Falling Kingdoms

“I have concerns,” he began, his jaw tight. “About this war.”

“War is something to be taken very seriously. Yes. And you strike me as a serious boy.”

“Growing up in Paelsia, I didn’t have much of a choice about that, did I?” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his words, but he didn’t succeed. “I’ve worked in the vineyards since I was eight years old.”

“You’re a fine boy. Your work ethic is commendable.” The chief nodded. “I’m so impressed that my Laelia found you.”

More like the other way around. Jonas had found Laelia. He has spent time in her bed, listening to her gossip about her friends, to her stories about her hateful snakes, all in an attempt to gain the chief’s confidence so that he might convince him to rise up against the Auranians and take what should have been theirs.

Even if Tomas had never been killed, Jonas would still want that for his country.

But this—this was wrong. He felt the truth of it deep inside him.

There was no time to play games. Boys were dying on that field, giving their lives to get a few feet closer to the palace walls. He had to say what he’d come here to say.

“I don’t trust King Gaius.”

The chief leaned back in his padded chair and regarded Jonas with curiosity. “Why not?”

“There are more Limerians here than Paelsians. The king’s reputation precedes him—one of brutality and greed. What guarantee do we have that after we give our lives to help him take Auranos that he won’t turn around and kill us? Enslave us? All so he can keep everything for himself.”

The chief pursed his lips and puffed on his pipe. “You really feel this way?”

Frustration coursed through Jonas. His heart pounded. “We need to pull back. Reassess before there are more casualties. A boy died in front of me, barely eleven years old. While I want to see Auranos fall, I don’t want our victory to be painted with the blood of children.”

The chief’s expression turned grave. “I’m not one to start something and back away.”

No, he was one to start something and wait in his luxurious tent for it to be over. “But—”

“I understand your concerns, but you need to put your faith in me, Jonas. I have searched deeply within myself to find the answers I seek. And the answer is, alas, war. This will not end until it’s over. It’s my destiny to align with King Gaius. I trust him. He paid me blood sacrifice unlike any I have ever witnessed before. Incredible.” He nodded. “King Gaius is a good and honorable man who will hold true to every promise he’s made to me. I have no doubt about this.”

Jonas clenched his fists at his sides. “So if he’s so good and honorable, where has he been while our land has been dying? While our people are dying? Where was his assistance then?”

Chief Basilius sighed. “The past is the past. All we can do is look toward the future and try our very best to do whatever it takes to make it a brighter one.”

“Please, consider what I’ve said to you.” The more he’d spoken, the more convinced Jonas was that they were headed down a very dark and bloody path. What he’d seen on the field of battle had only been the beginning of the misery to come.

“Of course. I’ll consider everything. I value your opinion, Jonas.”

“What about your magic? Do you think you can use any of it to help us?”

The chief spread his hands. “That won’t be necessary. King Gaius tells me that he has a very special secret weapon at the ready once we make it through the palace walls. This is not a battle that will continue for days and weeks—or months. It will be over tomorrow. I promise you that.”

Jonas’s mouth was so dry he wished there was still some wine in one of those bottles. “What secret weapon?”

The question was met with an enigmatic smile. “If I told you that, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?” The chief stood up and came around to Jonas’s chair to slap him on the back. Jonas tensed from the pain from his freshly patched-up wounds. “Trust me, Jonas. When all of this is over and we’re reaping the rewards of what we’ve earned here in Auranos, your wedding feast will be the grandest ever witnessed before in Paelsia.”

Jonas left the tent with the sound of the chief’s laughter echoing all around him. He might as well have spoken to a stone wall for all the good it did.

Bleakly, he looked up at the dark sky, speckled with bright stars and a heavy moon, and wondered why it didn’t show a single sign of the coming storm.

Emilia was now so ill that even lifting her head caused her pain and horrible nosebleeds. Cleo had taken over from Mira to read to her sister to take her mind off the battle raging outside the palace walls. The castle felt somber and gray and dismal. Cleo tried to find a ray of hope to cling to, but with each hour that passed since the siege began in full force, everything only seemed more bleak.

“Please, don’t cry.” Emilia’s voice caught. “I told you, you must be strong.”

Cleo wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to concentrate on the writing of the small, worn book of poetry—one of Emilia’s favorites. “Can’t a strong person cry?”

“You mustn’t waste any more tears on me. I know you’ve shed so many already for Theon.”

Cleo had tried to make her peace with what had happened, but she felt as if the pain was still muffled, as though it was too new. Too raw and hadn’t fully hit her yet. Losing someone she’d only just started to love was bad enough, but the thought of losing Emilia too...