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Troy: A Crown of Stones Origin Story
Troy: A Crown of Stones Origin Story
Troy: A Crown of Stones Origin Story
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Troy: A Crown of Stones Origin Story

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Born of the Shinree, an enslaved fallen race, Ian Troy is magically bound to protect the kingdom of Rella. Since childhood, he trained to be their champion in a seemingly never-ending war. Called to the battlefield a brash young man of seventeen, Troy is anxious to show off his prowess with both magic and blade. He believes his role is vital to the realms of Mirra'kelan finally knowing peace.

 

Only, war is nothing like he thought.

 

After a year of being mistrusted and shunned simply for the blood in his veins—his magic restrained by an authoritarian queen—Troy has grudgingly learned his place. He follows orders and suffers their abuse in silence because the cost of insolence is a chain around his neck.

When Queen Aylagar handpicks him for a mission deep inside enemy territory, he thinks his time has come. Fate willing, he will prove to them all: Ian Troy is more than the "witch" they believe.

 

*Troy is a prequel story to The Crown of Stones Trilogy.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherC. L. Schneider
Release dateMay 13, 2024
ISBN9798224823864
Troy: A Crown of Stones Origin Story
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    Troy - C. L. Schneider

    Acknowledgements

    I’ve always been a little longwinded here, which means most of you probably don’t read this page. I can’t make any promises for next time, but in the interest of brevity (and getting you to the book a little quicker), I’ve decided I won’t force you to read about my unending gratitude to the same supportive people I mention in every book. I’m going to try to keep it short and sweet for once. Here we go:

    You know who you are, and I love you all! Special thanks to Atra Luna Design for the killer cover.

    Chapter 1

    Cold came every night with the loss of the sun, exacerbating the discomfort of sweat-soaked clothes clinging to chilled skin. Fires were set, meals prepared. We crowded around. There was always a scuffle. Those in front ate first. It was a hierarchy that brought out the worst in the best of us. When the hunger of those who won the position were sated, food and drink were passed around to the rest.

    There was no space for me. They wouldn’t make it if I asked, and I was in no shape to fight for it. I got as close as I could to one of the fires and hunkered into the mud. My weight forced a measure of sludge up from the soggy ground. It squished onto the sides of my boots, a stark reddish-brown in the light of the flames.

    Not blood, I thought, staring at it, trying to convince myself.

    Much of the soil in this area of the realm had a natural reddish hue. And we were a good two days’ ride from the site of our last battle. Still, my concern wasn’t entirely irrational. War had raged in Mirra’kelan, on and off, since before I was born. These lands were soaked in blood. War is raging now.

    Endless days and nights of clashing swords and dying men.

    It troubled me how quickly their faces blurred. How easily we moved among the dead, tallying their numbers, relieving them of valuable supplies. So little time had passed since I was sent to join the queen’s command. Just over a year. I’ve changed so much since then.

    A year of being sprayed and splattered, of slogging through fields drenched in Rellan and Langorian remains. It feels like ten, I thought, still warily eyeing the colored mud on my boots.

    The flap of the tent at the head of our encampment flung open, and all heads lifted. The shelter’s size was its only difference from the rest, yet that damn piece of fabric slapped against the side like a whip on flesh—every time—ensuring we knew who was about to emerge: the woman in charge; the commander of Rella’s finest regiment.

    Not that anyone could miss her.

    She paused at the opening, dressed in a pleated skirt and bodice of brown leather. An abundance of braids draped to the small of her back. A sword hung from each hip. Another occupied the etched scabbard strapped to her back. Knife handles protruded from the cuffs of her tall boots.

    Queen Aylagar Arcana was nothing if not prepared.

    Concentration held her petite body tight, as she surveyed the countless soldiers making camp on the open expanse. The mass of troops stretched too far to see its end in the deepening twilight. Those given space nearest the queen’s tent were of higher rank or favored status. Except me. I was kept close for another reason.

    The queen didn’t trust me. None of them did. Yet, her misgivings were the only ones that mattered. And they were rooted deep.

    Upon my arrival, Aylagar let her suspicions, and her orders, be known. There was no discussion, no persuading her. The woman’s mind was made up before we ever met, and she spared me nothing in her cold delivery. It was my first time alone in her presence, and it didn’t go at all like I hoped.

    For years, I’d heard stories of Aylagar’s prowess in battle. I’d been eager to wield blade and magic both to impress her, to turn the tide for Rella and represent my people. I was the only Shinree magic user to ever be allowed into the Rellan army.

    There were healers, of course, but their lineage was prolific, their service common. Shinree soldiers were exceedingly rare. The magic of our line was too unsafe to be bred anything but sparingly. As far as I knew, in hundreds of years, no other but me had been allowed off the drug. Not since the elixir’s ability to suppress our magic was discovered, and the slave laws written. Certainly, none had been expertly trained in all aspects of soldiery, magical or otherwise.

    Long ago, I promised myself I wouldn’t squander the privilege. I would rise in the ranks faster than any other, regardless of race. I would be the queen’s right hand. With the help of my magic, Rella would one day be victorious.

    Langorians would weep at the sound of my name.

    My expectations died the day I reported for duty; my hopes crushed by the sound of her voice, as she cut me to the quick. "No spells in battle, Troy. Ever. Not without my direct order."

    Aylagar wasn’t ignorant. She knew exactly what abstinence would do to me. When I reminded her of the illness I would suffer without casting, she granted me permission to alleviate the symptoms. "Only when necessary and far from others. There will be no mistakes. Injure my men, relieving your needs, and the freedom my husband has permitted you to enjoy will come to a swift end. I will send you back to him in chains."

    I had no choice but to acquiesce. It’s what my people did.

    Yet her strong opinions against magic ate at me—then, and now. The way she dismissed me in public had infected the troops from day one, poisoning any chance of equal treatment. I tried to hate her for it, to despise the woman for her inability to see me and not just the blood in my veins. Sometimes, I did, but my loathing was fleeting. I couldn’t hold onto such emotions in her presence. She makes it impossible.

    My pulse quickened as I watched her stroll closer with methodic, purposeful strides; her head held high in careless confidence.

    Marrying her was the only good decision Rella’s king ever made.

    But he doesn’t deserve her, I thought, and not for the first time.

    Aylagar was striking. No other words adequately described her perfectly contoured features. Her stare had a way of piercing straight to your soul, evocative and vigilant. She was tougher than half the men here despite her diminutive frame. But what drew me, what drew us all to fight for the woman had nothing to do with her beauty. It was her unwavering strength and resolve, how fiercely she believed in us. How she dominated the battlefield with such unapologetic passion and grace.

    Watching Queen Aylagar wield a sword was nothing less than mesmerizing. Her movements, equally fierce and elegant, stirred the blood. She was a force to be reckoned with, and by extension so were we.

    Dark of skin, hair, and eyes; Aylagar blazed brighter than us all.

    She approached to revered mutters of, My Queen. Eyes were lowered and heads bowed. Those of us close enough to realize she walked among us, all moved to get down on one knee.

    Aylagar halted our action with a lift of her hand. As you were.

    She waited, letting us re-settle, then was on the move again, winding between the nearest fires, circling around the outside of our groups.

    Aylagar completed one, two, three thoughtful laps, inspecting us in silence. The quiet broke with her firm call. Listen up!

    Spoons were put down, bowls and mugs lowered.

    I need four volunteers. The assignment will take you away from the fight for some time, but it could provide critical intelligence to our enemy’s campaign. I won’t lie to you, she added, quickly, something that would never cross our minds. Aylagar was brutally honest in her words. Neither the difficulty, nor the danger, is to be taken lightly. She started another lap. "But, I believe, it has a high prospect of success if those involve manage the complexities correctly."

    Her boots sloshed in the muck behind me. I hunched my shoulders and dropped my head, trying to make myself look small and unimportant. Others did the same, though most puffed out their chests, wanting her attention.

    The man beside me grunted, noticing my attempt and knowing it was in vain. I bore the conspicuous markings of my people. With hair and eyes white as bone, hiding from her, or anyone, was impossible.

    He threw me a sneer and mouthed, Coward.

    I said nothing, but the word pricked at my temper. I’d proven myself countless times, and he knew it. They all knew it. Odds meant nothing to me. I wasn’t afraid to fight or die. Death could come for me tomorrow, and I’d try like hell to take him down with me. Just not tonight.

    Tonight, I was tired to the core and sick as hell. My body was weak and trembling. I needed food, and a quiet place to tend to my illness. The former was the only reason I was at the fire, awaiting my turn to eat. If I thought I had the strength to hike out of camp to tend the latter, it would have been done by now. I wouldn’t be here squatting in the mud, trying to disappear.

    Gods, just this once. Make me less noticeable.

    Make her choose faster.

    Aylagar went on speaking, but I didn’t have the focus to listen. Her voice had turned hollow and distant over the pounding of my heart.

    Come on, goddammit. Fucking pick someone.

    The faster the queen got what she needed, the faster her exhausted troops could eat and bed down for the night. The quicker I can slip out, find someplace remote, and cast. If I can last that long.

    I squeezed my hands into tight fists.

    Sweat drenched my skin despite the cool night air.

    Tighter…

    The skin broke on my palms. Blood welled under my nails.

    Tighter…

    Red trickled off my hands into the mud. I tried to focus on the pain, but I was too far gone. The tremors were too deep in me, too long unanswered. Only one thing would stop them. Magic.

    My pulse skipped as I yearned for the relief, the pleasure.

    I can’t keep doing this, waiting so long between spells.

    I didn’t want to hurt anyone. But I would if I didn’t cast soon.

    Only, she was still talking, still circling. Still watching.

    And I was running out of time.

    Delaying much longer would lead to me doing something reckless, like standing and walking away without permission. If I do, it will be the end of me. Being Shinree meant I wasn’t free to act of my own accord. It meant following orders and not drawing attention to the poorly veiled lie of my existence: I was far from free.

    The king may have granted me conditional liberties at birth, had me trained and educated, and sent to war to defend his interests. But I was still a slave. No matter how I tried to rise above my people’s subservience and prove I belonged here, I couldn’t. I was exactly what they called me. A filthy magic user. Weak and dangerous.

    My addiction was inborn. Addressing it was natural. For me, it was a necessary part of living. Yet it was reviled as a selfish act of gorging.

    I heard their not-so-indiscreet jokes, their bets on how long I would last, how long until the witch fucked up and killed one of them—because my need for magic was stronger than my will.

    I didn’t want to ever prove them right.

    It’s ten days ride, give or take, Aylagar said, moving behind me. I’d lost track of what circle this was. Less, if you ride hard. Even less without sleep.

    Her amusing tone at the end elicited a few chuckles. Aylagar joined in the mirth, letting us all wonder if it were a jest or a shrouded request.

    Ten? a man spoke up. Lucan, one of her high-ranking officers, squared his broad shoulders and stood. Forgive me, My Queen, but that puts us inside Langorian territory.

    It does. Is that a problem, Commander?

    You know it isn’t. I just want to be sure my calculations are correct. To know where I’ll be going. He bowed his head in a formal request. I would like to lead the mission. If it pleases you, of course.

    What a surprise. Lucan was an excellent fighter. He was strong, built like an ox compared to most of Rellan descent. Rumor was, he had Langorian blood in his veins and it wasn’t there voluntarily. No one could deny the man’s size made him a fine match against the enemy. Or that he volunteered for every job, took every chance to stand out or shine—when the queen was looking.

    Lucan had ensured he was in her mind until she put him in her bed. No one was surprised it was a passing tryst. The man was about as deep as a hoofprint in the sand.

    Aylagar inclined her head in gratitude, accepting his request. She raised her voice to be heard at other nearby cookfires. I shall need someone who speaks fluent Langorian. An above average skill in discretion and clandestine activities would be helpful. You will be dealing with issues more delicate than what we face on a battlefield.

    I will go. We all followed the feminine voice, belonging to one of the Arullan warriors at the next fire over. Light glinted off the shaved side of her head. The other side was graced with shoulder-length black hair, twisted into intricate braids. The beads woven into the plaits clacked softly together as she pushed through the soldiers surrounding her. Long legs brought her to stand poised in front of the queen. Braids fell forward, as her head tilted. The gesture tempered the young woman’s self-assurance with just the right amount of respect.

    She was no more than two years older than me, and new to us, coming in with the last fresh batch of troops a few weeks back. No one thought her unqualified, though. On Arulla, if you earn the title of warrior, your combat skills are impeccable.

    Sariah, Aylagar said warmly. Did I not tell you your education would prove valuable one day?

    You did, My Queen. Sariah bowed, holding fast to the leather grip of the spear in her hand. An intricate inked design flowed back off her hand and twisted up her wrist.

    Birds in flight? I wondered. No, too small. Winged insects? I couldn’t see the pattern well from my position. Another night, and I might have tried harder to identify it. Arullan skin art had always intrigued me.

    My brother, Arjin, will go as well, Sariah said, straightening.

    Can the Lieutenant not speak for himself?

    Arjin is still currying the horses.

    Of course, he is, Aylagar smiled, the familiarity in her voice implying she knew both sister and brother personally.

    He has the skills you seek, Sariah went on, and his command of the enemy’s language is as flawless as mine. Redundancy is prudent in matters of import.

    Very well. Once Arjin is through, we will discuss the mission details. Be sure he has something to eat first. Cranky men are such terrible listeners. Are you not? she hollered, pausing to give time for the anticipated laughs to run their course. As they did, she aimed a glance at Lucan. Departure is at dawn.

    We’ll be exposed during the day, he replied. Night travel will be safer.

    Yes, but you’ll be fine for a few days. I’ve just received word, what’s left of the enemy contingent has retreated to their borders. Why? she asked, abruptly turning to address the group with vigor. Because we’ve shown the bastards, they won’t take this territory as easily as they thought! Many of you are still wearing the proof, she added with pride, drawing another round of approving snickers and murmurs from the troops. "But the risk will increase for you quickly, Lucan. As mission commander, you will decide when night travel becomes prudent."

    Yes, My Queen.

    Any additional concerns will be addressed later. My brave soldiers are far more interested in rest, than listening to me blather on.

    Lucan gestured in recognition of her order and sat. Sariah did the same and returned to her fire. Aylagar resumed her circle.

    She stopped across the flames from my position. Private Salk? Stand please. I’ve heard you have skill with a needle and thread.

    A man got to his feet. Long, blond, wavy hair hung in an equally long unshaven face. With flesh or fabric? he asked, exposing his teeth with a fervent grin. Salk’s expression flattened as he thought better of his jest. My father is a physician. Experienced in many ailments and injuries.

    Where?

    Kael’s capital city, My Queen.

    Your realm has chosen to sit out this war. I always wonder on the motives of those Kaelish who choose otherwise. Why are you here?

    My mother was Rellan, from the western outskirts. She was home visiting her sister when the Langorians raided the village. Killed every last one of them. I was too young to do anything about it then, but I’m here now. And I aim to repay the deed in kind.

    Commendable. And you inherited your father’s gift?

    I apprenticed under him since I was a boy. He wasn’t happy when I joined up. But he understood. I’m here to fight, but I can tend most any battlefield wounds if that’s what you’re asking.

    Good. Your services are required. If you’re willing?

    Private Salk hesitated, but she’d put him on the spot. He had no choice. I’m at your service, Queen Aylagar. He sat without another word, no doubt fretting over the aftermath of his acceptance.

    Aylagar moved to finish her loop around the fire. Something about her slow, quiet stalking reminded me of a vulture circling its prey. Still, I breathed easier knowing she’d soon retreat inside her tent.

    She has her four. Thank the gods.

    She neared my position. I dropped my eyes. We all did upon her approach. Though, tonight my reaction was more self-preservation than respect. If she saw the look in them, she would know how badly I was suffering. She would see the gnawing hunger and doubt my control.

    It didn’t matter how she once, in a rare moment, labeled me as her best swordsman. If Queen Aylagar ever believed me an imminent threat, I’d be dosed with the Kayn’l elixir and shipped off to a slave camp. Execution is more likely, I thought.

    As queen and commander, it would be within her rights to have me slain if I ever bowed to the needs of my addiction and her troops paid the price. Some here would say she should kill me now to be safe. They’re not wrong.

    She has no idea how close I am, I thought, riding out the spasm twisting into my stomach. Flesh itched and crawled, but the sensation was deeper. As if my veins had become worms, wriggling and writhing below the surface. The tremors were bone deep, now, nearly beyond suppressing.

    It hadn’t been this bad in a while.

    I should have known this was coming.

    It had taken days to push the Langorians back, days of scant sleep, little food, screaming muscles, foul weather, and no opportunity to cast. Soon.

    It needs to be soon.

    Having again lost sight of Aylagar’s rotation, I flinched, as her hand fell on my shoulder. There is one more thing I require.

    Son of a bitch.

    Stand, she commanded me.

    Grinding my jaw, willing my body still, I pushed to my feet and turned to face her. My eyes were on the patch of ground between us. Hers were on me. I felt them burrowing in, round, dark, and solemn. Disapproving.

    You’re unarmed, she said, giving voice to the sentiment wafting off her. Where are your swords?

    In my tent, Your Grace.

    You know what I’m going to say, Shinree. What I’ve said many times to you all.

    If you’re awake, you’re armed.

    And why is that?

    In case of a sneak attack.

    Yet, this is not the first time you’ve disobeyed. Explain.

    Wearing arms in camp is unnecessary. For the watchmen, sure, but not for the bulk of us.

    Unnecessary? She raised a single, dark eyebrow. Is that how you view all my orders?

    Of course not, I said, my face growing hot as quiet chuckles rounded the flames. The urge to silence them flashed across my mind, images of turning and casting on them. Like I should have on the enemy from day one. I was tired of being a pawn the king demanded be put in play, tired of having no voice, no rank. Of being identified simply as the Shinree, if the mood was light. The Witch, if it wasn’t.

    Aylagar’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, waiting.

    I blew out a quick breath and fought for a steady voice. Langorians rarely apply stealth tactics. Their style is hard, quick, and ruthless. If they can’t kill on the first blow, they’ll overpower with brute strength. They enjoy the rush of intimidation and the demonstration of might. Maiming and crippling feeds their sense of superiority. The fear and resignation of defeat in their opponent’s eyes pumps their blood, powers their blows, and bolsters their ego. Holding back, sneaking around, gets them none of that. It’s unfulfilling. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but a covert approach takes more finesse and restraint than our enemies are given to. And frankly, most of them aren’t built for hiding in weeds and shadows.

    Silence followed my words. I hadn’t said so much at one time since I got here. I wasn’t sure what the troops thought, but hers was the only reaction I cared about. And while she tried to hide her approval behind a stony-faced, thoughtful nod, it was there.

    The queen liked my answer. That’s a first.

    An informed reply. But not the truth. I ask again, Troy, she said, using my name to show the severity of her next words. Why are your weapons in your tent? Are the swords my husband commissioned to be crafted specifically for Shinree use not to your liking?

    Biting my lip, I tried to stifle my reply. Aylagar didn’t want to hear how little Shinree use the blades had gotten because she refused to allow my spells in battle. She wanted to hear me admit another truth, one to confirm her suspicions.

    They are very much to my liking, I said.

    Do they not contain the appropriate stones?

    They do. And that’s the problem. I couldn’t wear them anymore today. Not here. Not with everyone around.

    Because?

    She was waiting for it, practically demanding it. I lowered my voice, warring between shame and anger. "I need to cast, Your Grace. It’s been far too long."

    At my admission, the men closest to me inched away.

    Fools. Like that would do them any good.

    Aylagar’s gaze raked over me, making her own assessment of my condition. I wasn’t sure why the urge came over me, but I dared to meet her eyes, letting her see how red and sunken mine were. I stopped fighting and let the tremors take me. Standing before her, sweating and shaking, grimacing from the cramps in my stomach; I allowed the woman to see the truth she asked for.

    I was on the verge of falling apart.

    She understood that now. Still, her expression didn’t waver or soften. Her reply, when it came, would be laced with the usual derision. Keeping herself in the troop’s regard was more important than sympathizing with my plight.

    And yet, there was something in her eyes.

    I would have labeled it admiration if I didn’t know better.

    Resolve, perhaps? I thought, as it hit me. She’s decided she wants me for this mission, despite my weakness. Why?

    Your magic has proved useful for scouting. Can it aid in the stealth tactics you’re so convinced Langorians are incapable of?

    The snickers were quieter this time, as if the others knew where this was going and were leery of openly admonishing her choice.

    You know my bloodline, I told her. "If I have the right stones, and they have enough energy, and if I can connect my intentions to offense or defense or—"

    Good. You will go, too.

    Lucan shot up in protest.

    Warning tightened Aylagar’s features, and he sat back down.

    I said nothing. My acceptance wasn’t required. I wasn’t free to say no. Not that I would have. The assignment sparked my curiosity. What was so important, so far into Langorian territory, she would risk the opinion of her men to send me along?

    Give him something to eat. Now! she called, and in a heartbeat, a warm bowl was shoved into my hand. Do what you must to ease your illness, Shinree. I want you nourished, cleaned up, and presentable before you step foot in my tent. You have until moonrise.

    I don’t know if that’s enough time.

    Then I suggest you hurry.

    It doesn’t work like that. If I pass out after—

    She hit me. It was a light strike, a show of authority, not brute force. Another time, and I would have easily stood my ground. Now, with so little strength in my limbs, I went down.

    Mud softened my landing. Half the contents of the bowl sloshed out. The other half splattered the front of my clothes.

    Aylagar looked at the mess without comment. Until moonrise, Shinree. If you force me to delay the meeting further, there will be no time for any of you to sleep. And I will not have your addiction jeopardize this mission before it even starts. Do not be late.

    Her gaze lifted off me. It bounced to Sariah, Salk, and Lucan in turn, ensuring they understood her warning of timeliness applied to them, too. Then she walked away, leaving me where I fell, a well of rage burning inside me.

    For a solid year, I’d let them steadily knock the chip off my shoulder. I kept my head down and did what I was told, while they whittled away at my ego. For what? I thought. For nothing. I’ve earned not an ounce of regard. The power I wield, even less.

    This is wrong. All of this is wrong.

    Being here is nothing like I thought.

    My purpose, my position, was the opposite of how the king painted it. For years, I envisioned fighting on the line, long before I faced a single man in combat. I insisted on publicly taking the oath and pledging my fealty, though it was needless. I’d been magically bound since birth to fight on Rella’s behalf. I simply wanted to convey my commitment and earn the trust I’d been given.

    Only King Raynan wasn’t here. He was on his throne in Kabri, lording over matters of the realm, while his wife had full control of the army. A woman with a far different opinion of my worth. An opinion formed long before we met.

    Impressing her is an impossible feat.

    Though this mission might be my chance.

    I can prove to her I’m more than the ill deeds of my people, more than her husband’s bad decision. I can prove I deserve to be here.

    If it doesn’t get me killed.

    Chapter 2

    I entered her tent a different man than she left lying in the mud. My addiction was fed, my body nourished. My skin and hair were clean. I washed and dressed in my spare uniform, braided my hair, and armed myself as she required. I was hopeful. For the first time in many months, I didn’t care if I belonged. By the time this mission was done, I was going to.

    Sariah and her older brother, Arjin, sat next to each other on cushions across from where the queen lounged. A fire flickered in between. I knew Arjin by sight, if not by name. His dexterity in combat was impressive, as was his complete lack of bravado. Humility was an Arullan trait not seen often enough in the queen’s regiment.

    Side by side, Arjin’s resemblance to his sister was unmistakable. His brow was heavier, but the same nose rested above the same angular jaw. Their leather garments were embroidered with identical designs. I heard once, the patterns Arullans put on their clothing were personal, often detailing a family lineage or honoring a fallen warrior.

    Salk stood to my right near a makeshift table of planks and barrels, perusing the maps, papers, and writing implements cluttering its surface.

    A cup of wine rested in the hands of all in attendance.

    Aylagar filled one for me and held it out.

    For a split-second, I weighed keeping a clear head versus the rudeness of rejecting her gift. Arriving on time hadn’t been easy. Yet, rushing was worth the look on her face. It wasn’t blatant approval; never that. But she was pleased. It was a rare moment I couldn’t let go to waste.

    I started toward her to accept the wine, and Lucan barged into the tent behind me. His brawny form bumped mine out of the way and headed straight for the queen. He took the cup meant for me and claimed the cushion nearest her, throwing himself down on the plump pillow with more than a hint of familiarity.

    Aylagar straightened. She stared at him in silence, not moving or blinking, disapproval radiating off her features until Lucan tensed at her scrutiny. He blanched, knowing what he’d done wrong. Lucan scooted his cushion over to give her more room and handed back the cup.

    She presented the drink to me a second time. Shinree?

    The gesture surprised me, until I realized it was now more about keeping Lucan in line than making me feel welcome. It was a distinction that meant I could decline without consequence. No, thank you.

    Aylagar said nothing and returned the wine to Lucan.

    His tight stare locked on me, blatantly conveying he believed I was the cause of her admonishment. I pretended not to notice and moved to stand behind the Arullan siblings, hands behind my back.

    She looked at each of us in turn. You may all speak freely regarding what I am about to tell you. Thoughts and suggestions on the mission parameters are welcome—in here. Once you leave, you will not speak of your objective to anyone here. No one but those of us in this tent will know where you have gone or why. She swept her legs around and stood. "It goes without saying, not all of you will return. I do

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