“Horrid idea,” Nassik murmured.
Barrett sliced him a glare, then nodded at Dax, and his consort kicked off the table and crossed to Nassik, slapping him across the face.
“Always so satisfying,” the general muttered as he turned back, but his face contorted in pain, his hand pressed to his gut. The air in the room pulled taut, and Barrett was standing in a breath, Celissia at Dax’s other side. The pair helped him into a plush velvet chair beside the fire.
“Is that the wound from when Kakias attacked?” I asked, and Celissia nodded grimly. During that last battle, when the late queen’s inky magic had been running rampant, it had struck Dax through the gut.
Celissia explained, “I’ve even tried using more…advanced?—”
“Ill-advised,” Nassik interrupted through his clenched, still-red jaw. This time it was Barrett who smacked him, the prince’s chest heaving as his control came unwound.
“I’ve been trying more advanced methods from Sorcia resources,” Celissia finished. “Though there’s little information to go off when it comes to their practice. The means of study are mainly kept within the isles.” She traced a finger around the pendant she always wore. “My talisman helps.”
“That’s Sorcia magic?” I asked.
She nodded, holding the stone pendant up so it’s rainbow sheen caught the firelight. “Every sorcerer or sorceress has a talisman, and it helps them channel their magic. This one was a gift passed through my family.” Her eyes flitted to Nassik. His were glued to the necklace. “My aunt gave it to me years ago. Talismans are Goddessblessed. Legends speak of some having been forged by Thallia herself and passed down among her children. The ordinary ones—like this—are crafted by Sorcia hands and magic. They’re hard to come by and harder to keep on Gallantia, but every sorceress needs one.”
Celissia tucked the talisman down the front of her dress. “I’ve been trying to teach myself how to use it based on research and what scant magic I can access.” Her jaw set in determination, fingers curling against the pendant over her dress. “It’s been little help.”
As they discussed Dax’s plaguing scar, it struck me that, aside from Nassik, those in this room were a demonstration of what progress could be made in little time. Only a year ago, the Mystiques thought all Engrossians were our adversaries. Our clan had still been devastated from the first war, and while many families were currently mourning after the second?—
My thoughts clogged in my brain, a lump in my throat.
I breathed through it, remembering what my sister would have wanted.
Lyria was in favor of inter-clan alliances and outright loved Barrett and Dax after their time spent at the warfront. She would want me here, despite the pain Engrossians and Mystiques had caused each other. She’d want me to help heal it.
And if I could stand in this room—be welcome in this palace—why couldn’t we take these alliances a step further?
“Celissia?” I asked. She tilted her head at the note of fascination in my voice. “Have you spoken with any Sorcia relatives lately?”
Nassik blurted out an argument, but Barrett kicked the former councilman in the stomach. Celissia watched the exchange with a bored mask, then turned back to me.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve never spoken to them, actually.”
“Never?”
She shook her head. “It isn’t common knowledge that my family descends from them. I don’t think it’s very much blood, anyway. Diluted over the years, just potent enough to manifest the tiniest sliver of magic.”
Well, that could turn this plan to ash. Might as well suggest it anyway. “Could you write to them?”
“And say what?” she pondered.
Standing, I braced my palms on the table, my hair falling into my eyes. “The known gods are responsible for Echnid—allof them. And Echnid wants to banish the gods from this realm. This is no longer just a warrior problem. The Sorcia Isles may be interested in sending aid our way.”
“That could change things,” Pelvira added. “If we had sorceress magic, who knows what it could do.”
“Perhaps take down a god,” I said with a smirk.
“Just be careful, Celissia,” Elvek cautioned. “If they know there’s a warrior bloodline with their magic, it could anger them.”
The former queen-to-be looked at her uncle with more love than she ever showed her father. “I promise.”
“Excellent,” Barrett said, clapping his hands with an iota of his usual joy now that a plan had been made. “How?—”
Footsteps clattered down the hall, and everyone froze. Hands drifted toward weapons, my fingers curling around my family dagger.
A staff member dressed in a simple, short-sleeved wool tunic and pants raced around the corner, freezing at our defensive positions. Sweat dripped down his pale face, an ax-shaped scarmarking his bicep. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered with a bow that had his dark hair flopping in his eyes. “Your Royal Highness.”
