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“Are you sure the message will have gotten to your parents—and they’ll have followed through?” I ask Alek, who’s got his legs sprawled out across from me.
The scholar’s expression turns pensive, but he nods. “They’ve delivered on every other request Petra’s made. We indicated that this would be the last one and that she was pleased with their service. I can’t imagine them letting the opportunity to become the royal weapons suppliers slip through their fingers when it’s almost in their grasp.”
“Even if that means associating with someone who allies with riven sorcerers?”
He meets my eyes more firmly then. “They’ll only have gotten that news by hearsay—and they’re already committed to Petra. At this point, I’d be incredibly surprised if they did anything other than dismiss it as negative propaganda and focus on what lines their coffers.”
He sounds so certain that a little of the tension in me unwinds. Alek may not get along with his parents, but he does know them. He wouldn’t have set us on this course if he thought there was any chance it’d put me in danger.
Well, more danger than I’m already in, which seems to be a bit much even by typical standards.
Stavros lets out a rough breath. “I’m still not convinced this is the wisest idea. We don’t need to make it easier for our opponents to cut us to pieces.”
“We’re ensuring they won’t be opponents,” Casimir pipes up from the front of the cart. I can’t see his face, but there’s a smile in his voice. “And then they can cut up anyone who does decide to play that role.”
Stavros makes a noncommittal sound. He’s been the most doubtful about the courtesan’s plan since Casimir first suggested it.
I stretch out my foot to give his knee a teasing tap. “It’s not as if we won’t want arms for our confirmed allies to defend the trials. We don’t need to make a final decision until people start gathering and we can gauge their mood.”
The massive man lowers his head in acknowledgment. “Sometimes you can’t know the best strategy until you’re in the thick of the battle.”
I’m not sure I’ll get a better opening.
I hesitate for a few seconds, partly hoping one of the others will add something else. But saying this isn’t going to get any easier.
“There’s something else we should talk about,” I blurt out, and pause to collect myself so my next words come out more calmly. “Lothar and his followers are going to do whatever they can to tear down Petra tomorrow. You all must realize that there’s a good chance I’ll have to use a lot of magic to ensure we see the trials through. I don’t know how it’ll affect me.”
Casimir reins in the horses and turns on his seat to face the rest of us. A shadow has crossed his face. “What are you saying, Ivy?”
I think he already knows.
Stavros’s expression has hardened with resolve. “We’ll have all our supporters there from every source we could draw from. It won’t come down to you.”
I force myself to meet his gaze, as painful as this conversation is for both of us. “Not necessarily. But it very well could. I’m the final line of defense, and there’s no reason to assume Lothar won’t manage to push that far. If it comes to that and I start to lose control, you need to act immediately—whoever’s closest, whoever can do what needs to be done.”
“Ivy,” Alek starts in a rough voice.
I shake my head before he can fully protest and pull out the vials to show them. The milky liquid inside gleams in the sun. “Petra was able to get these for me. It’s a strong sedative. Put me to sleep if you can manage to safely, to see what can be done for me later. But if you can’t get the drug into me… I’d rather die than destroy anything we’ve worked for. Please.”
My gaze slides across the faces of the men I love. Stavros has tensed so much he might as well have become a statue. Rheave’s beautiful face has sallowed, his lips pressed together as if against the urge to vomit. Alek is simply staring, and Casimir works his jaw in silence.
“Please,” I say again. “If I’m far enough gone that I can’t restrain myself, ending my life is the kindest thing you could do for me. I’m trusting you not to let me become the sort of riven sorcerer they tell horror stories about.”
Stavros’s throat bobs with a thick swallow, but he nods, his hand on his sword as if echoing his promise. His voice comes out hoarse. “You couldn’t be, Ivy. You’re proving you’re not simply by asking this.”
He leans forward to accept one of the vials.
As Rheave watches it pass between our hands, a shudder ripples through his body.
I catch the daimon-man’s gaze. “I know you don’t want to lose me, but if my magic completely breaks my mind, I’ll already be lost.”
He considers me, his eerie eyes gone solemn. “If there’s any other way, I’ll take it. But I won’t let you become something horrible.”
Alek opens his mouth and closes it again. He presses his hand to his forehead. “I—I don’t want to think about it. I understand that we have to, though. I won’t let you down, Ivy.”
Casimir pushes toward me to hold out his hand. “I might have the best chance of getting the sedative into you, by judging your mood.”
I hand the second vial over and firm my voice. “If you can’t, if I won’t let you?—”
