He sighs. If I am frantic in my panic, he is frozen in his weariness. His disappointment.
“Never make decisions out of fear, Nyawira. Remember, when you’re ready. And accept the white flag.”
I open my eyes. The acrid stench of burning flesh and scorched stone fills my nostrils. For a moment, stars glitter around a crown set on an ebony head, a blush of pink the only color on white cheeks, those same stars pinpricks of light in the gray storm of his eyes.
“Congratulations,” the Prince says in his death voice, his hand cupping the back of my neck when I blink awake, “you have distinguished yourself by your success in annoying me.”
The pressure of his fingers slowly cuts off my air. When did he pull me to my feet? Why can't I remember. . .there is something I desperately need to remember.
I shut my eyes to push through pain. I have to remember. My jaw clenches with the force of the need, angry tears rising in my eyes and blood on my lips.
So weak,a feminine voice murmurs.So easily manipulated.
Renaud's power presses against me, warning me not to move. As if I could with his arm locked around my back.
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “I will make you another offer, as I am aware you would rather die than bow and I find myself uninterested in either your death or the further thinning the populace of my city. . .the wyverns, the wyverns. Manuelle and I will soon discuss his decision making process. He forgets himself. Or perhaps it is me he forgets.”
I’d agreed to it.
You’re a child,Darkan snaps.
But you keep saying?—
He withdraws, rather than address his inconsistency.
Renaud waits. I'm tempted beyond anything to answer him with a blow to his teeth, but again I have to rise above my own nature and for once the wild creature inside is quiet. Failure lasts a very long time. I might not be able to kill him now, but one day. . .
“Your offer, Prince?”
“Accept a white flag. Cease all hostilities and meet me at the negotiation table, the High Lord of each House and their Heirs and Commanders. We will resolve these disputes through diplomacy.”
“I don't think we understand the word diplomacy in the same way.” Especially as he said the word like one repeating an unknown phrase someone prompted him with in a foreign language.
Renaud’s eyes flash, but for once I'm not being sarcastic. “Understand this to be a highly unusual concession, Aerinne, and do not be a fool.”
He overuses that word. I nod. My head aches. My entire body aches. I almost can't think past the burn. Worst injuries ever, burns.
Terreille told me—if there comes a point where accepting a white flag makes sense, do it. The Prince’s fingers press into my side, his arm a barrier but not a cage why is he holding me why is he holding me likethis.
We aren't going to win this. The wyverns are vanquished. We have no other tricks. Maybe that's why the Prince took the time to beat me down—he understood I'd only concede on the verge of death.
I want my people to live.
Maman would want me to do this. Baba would want me to do this.
Gentle words pierce my spiral. “What say you?”
I can't quite bring myself to say the word submit. I'm not that selfless. But I nod.
“You will attend, Aerinne,” he adds, voice deepening, then releases me.
I nod.
The Prince produces a long white ribbon from somewhere and lifts my least injured arm, wrapping it around the wrist. His fingertips brush up my arm and my pain retreats, even the ache of the burn.
He is slow to pull away.
And his eyes are calmer now. “It's third degree. I will send Ishaan to you. Do not refuse him.”
