Page 148 of Aryn

“I cannot ask my armies to fight in a war for people they’ve never met and a world they’ve only heard about in stories.”

Ronan heaves an annoyed grunt. “But—”

Ailynor cuts him off with another harsh glare. “Do not interrupt me.” He dips his head, and Cato squeezes my hand under the table, no doubt amused by how quickly Ronan folded. “We cannot fight a war we know nothing about,” she continues, her voice softening. “To attempt it would be suicide.”

“What does that mean, then?” I ask. “Where do we go from here?”

She shifts those intense brown eyes to me, hard with a nearly manic determination. “We go to your world.”

“We?” I repeat.

Her chin lifts in challenge. “If I’m going to fight for a cause because the Fates proclaim it, I’m damn well going to meet the one who sealed my future and doomed my people. I’ve got a thing or two I’d like to say to this Sovran.”

My lips twitch, but expressions around the room vary—some cautious, others excited, a few outright alarmed.

“Vaelor—” Hycis starts.

She holds up a hand to stop him. “None of us leave this room until we’ve come up with a plan, and we will come up with a plan. The worlds depend on it.” He looks like he might argue further, but her cutting glare stops the words before they form.

“Yes, Vaelor,” he finally says, dipping his chin.

She holds his gaze for a long stretch before assessing everyone at the table. “Now that’s settled, which of you is going to be in charge while I’m gone?”

Cato

A few days have gone by in a blur of planning, strategy sessions, and preparation. The Vaelor and her advisors decide that traveling in secret is the smartest play. No one outside her tight inner circle know she’s leaving.

Hycis will hold command while she’s gone, backed by two other trusted council members. One of her best strategic generals—a no-nonsense Khileon named Baelith—will come with us, along with an escort of six elite personal guards. Half will continue through the rift with the main group, while the other three will set up a temporary camp for her return.

I’m surprised when Rhael gets added to the party at the last minute. Ailynor says he’s there for diplomatic support, but I’m not convinced it isn’t a favor to his father. Hycis stays stoic through the announcement, though his eyes flick to his son more than usual.

Rhael tries to remain serious, and his braid is tight and neat today instead of wispy and loose. A nervous smile tugs on his lips as he wiggles in his seat. He thanks the Vaelor, starting into a speech about how excited he is for the opportunity. The brown-nosing continues until I glaze over, finally snapping back to attention when we move on to planning.

The castle buzzes with activity from dawn until well after dark. Maps cover every table in the war room, supply lists get revised daily, and the late-night discussions stretch on as everyone tries to wrap their heads around a world none of them have ever seen.

When we describe the other side, they listen closely to the power imbalances and dwindling resources. Those problems hit close to home for them. But the moment we mention the weather, they become downright dismissive. The idea of oppressive heat and sticky humidity sounds as ridiculous to them as lethal cold sounded to me.

“Heat?” one of the guards mutters in a planning meeting, arms crossed. “We’ve survived eternal winter. How bad can a little warmth be?”

Ailynor, to her credit, listens carefully. She asks questions about the climate and terrain, then brings in the royal tailor to speak with us about clothing needs. Taryn spends the afternoon reviewing fabrics and styles, and together, they come up with a design for breathable tunics and loose pants, along with scaled-down armor that won’t cook them alive under the sun.

Cameron and I break apart with the quartermaster, creating a list of supplies the group may need for the trip. Extra canteens, preserved food, weapons—everything gets double-checked.

In the quieter moments with just our crew, the conversations turn less strategic. After we’re dismissed for the day, we gather in the courtyard for some fresh air.

“What do you think will happen when she sees it?” Lillith asks.

“Which part?” Cameron asks. “The dying world, or the way their people turned the whole planet into a prison?”

Lillith huffs and shrugs. “All of it.”

Ronan rubs the back of his neck, looking exhausted. “Everything depends on her reaction to Sovran.”

“Because that’s not terrifying,” I mutter.

Ronan shoots me a glare but lets it slide. “If she believes him and sees the world as something worth saving, we might have a real chance. But if she thinks it’s too far gone, or decides it’s someone else’s problem…”

“She won’t,” Aryn says, his hand resting on my knee. “Not after learning what’s at stake, and certainly not after meeting you, Ronan. This is personal for her now.”