Page 155 of Season Warriors & Wolves

“No, no, Malik!” my sister screamed before being thrown like a cannon.

When she burst out of the water surface, it was revenge time. Her eyes burned while she launched towards Mal. Could have been because of the salt because mine were burning as well.

I clung to Kilian and shouted at Mal who was still trying to swim away from my sister, “Did Skadi say why he’s gone himself?”

“Didn’t say, but my guess is to scare Magnus,” he shouted back. “He must be thinking we’ve already gathered an alliance with him. Wants to corner him like a mouse until he’s forced inside his city walls and abandons any plan he might have made with us.”

“Mal,” I called again.

He finally stopped moving and let my sister climb his back, putting his neck on a chokehold. “Yes?”

I glanced at Kilian who had narrowed his eyes on me. “Never mind.”

The moment I woke up, I’d already made the decision. Father was in Whitebridge along with his witch, doing gods knew what. Probably getting Prince Arun to join his assembly of merry men and lizards. Demir was bed ridden, having people poke at his arse for human sickness since apparently all of Melanthe’s trials had failed to detect what was wrong with him magically.

“Don’t,” Kilian warned as if he could read my mind before I even made to step away from the bed.

“Hear me out first.”

His eyes were still shut, laying sprawled naked beside me like he was about to be painted by the finest painters in the realm. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Snow,” he groaned into the pillow.

I stood and headed toward the dressing room with him following shortly after. He wrapped a sheet around his middle, already ruining my morning. “Darling, it is an immaculate idea. What a waste of thoughts it would be.”

He put a hand on the hanger I pulled out, holding my grey leathers hostage. “We’ll mourn the loss together. I’ll even send a little prayer to the heavens for it.”

“Kil.”

“Don’t Kil me.”

I bit on my lip to hold back a smile as I trailed my fingers on his torso. “You can come with.”

His eyes dropped down to where I was touching him, and his jaw ticked. “How considerate.” He grabbed my hand before it ended under the sheet and tsked at my poor attempt at distraction. “Cute, really cute.”

“Visha thought it to be brilliant.”

“I’ll deal with her later.”

“Darling,” I said, stopping to face him. “I will not sit and wait for war. If I can stop him, slow him, kill him, I will try. And no better to do so than his own people.”

He grabbed my face so I could look at him. “Isjordians are people of war. They thrive in it and for it. It was Krig’s silent blessing. To keep them greedy, powerful. It is not worth risking yourself for this. They will not be convinced whatever you have to say to them.”

So I’d thought as well, but one short conversation with Eren had opened my eyes to something else. I knew our father far better than him and he knew Isjordians far better than me. “And you forget that more than half of Isjord is not even Isjordian. You forget that most of my father’s people are brought there from war caused by him. Because of markets he’s ruined from his trade. A wall he raised, monsters he raised, prices he raised, fear he raised. Most are there to make a living for families they have elsewhere. Some are bound by coin and poverty. Some are bound by force and war. Some have no choice. But give them one and they will take it. And then the other half, darling, is people who’ve never been to war. Never seen war. Heard of it from elsewhere than schoolbooks and a prayer they hold once a year at solstice. They are people. Simple people. Harsh, distrusting, loyal to a fault, greedy? Perhaps. But they are harsh because of the land they live in, distrusting because they are being lied to by the very man they believe most in, loyal because they are made blind, greedy because they are fed so much avarice, they are made to feel starvation for it. They will listen. That is all I ask of them. To listen. Nothing else.”

That and so much more that Eren had shown and taught me.

Slowly, his mouth pulled into a smile, and he lightly pinched my cheek. “You’re right, love. Very much so.”

I was? “Thank you.”

“Most welcome, my blushing wife.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”