Page 32 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)
I take a deep breath. I can feel Leon’s eyes on me, desperate to know what I just said that involves his name, but the gentle joke at his expense is just the first part of my plea. I switch to the common tongue for the rest.
“My issue with my magic is only part of the reason I have come to see you. I understand you are wary about foreigners—and that wariness is justified. But I needed to come here because there is a threat brewing in Trova, one I believe will harm all three nations if it is allowed to go unchecked.”
My approach is working, at least on some of them. Diomi definitely believes me, and many of them exchange looks, trying to gauge what to think from their neighbors. The short dryad, however, seems more irritated than worried.
“I’ll hazard a guess that this threat is your political rival, Marek Caledon?”
“He’s not a rival, he’s a maniac,” Leon protests. “He had the king and queen murdered. People you once went out of your way to help.”
While the dryads abhor violence, mentioning the assassinations won’t help our angle.
After all, it’s not like we can offer any proof.
And there are plenty who believe we are the ones responsible for the assassination.
Sure enough, another council member shakes her head.
She’s clearly one of the oldest council members, her hair nearly completely silver, with only a few hints of green showing through.
“It is not for us to enforce the law in other nations. We offer aid where we can—when it aligns with our abilities. What you’re asking now is for us to involve ourselves in another nation’s politics, and we don’t do that.”
“Forgive me if my question is impertinent, my friends,” I say, responding before Leon can get there first. “But wasn’t helping to hide my powers a political act, knowing full well that solari are forbidden by Trovian law?”
The older dryad hesitates, not ready with an answer. I continue, making it clear I’m not saying this to needle them about their hypocrisy .
“I think you saw that saving the life of an innocent spoke to an Agathyrian value more important than political neutrality,” I suggest.
There’s a small smile of approval on Diomi’s face. I guess he thinks I’m arguing my case well.
“And what would you want from us, if not neutrality, Your Highness?” the woman with dreadlocks asks.
“Only information. I believe I know something about Caledon’s plans, and I would like your insight on whether such a thing is possible.”
There’s relief on many of their faces, and my hope climbs another step higher.
“Then I think we should retire to discuss these requests and vote on them,” Diomi says, standing.
I rise quickly too, surprised. I’d naively thought they might just agree right now. But apparently, that’s not how it’s done.
“Of course, thank you,” I say. One of the council members shows us down a long corridor, and then another, until we reach a small seating area at the center of yet more hallways. Clearly, the council doesn’t want to risk us overhearing whatever is said in their meeting.
Leon sits down as soon as we’re left alone, but I’m too alert to stop moving.
I think about the way Leon tried to flatten the dryads with sheer force, just like he does with everything.
And I recall their indifferent expressions when I brought up Caledon.
I feel a flare of irritation at the whole situation, including Leon’s tactics.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, picking up on my mood. He gets better at reading me every day.
“You pushed too hard in there,” I say. “These people…we need to be more cautious in how we approach negotiations with them.”
Leon laughs. “You sound like Fairon,” he says.
He doesn’t explain himself, so I say nothing.
Instead, I walk circles around him, counting the corridors to soothe my mind.
There’s eight of them, and only when I’ve paced the perimeter of the space a third time do I realize the significance of the number .
“It’s a star,” I say, tracing my finger down the corridors, north to south. “They’re arranged in a star shape. We’re right in the middle.”
“Not the most subtle architectural choice,” Leon says wryly.
The discovery doesn’t distract me for longer than a minute—and then I’m back to pacing. After another fifteen go by I sigh, looking back in the direction where I think the council are. I find myself wondering if the corridor I think we came down is even the right one. They all look the same.
“What do you think could be taking them so long?” I ask Leon.
He shrugs. “Unlike me, they don’t strike me as the type to rush into things.”
I smile and shake my head.
“I just don’t know what we’ll do if they don’t listen to us about Caledon.”
“If they won’t tell us what we need to know, we’ll find answers another way,” Leon assures me. “Besides, getting them to heal you is still our priority.”
“I suppose so. But I feel stronger already. Really, I do,” I say, when he gives me a skeptical look. “Since we got to Starfall. There’s something about this place—maybe the Miravow makes the air cleaner here or something.”
“Or you’re just subconsciously relieved not to be surrounded by killer trees anymore,” he replies.
When I don’t laugh, he gives me a knowing look.
“You’re still worrying. But you shouldn’t.
We have the upper hand. The dryads can’t lift a finger against us, and I have no problem forcing them to hear you out, if I have to. ”
Maybe I should be offended by his suggestion, but if we can’t reason with the Agathyrians, then it might just come to that.
Sure, it would prove to them we’re nothing but a bunch of bloodthirsty brutes, but half of them think that anyway.
And I am sure they’re no match for Leon—even if he might be underestimating them a little.
Like Mal said, the dryads might not be violent, but they’re far from cute and cuddly.
A strong smell fills my nostrils: the scent of rotting fruit and dank foliage. It’s a familiar stench, and my blood runs cold as I turn to meet Leon’s gaze. His eyes are wide with recognition—and dread .
The sound of clacking bones rattles behind me, and a long, low growl sends every hair on my body standing on end.
I spin around to face the mortifus stalking down the corridor toward us.