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“We’re not staying, Westvane. The Parkland is perfect for the Wendigo. There’s no way it’ll be able to escape. We’ve brought it back, now we need to go before —”
“I’m not going back.”
“Westvane —”
“Lyonesse cannot be permitted to continue.” His dark eyes sparked, beginning to glow with familiar citrine light. “The cruelty needs to stop. Her rule must end, and I’m going to be the one to end it.”
“You —”
“No one else is strong enough.”
Staring at him, Truly grappled with his argument. She needed to find a way to counteract it. Neutralize it. Make him see staying in Azlandia wasn’t the most effective strategy. As an Assenta, a Slayer, Westvane liked planning, but…
What should she say to change his mind? How should she say it? Words mattered, sure, but the delivery of them mattered more.
Be honest.
Hitting him with the truth was the only way to win with him.
“I see your point, Westvane. I do. What you have suffered — horrific. The injustices others have endured — brutal and unfair. My mother was one of those people, remember? I never got to meet her because of Lyonesse and her hatred of… well…” Truly tossed her hands into the air. “Everyone and everything. But sacrificing yourself is not the answer.”
His eyes narrowed on her.
“It isn’t,” she said, digging in, desperate to make him see standing alone against a queen who commanded an army wasn’t a plan, but martyr-driven suicide. “You’re strong. Skilled. Deadly. I’m not denying that, but you can’t defeat her alone. God knows, she won’t show up alone. Her guards will stand firm against you, me, and anyone else who tries to dethrone her. She’d got a stranglehold on Azlandia. Her tentacles are wrapped around everything.”
“Truly —”
“We need a game plan.”
“I have one.”
“Agoodone. One that doesn’t involve you getting dead,” she said. “I understand your mission — she needs to be stopped. The thing is, if we do it smart, it’ll be surgical. A clean cut that’ll benefit everyone here. Think about it, Westvane. No more caste system. No more discrimination. Equality and justice under the law for all.” She paused, letting silence hammer the point home before continuing, “Isn’t that what your parents wanted? Isn’t that what they died trying to do?”
“Low blow, princess.”
“I’m not above kicking you in the balls to make a point.” Striding toward him, she thought out loud, voicing the beginnings of her plan. “We put a team together. A small, dedicated group with lethal, but varied skillsets. Do some intelligence gathering. Get an information chain going. Enlist Assenta and Croppers from all over the realm. They’ll be our eyes and ears, help us infiltrate Electi infrastructure… at every level.”
“Grassroots.”
“Exactly,” she said, warming to the idea. “We strike with intent, attack with precision. Run Lyonesse ragged while we build our network from the ground up. I’ll even let you be in charge.”
He scoffed, but didn’t attack her plan. He stayed silent instead, gaze drilling into hers, the gimmer in his eyes growing more and more intense. His expression gave nothing away, but she swore she heard his mind turning. He wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe achieving his parents’ goal — freeing all Azlandians from the yoke of a zealot queen — was possible.
“How soon will they get here?” she asked.
“Lyonesse and her lackeys?”
Truly nodded.
“Fast,” he said, glancing skyward. “Probably before —”
Light exploded like fireworks overhead. The wire structure undulated in the shockwave. Armed to the teeth, a contingent of winged Electi dropped out of the sky.
Conjuring flaming twin swords, Westvane shoved her behind him. “Go, princess.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
He snarled at her. “Don’t argue. Just go. I’ll buy you enough time to get out.”
