Page 31 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Morgana

“ I did not lead them here under false pretenses, Diomi,” Etusca says, her voice forceful. “I already told you what they want. And it’s in our power to give.”

He looks at her, seeming disappointed more than angry. “That’s not for you to decide . ”

Etusca exhales sharply and turns to us. “Morgana, I’d like you to meet my brother.”

I jerk my head around to look at Etusca so fast I almost give myself an injury.

Brother?

Etusca glances at me, then stares back at her brother with a cool expression. She’s mentioned him in passing, but she never said he was someone important: a member of the high council. Is this why she thought she could get them to help us? If so, it doesn’t seem to be working.

It’s a different dryad, however, who speaks next. A short man toward the back who shifts his eyes from Leon to my nursemaid.

“You know the rules about bringing outsiders here, Etusca,” he says. “You made sure your message to the council would not be delivered until after you’d entered the Miravow, knowing we would’ve put a stop to this if we’d been adequately prepared.”

Etusca shakes her head. “Are they rules, or are we just chained by tradition? Tell me where the laws are written that only Agathyrians may step foot in Agathyre. We have brought humans and fae across our borders before, especially when they’re the rulers of our neighboring countries.”

The short man purses his lips, but doesn’t reply.

“That last exception was several centuries ago,” Diomi points out.

“So isn’t it time we made another?” Etusca asks. “These people deserve our respect, and I owe Morgana Angevire my help and protection, to make amends for past failures.”

The council’s eyes all turn to me as I nod gratefully at Etusca.

“I believe you to be a good and honest woman, Etusca,” says a woman with green hair twisted into dreadlocks. She speaks gently, but her expression is pained. “But your mistakes are not the responsibility of the council to put right.”

“Then what about my responsibility to her as a healer? Don’t you share that with me?

” Etusca looks around her, taking in the audience we’ve accumulated—not just the council but all the ordinary dryads watching the conversation quietly from the avenue behind us.

She raises her voice. “This council sent me to the king and queen of Trova when they called on Agathyre for help after their daughter was born. I was the only one with a solution, but it was an imperfect one, and for years I kept this woman from reaching her full potential. Now her parents are dead, and we remain. Does Agathyre not bear some responsibility for the situation she finds herself in now? To the magic we helped suppress for so long?”

I’m impressed—almost proud of her. Up until now, I’ve let Etusca argue our case, but hearing this jolts me out of my silence.

“ Newe loom gasta, en weste ,” I say, speaking in their native tongue. We’ve come a long way, friends.

Many of the council straighten up when I use the formal version of “friends,” recognizing the respect in it.

“ Akel esque auris placane .” The least I ask is that you hear us out .

There’s a beat while the dryads absorb my words. I keep my breathing steady, though nerves make my stomach flutter. What if I misspoke? What if they’re offended, rather than impressed, by my use of their language?

But as the council hesitates, my nursemaid tuts loudly.

“Is this what dryad hospitality has become? You won’t even let them step inside the hall,” she says scornfully.

I wonder how I didn’t notice at Gallawing just how far she’d strayed from the opinionated, brave woman she once was.

“Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside,” says the woman with dreadlocks. “This is a private matter for the council.” She looks meaningfully out at the various dryads gathered behind us, still watching the meeting.

Diomi nods. “You’re right. Their Highnesses deserve a formal audience at least. But Etusca, you must stay here. You have made enough decisions on Agathyre’s behalf already.”

My nursemaid bristles at his words but doesn’t argue.

Two of the council members move toward the entrance of the hall. The doors are more glass than they are wood, and they glimmer in the sunlight as the council members pull them open.

“I’ll stay out here with the horses,” Phaia says to us. I see the alert way she studies the tower and the dryads in the street around us. She thinks someone should keep watch out here.

“I’m afraid you will all need to stay here,” says Diomi. “Or at least enter no further than the entrance chamber.” He gestures to the round room beyond the doors. “It’s only appropriate for Prince Leonidas and Princess Morgana to take part in these discussions.”

“Appropriate?” Leon asks, the word sounding dangerous in his mouth.

“Yes,” says the short council member who spoke before. “The council chambers are sacred. A space for dryads only,” he lifts his chin, as if trying to show he isn’t intimidated by Leon. “As we said, we have been known to make exceptions, but only on an individual basis. ”

He bows his head, and I decide this isn’t a battle worth fighting.

I nod at Leon, and he says nothing more, watching with a glower as our group separates out from us, stepping back from the horses.

Some of the council members take in Mal, their expressions appalled when they spot the weapons on his belt.

They give him a wide berth as they file into the tower.

Except for one dryad, who leans in to mutter something to Mal before he disappears inside.

“What did he say to you?” I ask, pulling Mal to one side before we follow the council into the tower.

The rebel gives me a sharp smile. “He just called me a sangquise .”

“Blood spiller?” I translate.

“Yep,” he says. He’s still smiling, but I can feel a brittle edge of resentment underneath his defiance.

“It’s the word they reserve for dryads who break their vow and commit violence.

Seeing as I never took a vow, he can take his disapproval and shove it up his ass.

But listen, Morgana.” He draws me a little closer, checking the council won’t overhear.

“Don’t be fooled. Just because they don’t fight with weapons and fists doesn’t mean these people can’t be as sneaky or treacherous as anyone else. ”

I nod and then turn to join Leon. Mal stays outside with Phaia and the horses, but Tira and Alastor step forward to wait in the entrance chamber.

As we walk through, I find myself thinking that the room is like the city—neither a natural formation nor manufactured.

The walls are made of brown stone, polished so they have a warm luster to them.

They slope downward like we’re in a cave, but the gradient is smooth.

I feel embraced by the building, somehow, welcomed.

That’s what’s so confusing about all this. While the dryads are more standoffish—bordering on hostile—than I expected, Starfall itself sets me at ease. I’ve felt it ever since we emerged from the Miravow, a fresh energy finding me despite our tiring journey.

The council lead us into another chamber.

The ceiling is higher here, positioned several levels up the tower, with tall windows so the sunlight cascades down onto us.

Wooden pews are arranged in a triangle shape at the center, and Diomi offers us a seat on one of the benches as the council settle onto the others .

I’m about to offer them a compliment about the architecture when Leon jumps straight in.

“I expect Etusca explained to you that Her Highness is in need of healing.”

“The message mentioned that,” Diomi says.

“Her magic has been damaged by the Temple of Ethira,” Leon continues. “Their leader Caledon kept her captive for weeks, torturing her. If you have any respect for the sanctity of life, then I’m sure you’ll want to work to undo whatever he did to her.”

I know Leon’s priority is making sure I get better. He’s my best advocate. But I’m also not sure I appreciate how he’s talking like I’m not sitting right here next to him. The dryads aren’t happy either, their stern faces furrowing into frowns.

“I don’t think we require a lecture on the sanctity of life from you , Your Highness,” the dreadlocked dryad says, her eyes pointedly going to the sword at Leon’s belt.

As always, Leon’s reputation precedes him.

I wince. Leon does a better job of controlling his expression, but I can read him well enough to be able to tell that her words sting, as does every reminder of his mistakes in the war.

“You may disapprove of the actions I’ve chosen to take,” he says, his voice low with irritation, “but doing nothing is a choice, also. Here we are discussing whether you should help us, when I would’ve thought your vows answer that very clearly.”

“The treaty promises that we’ll send our people out into your nations in return for being left alone in our own,” Diomi points out sharply. “This is the opposite of leaving us alone.”

I get the sinking sense that Leon’s going about this all wrong. He’s making them feel cornered. I try to signal to him to stop, but he keeps talking.

“Are you really going to turn your back on Trova’s future queen in her time of need?” Leon growls. “If you want to keep relations cordial with your neighbors, you have a strange way of going about it.”

Dammit. Leon’s playing right into their stereotypes with these aggressive outsiders. The Agathyrians are more likely to stonewall us than roll over if we don’t shift the tone .

“ Placane ,” I say. I’m sorry . I project my voice as I continue, still speaking in Agathyrian.

“ Prince Leonidas is pushing hard because he’s deeply concerned for my wellbeing.

He just has a very Filusian way of showing it.

” I offer them an apologetic smile and feel a surge of hope when a few of the council members look amused.