Selivia needed to focus on happier things. It was good to see the capital of Trure looking so prosperous. The old Rallion City had been beautiful, too, a sprawling place of vibrant gardens and elegant stonework. Fine horses pranced through its broad avenues, and people came from all over the world to admire its vistas. When it burned to the ground, its inhabitants hadn’t despaired. They were well on their way to restoring its former glory.
But Rallion had changed. A new wall, far stronger than the last, was the first thing completed during the rebuilding process. The old wall had surrounded only the oldest section of the city, where the noble and wealthy held themselves aloof from the ordinary merchants, horse tenders, and craftsmen who’d lived in the loose outer reaches of the city. The new wall had been planned with a much wider circumference, encircling all of New Rallion and leaving only farms and horse pastures outside.
People of all stations lived closer together than they used to, and in many ways, this change had been good for the city. But the Trurens had become far less welcoming to outsiders too. They would do anything to protect their land from further turmoil.
Selivia squinted at the new wall’s northwest gate. The white stone crowning its archway shone like gold in the setting sun. Beyond that gate stretched the road to the Far Plains, a nation that had been under Truren control until it gained independence after the war. Lady Vine Silltine was supposed to have returned from the Far Plains a week ago, bringing representatives from the ruling council of the Far Plains and their most knowledgeable Air Sensors. Until they got here, Selivia’s mission was stalled.
Hurry up, Vine. We need those Air Sensors.
Selivia had traveled to New Rallion for two reasons. First, she and her husband would represent Soole in meetings about the burgeoning conflict between the southern nations. Khrillin had retreated to Pendark to lick his wounds, but no one believed his ambitions were sated. All the nations of the continent needed to prepare for further aggressions.
The other, more important reason she had come here was to recruit Air Sensors to help Dara contain the Lightning once and for all. After using two of the magical substances—Fire and Watermight—together to throw the Lightning dragon out of Sharoth, Dara had theorized that adding Air to the mix would allow them to defeat the creature and seal away its magic for good. A group of Wielders should be able to do it without giving any individual too much power—something that was especially important to Dara. The plan required a significant quantity of the Air substance, which meant the Sensors from both the Far Plains and Trure would have to cooperate. If the Far Plainsfolk ever arrived.
Selivia left the balcony with a sigh and returned to the party. Certain courtesies were expected of her as a visiting dignitary, and she couldn’t spend the whole time watching the gate—or the sky.
As soon as she entered the ballroom, a group of Truren ladies wearing gowns with ruffles at their necklines and hems swooped toward her. Selivia wore a dress in the local fashion, too, a white chiffon with gold details that complemented her freckles and curly dark hair. It also did nothing to hide the scars scoring her arms and face.
The ladies fussed over her as if they’d never seen a pretty young woman before.
“You look lovely, Princess,”
“I would die for hair like yours.”
“Such a divine gown.”
“That cut is perfect for you, I must say.”
“Your taste gets better every year.”
“You must give me the name of your seamstress.”
A few of the ladies glanced at her scars while they gushed over her clothes, but they didn’t mention them, which irritated Selivia a bit. Her wounds had healed well in the two months since the first major thunderbird attack on Sharoth. Watermight bandages had helped her skin knit together, hiding just how gruesome the cuts from the talons and beaks had been. But the scars would never fade completely. They reminded Selivia of a new strength she’d found within herself. She touched the knife at her belt, which was tooled in gold to match her dress. She had never been without a weapon since the day she was forced to use a teapot and spoons to fight a thunderbird.
The ladies weren’t interested in any of that, though.
“Princess Selivia, I was so sorry I couldn’t attend your wedding,” said a middle-aged noblewoman wearing flowers in her hair and an orange gown the exact shade of the sunset. “You must have made a gorgeous bride.”
“Thank you, Lady Forielle. It was a simple affair but everything I wanted.”
“Such a shame your lady mother couldn’t be there.”
Selivia rolled her shoulders, stirring the ruffles on her gown. “Mother was quite happy not to be in Sharoth when Khrillin attacked it.”
Lady Forielle pursed her lips as if Selivia had said something distasteful. “We mustn’t speak of such things here. This is a celebration.”
“Yes,” put in a mousy younger woman whose eyes were the same watery blue as her gown. She wrung her hands nervously. “The peace is still new. We mustn’t disturb it.”
“The peace is already broken, Lady Hilva,” Selivia said. “We can’t pretend the attack didn’t happen.”
Hilva gave a little gasp and exchanged scandalized glances with Forielle. The other ladies began to back up slowly, tittering like furlingbirds in a coop.
“We don’t want trouble with Pendark,” Forielle said.
“Or Soole,” Hilva said. “All respect to your new home, Princess.”
Forielle nodded vigorously. “Yes, what happens between Pendark and Soole is none of our business.”
“It’ll become your business soon,” Selivia said. “We need to act now to—”
“Oh, look!” Hilva squeaked. “Another dance is beginning. We must speak again soon, darling.” She kissed Selivia on both cheeks and practically ran for the center of the dance floor, trailing blue chiffon. Forielle and the other ladies didn’t even offer their cheeks to be kissed. They hurried after Hilva in a flurry of ruffles and lace.
Selivia scowled, plucking at her ruffled sleeve. Such reactions had become all too common since she arrived in New Rallion. The Trurens were strangely resistant to the messages she carried. Oh, everyone was perfectly kind to her. Lords and ladies alike tripped over themselves to compliment her gowns, congratulate her on her marriage, and share their juiciest palace gossip. But when she asked if they would stand with Soole against Khrillin’s acts of aggression, no one would commit. And when she brought up the Lightning dragon, they looked at her as if she’d recently sustained a head injury.
It was frustrating to have her warnings ignored. Everyone needed to know how dangerous the Lightning was. All the nations of the continent needed to band together to prevent its use. Well, all nations but one. She didn’t expect Khrillin to agree, which made it all the more important to get the Trurens and Far Plainsfolk on board. They needed to take this seriously.
A warm hand appeared on her lower back. “Preparing for battle, my love?”
Selivia turned to face her husband, Lord Latch Brach of Soole. His black hair was freshly cut, and the ballroom lights shone on his dark-brown skin and serious brown eyes. He hadn’t adopted the current Truren fashion for men, which involved almost as many ruffles as the ladies’ dresses. He wore a slate-gray coat not unlike a Soolen military uniform and a decorative sword at his hip, both of which emphasized the strength in his stocky build.