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I stared at her, the last traces of triumph sizzling out like dying sparks.

‘We only just heard,’ Lyn added, small fingers frantically fidgeting with her curls. ‘So we’re waiting for Agenor to come this way, and then …’

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

‘Um.’ My voice came out too high – Zera help me, why hadn’t I asked aroundbeforedragging Rosalind into my father’s arms? ‘I should probably have told you this immediately, but I don’t think Agenor will be coming this way anytime soon. I could try to get a hold of him if you really think it’s necessary, but …’

Lyn’s amber eyes narrowed. ‘What’s wrong?’

Everything.How dare the world plunge me right back into war so easily – how dare it make such a mockery of these few days of respite? I’d felt so bloody close to optimistic, fifteen minutes ago. I’d found my mother. I’d found an army. We were on our way to acquire the human support we needed, and even if we didn’t have it yet, at least there would be no need for me to force Thysandra into talking – not if we were just given a few more days to prepare and forge alliances while the Mother gathered her forces.

And now …

War ships.

And even Rosalind had suddenly become a liability.

‘My mother,’ I whispered.

Even Beyla stared at me as if I’d grown wings.

‘She was in the White City.’Still in love with him and unable to trust him for twenty long years– gods, I didn’twantto interrupt them. ‘I just delivered her to his tent, and he didn’t look particularly in the mood to think about strategy and warfare when I last saw him. Nor did she, really. So even if we forcibly drag them into the discussion now …’

‘Yourmother,’ Lyn repeated dazedly – as if the rest of my words had slipped past her entirely. ‘Oh, Em, that is amazing!’

‘Well, yes,’ I helplessly said, ‘but—’

‘We’ll manage,’ Beyla cut in, her faint voice unusually impatient. ‘We’ve survived without any fae strategists for centuries – I’m sure we’ll keep ourselves afloat until he decides to emerge again. And take a seat, Emelin. You look like you’ve been on your feet for a while.’

I wordlessly slid my heavy backpack off my shoulders and onto the ground, shoved it beneath the table with my foot, and collapsed into a chair beside them. The map Lyn had been drawing on, I saw now, depicted the entire archipelago. Her pencil lines depicted several possible sea routes from the Crimson Court to other locations of strategical importance, with estimates of the sailing times jotted next to them.

According to those scribbled numbers, the Mother could arrive for attack just about anywhere she wanted before the next twenty-four hours had passed.

Twenty-four hours.

I forced myself to take a few very deep breaths, staring at the familiar outlines of the islands I knew.

‘Creon probably has some reasonable ideas on the Mother’s strategies, too,’ Lyn was saying, her young voice tired. ‘But we need information more than anything else now – it’s too risky to fade back to the Crimson Court in the next few hours, presumably?’

‘They’d be idiots if they weren’t waiting for me,’ Beyla said. ‘I could fade a few of Agenor’s fae to an island nearby and ask them to fly closer, though. A few extra pairs of wings might not draw as much attention as an alf showing up, especially from a distance.’

‘Still a risk,’ Lyn said with a pained moan. ‘If they’re discovered …’

Beyla sighed. ‘It’s war, Lyn.’

They were both quiet for a while, Lyn staring miserably at her maps, Beyla going over the buckles of her swords, adjusting them ever so slightly before she straightened her shoulders again. She did not look impatient. She just looked as she always did – ready to disappear.

‘Alright,’ Lyn finally murmured. ‘See if you can find any volunteers.’

With a nod, Beyla vanished into nothingness.

We sat in silence together for two, three minutes, Lyn and I, while the world outside grew steadily noisier as more and more humans were faded into the camp. Voices clamoured about tents and firewood. Bursts of laughter broke through the clanking of shovels and axes. Blissfully unaware, all of them, that on the other side of the archipelago, the Mother was loading up her ships and preparing to maim and kill, perhaps before the sun set tonight.

Already, the sun-streaked peace of the White City felt an eternity away – settling back into its old role as an unattainable dream, an escape I would never be allowed.

‘Shouldn’t we be sending alves to the most likely targets?’ I eventually said, forcing myself to glance at the map again. My eyes slid past the Fireborn Palace, past Tolya and the other nymph isles, past the alf houses in the north. ‘If we aren’t able to follow her ships, at least that way they can sound the alarm as soon as anything problematic appears on the horizon.’