his name, face screwed up in an expression of utter misery. “You can’t complete this quest.”
“You doubt me?” he asks. It’s barely more than a whisper, scarcely louder than the crackling of wood in the fire. “You?”
“Don’t turn this back on me. Don’t be so petty. I have only ever chosen your side.” Some of the pain in his eyes fades at that, and despite my misgivings, I add, “I will until the end.”
He takes that for the invitation it is and hurries to my bedside. He settles himself at the foot of the bed and clasps his hands in his lap as he begins to speak, earnest in a way I haven’t seen before. “I don’t have a choice about this. You didn’t see the battle plans, the number of troops, or Mother’s resolve. She will win this war however she can, and I can’t stand by and watch the Sluagh suffer at the Courts’ hands when I could warn them. Aage deserves to know what’s coming so he can prepare. His people deserve to know so they can decide how to survive the war.
“Aage trusts me,” he continues. “He trusts my counsel. He trusts that I want what’s best for his people. I’m sure that if we talk to him and explain the situation, he’ll listen.”
“Maybe,” I concede.