Advance! The sword is a killing weapon, not a defensive one. If you’re using it to defend, you’re missing a chance to kill.

Reunaud said it was ten miles of valley that narrowed to a point less than fifty yards wide. I already envisioned the Komizar’s front lines. They would be the youngest whom he would consider the most disposable of his army. Venda has no children. He would throw it in my face, expecting it to undo me as it had that day on the terrace. Undo every Morrighese soldier who was reluctant to lift their sword against a child.

“We’re wasting our time trying to defend Civica. We need to advance.”

“Advance? Where?” General Howland grumbled. “What are you—”

“This is our needle and thread. Containment. We funnel his army and then hit him with surprise attacks from the side. We take on the strongest while we are still strong. It might be our only chance.”

I pointed to the small V on the map. “There. This is where we’ll meet the Komizar’s army. We move all our troops to Sentinel Valley.”

The arguments exploded. Howland, Marques, and Perry came at me with everything they had, thinking I was as crazy to move our entire forces to one very distant location on what they called a hunch. Rafe and Kaden studied the maps, quietly conferring, then both looked at me and nodded.

The Field Marshal and Reunaud seemed caught between it all.

“Do you know how long it would take to move thirty thousand troops that far?” Howland bellowed, shaking his finger at me.

“So you’re saying that a barbarian leader can move a staggering army of a hundred and twenty thousand troops across the entire continent and we can’t manage to move our smaller forces to a location just outside our borders? Perhaps we should just give up now, General?”

“But there’s no proof he’s coming from the north at all!” Marques shouted.

Perry threw his hands up in the air. “Leave Civica unprotected? You can’t—”

“This point,” I said sharply, “is not under advisement. We begin laying out new strategies in the morning. We head out by the end of the week. You’re free to leave now to prepare our troops to move—”

Howland stepped toward me, his fists rigid at his sides. “This is not going to happen!” he yelled. “I’ll take it up with the queen. You are not—”

Rafe and Kaden both tensed, looking as if they were ready to send him for another swim in the fountain—by way of the window—but then pounding shook the door to the chamber. It flew open and the Timekeeper burst into the room, pushing past the sentry, his eyes bulging and his face shining with sweat. Pauline and Gwyneth rushed in on his heels.

“What is it?” I asked, my heart jumping to my throat.

“It’s the king,” he said, between labored breaths. “He’s awake. And he wants to see all of you in his chamber. Immediately.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY

General Howland was the first out the door, as if this were a gift delivered into his hands by the gods themselves.

My father is awake. It is a gift, I thought. But maybe not a timely one.

Rafe and Kaden both balked, wondering if their presence was actually requested. Pauline assured them it was. Neither seemed eager to meet my father.

We walked briskly through the hallways, the Timekeeper and General Howland leading the way. Pauline and Gwyneth told us the queen was at his side and the king had already been informed of everything that had transpired.

“You mean that little thing called a rebellion?” Rafe said, and rubbed his neck like it was headed for a noose.

“Not amusing,” I said.

Our footsteps echoed in the hallway, sounding like a small stampede of nervous goats. It felt like we would never get there, but then, before I was ready, the door to his outer chamber opened and we were ushered in by my aunt Cloris. The rest of the cabinet members, including the Royal Scholar, were already there.

“Go on in,” she said. “He’s waiting.”

My pulse pounded, and we filtered into his room.

He sat in his bed, propped up with pillows. His face was lined and gaunt and looking far older than his years, but his eyes were bright. My mother’s chair was beside the bed, and their hands were laced together in uncharacteristic familiarity.

His eyes landed on me first, lingering for a long scrutinizing moment before he finally moved on, eyeing the others present.

“I understand you were having a meeting,” he said, “and I wasn’t invited?”

Tags: Mary E. Pearson The Remnant Chronicles Fantasy
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