Page 35 of The Stolen Throne
Vos claps a hand on Reven’s shoulder. “Took you long enough.”
That’s a bit new. While he and Reven respected each other, when I first met these people, Reven was still trying to keep his distance from the Vanished. Beyond bringing the people to the Shadowood, he was very much a loner. That seems to be less so now.
And yet his walls are sky-high with me.
“It’s not your fault,” he says to me. “That night is not your fault.”
“I know.”
He understands, though. In his position, I know he does. No matter what anyone says, every loss is on my head. That’s what being queen has done to me. Maybe what being princess, even a hidden one, instilled in me long before now.
Heavy is the crown that was never supposed to be mine, and all that crap.
Speaking of being queen… I draw my shoulders back. “I’m sure the zariph will include his closest advisors in this discussion with me. That means I need you all there, too.”
Reven’s chin dips, though his gaze remains on mine, like he’s trying to argue with me in his head. I frown at him, and he glances away. That chasm gets bigger.
“Leave me out.” Vida holds up her hands. “I’m not one of the voted-in reps, just a simple seamstress. No one is going to want to listen to what I have to say.”
I would. Though like most people in this world, she’s a Vexillium—with no supernatural powers—I’m pretty sure there’s nothing simple about Vida, but I nod, respecting her wishes. I look to Tziah and Vos. “You both should be there.”
Tziah tips her head, and I think I know what she’s asking. Why them?
I wave a hand at Vos. “He knows Eidolon, and, other than Reven, he’s the leader most looked to, right?”
She nods.
“And you are the heart of the Vanished.” I pause when she puts both hands up to her cheeks. “I need you both there. Please.”
After a pause, she draws her shoulders back much like I had, gives a nod, then signs at Vos.
“I didn’t agree to anything,” he protests.
Which she ignores, tugging on his shirt to follow her out of the tent.
“You, too,” I say to Horus.
Immediately, he crosses his arms. “I told you, I’m lucky they haven’t kicked me out yet.”
I cross my arms, too, because this is nonnegotiable as far as I’m concerned. “You understand this dominion and the Wanderers and the Vanished, and I trust your advice. I need you there. I won’t let him do anything to you.”
The zariph can choke on his own ego, and we’re all going to pretend I have the power to enforce that.
Horus’s jaw works a little, but after a moment of consideration he gives a jerking little bow that says he’ll do as I ask. Reven, meanwhile, says not a word. Nothing. Not a suggestion or an argument or even a nod of agreement. Doesn’t he know my own self-doubts are creeping in on me like an entire nest of widow’s assassins threatening to turn every part of me numb?
I may have been trained to act the part of royalty, but I spent my entire life not actually being one, not in the “everyone follow me, I make all the decisions around here” sense. I don’t know what I’m doing. Not really.
Doesn’t he realize I need help? That I need him?
Fatigue tries to crowd in with everything else.
“Right. Let’s go get this over with.” I push my way through the tent flaps into the warm night air. Time to find out what kind of ally we truly have in the Mighty Cainis.
15
Not How I
Pictured This Going
