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Stavros, Ivy, and the soldiers form a circle around the royal children. I hang a little farther back in the procession to watch both my companions and our surroundings.
Filip sticks near me, his shoulders hunched and his expression pained.
I don’t see any sign that my gift’s judgment was wrong. He didn’t see a way out before—now he believes there is one. And that’s made all the difference.
Ahead of me, Ivy’s head snaps around. She nudges Toast faster to pull ahead, as if tracking something. “I felt a twinge… some magic I don’t think is ours?—”
The last word has barely left her lips when a flash of searing energy shoots through the night toward Petra. Ivy yanks her stallion around; one of the soldiers jostles the future queen’s horse to the side.
And Prince Jacos yelps in pain.
“Ride!” Petra shouts. “Ride, as fast as you can, before they can keep attacking.”
She hugs her brother to her. I catch a glimpse of a slash cut through his cloak, blood welling on his arm, before she bundles the fabric to stop the bleeding and kicks their horse to a canter.
“They aren’t close,” Ivy calls out in a low voice as she follows suit. “They might not even know the blow hit. We can still outrun them.”
As our procession surges forward, Tinom aims a glower at her that raises my hackles.
He’s looking at Ivy as if he thinks it’s her fault the prince was hurt. As if she should have sounded a better warning when it’s his concealing magic that failed us most.
Is he always going to see her as a villain?
Gritting my teeth, I tap my horse’s sides and race after the others.
Twenty-Seven
Ivy
Istride into the dining room turned resistance headquarters, waving a pamphlet fresh from the press. “We’ve got a new batch!”
The many figures crowded around the table look up. Petra smiles from her spot at the head, but I catch plenty of skeptical or even anxious expressions too.
I’m not sure yet how to feel about the way our resistance group has grown. Since we arrived at the summer estate of one of the court barons a few days ago, our numbers have more than doubled.
Tinom chose well, I can admit. Baron Cyris and his wife showed nothing but pure relief when the remaining Melchioreks arrived and immediately started venting about how awful Lothar and his Order of the Wild are. And this particular baron has a gift for illusions similar to Tinom’s, which means he can join the magic advisor in concealing signs of our comings and goings from the estate.
But he is a noble, and the others who’ve joined us are also nobles or the close comrades of nobles. Every time I see a lip curled in disgust aimed Alek’s way, my well-practiced will-power is strained resisting the urge to punch that face. I’m sure our allies who came all this way from Pima with us have noticed the upturned noses and uneasy mutterings just as I have.
Gods forbid anyone be in their presence wearing peasant clothes rather than embroidered silks.
Petra beckons me over, and I skirt the various nobles and staff to reach her. Most press closer to the table even though there’s plenty of space at the edge of the room for me to get by.
It’s obvious word has worked its way through our growing numbers about my powers as well. No one’s dared to speak against me, since I’m sure they’ve also heard that their future queen has defended my presence, but there’s no denying the tensed postures and lowered voices whenever I pass by them.
I can’t really complain. We need all the help we can get. The nobles have sway over their domains and plenty of staff they can call on.
They have access to resources we might need… including the printing press I heard the baroness mention she fiddles around with as a “hobby,” which gave me an idea for a new strategy.
A sense of satisfaction takes the edges off my nerves as I set the pamphlet I’m holding in Petra’s waiting hand.
My father always talked about how the press was the best tool for reaching people’s minds. You can put any message on pieces of paper and send it all over the realms in a matter of days.
We haven’t needed to win over anyone outside our kingdom, but we have to build all the support we can manage within it. I’ve spent a large part of the last couple of days working with Alek and Casimir, putting together simple messages and pictures to convey the threat the scourge sorcerers pose and the good Petra can offer the country instead.
The images will give the gist of the idea to those who haven’t learned to read. Those who can will explain the rest in the undercurrent of nervous chatter we hope to encourage throughout the country.
This afternoon’s set of pamphlets warn Silana’s civilians that a group that would murder the king won’t hesitate to kill others as well, prompting them to think about the acts of violence they’ve witnessed carried out by the Order. The stark letters at the bottom ask, What if they come for your sons and daughters next?
