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Demos nodded, his expression tight. Next to him, Tibris tapped his fingers on the table, a crease forming between his brows.

“One hundred eighty thousand soldiers,” Natan said. “It will be a slaughter.”

“We need Zathrian’s hybrids,” I said. If we could get our numbers to one hundred and five thousand, plus Herne’s rebels, along with any extra fae Conreth could negotiate for, we might have a chance.

“Whatever your elder said has helped. Orivan has agreed to read a message from you,” Blynth said.

Zathrian’s general, the one Blynth had said was a good man. A loyalist. Potentially our only hope at wresting that army from my cousin. And Tymriel had finally proven useful.

I stared at Blynth. He gave me a faint smile. “If you send him a message, he will keep its contents to himself.”

“I will write to him today,” I said. It would be the most important message I would ever send.

Blynth leaned forward intently. “Even if he will ask his men to stand down within your cousin’s camp, you’ll still need to be able to get through Eprothan waters and dock near the camp. If they recognize you, you won’t get within shooting distance of your cousin.”

“Leave that part to me,” Lorian said.

I turned to Tor. “Did Demos explain why we need your help?” I asked.

“He did. But your plan sounds thin.”

It was a fair enough summary, given that he would be expected to have one of the most important—andriskiest—roles in that plan.

“We’re out of options,” Madinia said. Her eyes flashed as she stared at Tor, disgust clear in the wrinkle of her nose.

“And I’m to be your last effort.”

“Would you like to hear exactly what Regner just did to an entire hybrid camp in Eprotha?” Madinia purred. “Would you like me to tell you about the small boy I helped bury, his pregnant mother who was so grief-stricken she had to be half carried through the forest while we waited to feel arrows in our backs at any second?” She stalked closer. Everyone had gone silent. “Perhaps I should tell you about the screams that echoed through the forest as the iron guard hunted any who thought to flee to safety.”

“N-no.” Tor swallowed. But he raised his head, staring her straight in the eye. “But you’re expecting me to risk my life, and you don’t know if it will even work.”

I opened my mouth, but Marth was already speaking. “No, we don’t. But we do know that if we do nothing, we are dooming every hybrid and fae on this continent to horror and death. If you can hear all of that, if you can lose your family and friends to Regner’s dungeon and know they were starved and tortured before they died…if you can know that there are people risking everything to save the lives of strangers…” His voice trailed off, and then he angled his head. “If you can hear all of these things and refuse to help—and still meet your own eyes in the mirror for the rest of your life, however long it would last—then you don’t belong in this room.”

Tor’s face flushed. I sucked in a breath, but Marth merely leveled the other man with a glare, folding hisarms over his chest.

Demos stood. “Enough,” he said. “The fact that Tor is willing to hear us out is courageous in itself.”

Tor ignored him. And Asinia’s hand twitched like she might grab Demos’s.

Rekja stood, and Tor’s gaze jumped to him. “Make your decision fast. All our lives may depend on it.”

It wasn’t fair, what we were doing to him. No one deserved the weight of so many lives on their shoulders.

Rekja turned to me, his long red hair falling over his shoulders. “Two things. First, when my father met with Regner, he mentioned a deal with the ruler of the fae island close to the southern tip of our lands.”

It took me a moment to understand. But Rythos let out a strange sound from the back of his throat. “Quorith.”

“Yes. The ruler of that island made a pact with Regner. This was discussed at a dinner between Regner and my father before the barriers fell. My father wanted the island for himself after the war. Regner had told him he could take it.”

Hot fury pulsed in my veins. Verdion was a fool. A fool who was going to have the blood of thousands on his hands.

Rythos looked as if he had been punched in the gut. His hands began to shake, and he buried his face in them, silently removing himself from the conversation.

Rekja flicked his glance back to me. “I will take my leave to meet privately with my generals.”

I glanced at Demos. He was watching Rekja stride out of the room with his advisers, his expression thoughtful. When he returned his gaze to me, it was instantly evidentthat I wouldn’t like whatever he said next.

“You need to make a choice, Prisca.”