This is a waste. Where in blazes is Eogan?
“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” I say, handing the tea to Rasha. When she frowns, I quickly add, “Does anyone know when we
will
be graced by Eogan?”
“As I mentioned, he sends his regrets,” the Bron guard growls from his spot along the wall.
“Oh, I’m certain this flight hasn’t been all that dangerous, or Nym would’ve used her abilities to soften the storm for us. Right, miss?” Lord Percival dabs his mouth with a napkin and doesn’t wait before turning to Rasha. “Princess, are you finding your negotiations with the new king thus far are up to Cashlin’s satisfaction?”
“I’ve not had a chance to meet with King Eogan yet. Hence part of why Cashlin is sending me to Bron.”
A pleased look passes over the delegates, as if they’re relieved to still have the advantage of already starting the negotiation process back in Faelen.
I look at Rasha and consider telling them the truth—that their political insecurity is meaningless in light of what they’re walking into. That there will be no negotiations in Bron because the king is not the king. And that I couldn’t control a raindrop if I tried.
Rasha continues eating. I glance away and sip my sea-dragon-colored tea and chew on a giant piece of bread goo, leaving them to their momentary ignorance.
“Is your queen mother planning to send more delegates?”
Wellimton asks. “Or has she sanctioned you to decide what’s best for Cashlin without her royal advisement?”
“Oh, I’m quite sanctioned,” Rasha says cheerily.
“Not that she’d have any reason to doubt your political talents, of course, Your Highness. But considering the delicacy of the matter, I couldn’t help but feel concerned for you when I observe Faelen has seen this venture important enough to send four delegates while Cashlin is only sending one.”
I pause midswallow and almost laugh.
What a bolcrane.
“You’re correct she has every confidence in my talents, m’lord. And as I’m certain you’re aware, I was the only Cashlin delegate available in Faelen at the time of our departure.” Her smile stays just as wide, but I swear there’s a falter in her tone. She grabs a plateful of the bread stuff and shoves a piece in her mouth.
I snap a look up at him. “What about
you
? Are you fully sanctioned?”
Wellimton frowns. “Of course we carry the full weight of King Sedric’s authority.”
“To do what?”
“To handle anything that may occur.”
I clear my throat. “I bet. And what will you do if, say, when we arrive the situation’s not as you’ve prepared for?”
Wellimton sniffs. “Young lady, I’m not sure why Lord Protectorate Myles or King Sedric deemed it necessary for you to come, that is,
if
in fact the king
did
allow it, seeing as we were only told about your attendance once in the air. But considering you’ve not been raised in politics, nor in a High Court home, I don’t expect you to understand the process, nor the level of trade by which we’ll be negotiating. We’re clearly prepared for anything as long as you stay out of the way.”
“Anything?”
I can’t help the smirk.
“I think the better question is, are
you
prepared for anything?” He bats a hand my direction. “Is that storm gift of yours under control?”
“Lord Wellimton,” Lord Percival interrupts. “Perhaps we should be more charitable toward the heroine who is the only reason our nation is intact enough to trade with Bron. I’m positive the lady is quite capable of controlling it without Eogan even around!”
“A fact for which I am exceedingly grateful,” Wellimton says. “As long as she’s able to keep that level of control needed—at least until we get the negotiations wrapped up.” He glances over at the Bron guard.
“I can say with certainty that I am the least of the problems you’re walking into,” I murmur, and ignore Rasha’s look that says to quit egging him on.
“Good.” Wellimton lowers his voice my direction. “And in regard to any rumored affections you might have toward the Bron king, I trust, if called upon, you’ll do well to remember whose side raised you from childhood.”
Gwen leans over to pat my hand. “Because, of course, if anything goes wrong, we’re now counting on you to do your part, dear.”
Do my part?
I draw back from them both and stick a piece of fruit in my mouth. And shove down my cough before it gives away the fact that whatever expectations they have of using me are complete litches.
One, two, three moments of silence settle in, during which Rasha flicks me with cautious glances. I, in turn, extend sympathy to her for these ridiculous political games she’s stuck in. Is this how the High Council operates? No wonder her Luminescent self gets
overwhelmed by too many people in one room. Constantly hearing barely civil words being said while sensing what’s left unsaid. It’s all laced with suspicion and need.
The quiet is broken by Lady Gwen setting her cup down too loudly. “And what, Princess Rasha, may I inquire is Cashlin hoping for most in terms of negotiation and trade?”
“Our hope is to begin a friendship with Bron and build our way up from there. As far as trade, that will greatly depend on what Bron has that we deem worth trading for.”
Lord Wellimton smirks. “A very to-the-point statement, Princess. Some might even say supercilious once you enter the negotiation chamber. Especially considering your kingdom avoided taking sides in the war at all costs.”
“Cashlin makes no apology for being a pacifist nation.”
“Of course not. But you can see how a good intention such as that could be misinterpreted at the negotiation table. It could appear your interests only lie toward what you can gain rather than in hard-fought-for unity.”
Her voice stays steady but her shoulders tense. “Cashlin enjoys its friendships, Lord Wellimton, and we unabashedly support unity. However, we’ve discovered that taking sides in a war does not always result in desirable unity, nor does it mean we feel obligated to give up our natural resources easily. As I said, our hope is for the start of a relationship between Cashlin and Bron, just as we have done with yours.”
Lord Percival tips his head in apparent approval just as the airship dips and rattles. From what Colin once told me, tipping his head is what Lord Percival does best. “It’s his most pleasant and worst feature,” Colin had whispered one evening while we were spying
on him at Adora’s. “It’s like he can’t ’elp but agree with everyone on everythin’, includin’ the king and the council. Even his wife from what I hear.”
“Smart man,” I’d mumbled, and Colin had punched me in the arm. But somehow that head tipping makes me now inclined to like him.
“And what about you?” Rasha continues. “What are you most hoping for?”
Wellimton shoots Percival a look. “Ahem. That’s currently a matter of private discussion. You unders—”
“Access to your waterways for trade with their metal mines?” Rasha says in her airy tone. Her brown eyes exhibit a slight red glow. “With maybe some airships thrown in?”
The delegates’ faces pale.
Before anyone can respond, I stand. “While this has been most interesting, I think I’ll take a walk on the deck outside.” I look at the Bron and two Faelen guards for permission, but the entire room shudders loudly and tips. With a clatter, the plates and food tumble across the floor and it’s all I can do to hold on to the back of my chair, which, mercifully, is bolted down as is the rest of the furniture. I keep my feet beneath me until the ship tilts back. It trembles again and then the Bron soldier is holding his hand out to us. “My apologies, but the storm is picking up. I must return you all to your quarters.”
“Why?” Lady Gwen asks.
“For safety. Now you’ll all come with me, please.”
“Oh Nym, take care of the weather, won’t you, dear?” Lady Gwen flutters her hand at me. “That way we can stay and finish our chat!”
Percival nods. “Yes, show us how it works for you. It’d be fascinating to watch an Elemental control a storm. Here, what do you need from us?”
“That would be highly dangerous,” the guard interrupts. “The use of her abilities would threaten not only this airship, but the one travelling behind us. Please, I’ll see you to your rooms.”
I shoot him a grateful eyeful, which he ignores, and step toward him when a shimmer of lightning flashes maybe seventy-five terrameters in the distance. Despite the ache it brings, I stride over to watch the three, four, five lightning bolts follow it. Because something about feeling its effect on the sky creates a fleeting sense of normal. A sense of power, even if from the outside rather than within, if only for a minute.
Lady Gwen’s screech is jolting. “But those strikes are going to hit us. She can stop them!”
“No, mum, they won’t. But we need to get you someplace secure. Miss?” the guard says in my direction.
I brush past him without replying, and as Lord Percival, Lady Gwen, and Lord Wellimton are led through a door separating their rooms from our corridor, Percival whispers, “You will stop them though if we need you to, right, Nym?”
When we reach the room, Rasha plops down on the cot. I sit beside her and pull my legs up, folding my arms around my knees. “Well, that was rather dramatic. Are you all right?”
“In regard to the fact that we’re riding in a metal ship near lightning or those ridiculous politicians?”
“Both.”
“I wouldn’t be queen someday if either upset me.” But she’s wringing her hands as if to banish her nerves even as the words tumble out. Her hesitation is followed by, “And why wouldn’t I be all right? I’ve got excellent political acumen.”
I bite back a smile. “You were most definitely the smartest, most rational person in that room.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” She sniffs and a pleased expression replaces her worried features. “Although now I’ve got a stomachache,” she confesses with a grimace. “I tend to eat fast when people get intense. What about you? They were rather needy about your abilities, I’ll say.”
“I’m wondering if we shouldn’t just tell them.”
Her look suggests I’m a daft fool. “About Eogan or your abilities?”
“My powers. The delegates seem to have rather high expectations,” I admit.
“Who cares? Your ability is none of their business.”
“Maybe. Except those expectations are only going to get higher. And when the time comes—” I drop my voice with the sudden awareness that the vent boy could be listening. I peer up at the metal square in the wall.
“You’re not their obligated savior, Nym. They were going to Bron before they even knew you were coming.”
I’ve not heard anything in the pipes other than air blowing since we entered, but I keep my tone low enough to be covered by the ship’s noise just in case. “True. But even at the party the other night . . .” I scowl. “It’s like they think I’m some kind of token that will protect them. It’s suffocating.”
Her smile turns sly and she pats me on the head. “Of course you’re a token. A magical one who’s only disappointing in matters of clothing choices.”
A chuckle bubbles up in spite of myself. “I’m serious! Look at this.” I tighten my deformed fingers into a fist. There’s not even the slightest tingle in the air.
“So you’re saying the power you always wished you didn’t have is gone, but because everyone admires it, now you wish you had it back?”
“Not admires it. Expects it. And I’d rather they’d not do either.
But at the same time . . .” I search for the right words. “Maybe it’s that I finally just learned how to use my curse to actually help people, and now . . . now I’m very likely going to let those people down.”
She chews her lip and grows sober. “While I might not have known you for long, Nym, I can tell you your strength doesn’t lie in your powers or the ability to cause a storm or whatever else the rest of them want to call your gift. It lies in your ability for compassion.” She pokes a finger in my chest. “It lies in you.”
I nod.
Right.
Except having compassion without the power to change anything is useless. I should know. I tried for years to untwine those two and it couldn’t be done. And not just useless, it’s dangerous. Because it breeds false hope.
Not only that but . . . being me
is
being Elemental. I feel out the bandage beneath my sleeve and press into it until my skin aches. I don’t know how to explain it to her.
“Besides, if Bron and the delegates found out right now, can you even imagine what would happen?”
I roll my eyes and groan.
“And anyhow, the delegates wouldn’t believe us. They’d just see it as a political stunt, and I’m not sure how that’d protect Eogan.”
“I’m pretty certain I can protect Eogan without giving them false security in me. But I’m beginning to wonder if it’s really a good idea to let them find out I’ve no power while we’re in an environment Draewulf controls.”
She shrugs, as if it’s the question she’s been wrestling over every bit of her waking moments with no solution.
“Exactly.”
She leans her head against the window and stares out of it. “Draewulf won’t completely control everything—he still has to prove himself to the Bron people. If that’s even his intention.”
“You think Draewulf will keep the façade up in Bron?”
“He’s actively trying to eradicate all internal trace of Eogan, so my guess is yes. Especially since even the Bron guard on this ship doesn’t know Eogan is Draewulf.”
I follow her gaze through the rain lines beginning to drizzle down the pane—to the purple-gray ocean and, in the distance, the sun’s muted glimmer. “Or maybe Draewulf’s trying to eradicate Eogan because he knows Eogan can survive if the shape-shifter leaves his body too soon.”
Her expression softens. As if she knows how much my heart is hanging on that one single hope. She opens her mouth. Closes it. And allows us to simply sit there, staring together at the ocean shimmering a few terrameters beneath us as the ship continues its race toward Bron.
“About your arm.” She rouses after a bit. “You want to talk about it?”
“It was a mistake. I’m better now. Do you think Myles knows what Draewulf wants?”
She makes a sound very much like a scoff but doesn’t say anything. Just shakes her head.