Even the sight of her handsome husband couldn’t wipe the frown from Selivia’s face. “They all want to pretend the attack on Sharoth didn’t happen,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice. “After everything they endured during the war, you’d think they’d be more proactive when a new conflict is brewing to the south.”
“They’re holding on to the peace so intently because of what they endured,” Latch said. “They’ve worked hard to rebuild. You can’t blame them for shying away from another conflict.”
He gestured around the ballroom, where everything was new, from the marble floor to the murals painted on the walls to the creamy curtains blowing gently in the evening breeze. The Trurens had lost as much as Vertigon had during the war. Perhaps more.
“But Soole needs help,” Selivia said.
Latch grimaced. “No one here has forgotten that Soolen soldiers led by my father carried out the first sack of Trure. They’re polite to us because of your siblings, but Soole and Trure don’t share much affection. We’re getting a warmer reception than we’ve a right to.”
Selivia sighed. “I wish the Far Plainsfolk would hurry, then. We need to get home.”
Thinking of Soole as her home was still new, but she meant it. She’d nearly died defending the place on dragonsback, an experience that had forged a new bond between her and her husband’s people. She’d win help for them somehow.
“Cheer up, my love,” Latch said. “This ball is supposed to celebrate our marriage, and you’ve barely even danced with me.”
Selivia kissed his cheek and summoned a smile. “We’d better fix that.”
They headed for the dance floor, though their progress was slow because all the Truren nobles wanted to stop and congratulate them along the way. They offered toasts and marriage advice, bustling about like a flock of self-important crundlebirds. Once, someone touched Selivia lightly on the shoulder to get her attention, and she leapt back with a gasp that made the onlookers arch their eyebrows and purse their lips. For a flash, she’d been sure it was the brush of a thunderbird wing.
After that, Latch kept his arm around her waist, holding her close as the crowds surged around them. He seemed to understand what she needed from him without her having to say why. She hated feeling like she’d lost her nerve. She would rather face enemies head on than sense doom descending from above when no one was bothering to look up.
They joined the dancing for a few songs. Latch danced the way he did everything, with a seriousness of purpose and a sturdy gait. But it cheered Selivia to have his arms around her and his eyes on her alone. They would see their mission through together.
The nobles spun and swirled around them, tanned faces flushed with joy, and laughter mixed with the tapping feet and the lively music. By the time Selivia and Latch left the dance floor, they were breathless and smiling.
“We’ll need to bring that dance back to Soole,” Selivia said. “They could use a little merriment when all this is over.”
Latch wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “If anyone can teach them, it’s you.”
The throng of brightly dressed guests parted, and Selivia spotted her sister, Sora, heading toward them. Plump and pretty with light eyes like their mother’s, Selivia’s older sister had been the queen of Trure for six years. When their mother, Tirra, gave up her claim to the throne and retired to the countryside, Sora had asserted her right to rule this damaged land as one of the last king’s few surviving grandchildren. She had danced a careful waltz among the nobility since then, and her steady hand had helped Trure thrive.
Sora wore a wine-red gown, and she had one of her toddler sons on her hip. Her husband, Kel, followed close behind her, letting their other son walk on his toes. Lok and Teo were twins, and a more precious pair of babies had never existed.
“Are those my favorite nephews?” Selivia took little Lok from her sister’s arms and showered his chubby cheek with kisses. He giggled and squirmed in her arms. Teo climbed off his father’s toes and toddled over to grab Selivia’s skirts, clamoring for a share of the attention. “I think they’ve grown since breakfast.”
“It’s their primary talent,” Sora said. “That and charming everyone into spoiling them.”
“You’re not spoiled, are you, dearest?” Selivia cooed to Lok, tickling his belly. “I’d give you the clothes off my back and a share of all my favorite meals for the rest of my life, but that’s just what your sweet little self deserves.”
The boy giggled and pulled at a golden flower Selivia had woven into her hair. She tugged it loose for him and handed another to Teo, who was swinging from her skirt and peering curiously at Latch. A few cake crumbs were caught in his dark curls.
“It’s a good thing you married a Soolen instead of a Truren,” Kel said with a laugh. The queen’s consort was a wiry, good-humored man who wore a fine dueling rapier at his hip. Once a popular duelist in Vertigon, he commanded the palace guards here in Trure. “They really would be spoiled if you lived here all the time.”
“You’re just jealous that I’m their favorite,” Selivia said.
Kel chuckled. “You caught me.”
“Thank you for hosting this celebration for us,” Latch said to Sora and Kel, still a little formal with them both. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“Well, I had an ulterior motive,” Sora said. “I’ve had regular visits from anxious members of the nobility since I returned from Sharoth. They’re afraid war is imminent. I wanted to show them we’re not expecting an army at our gates anytime soon.” She gestured around the ballroom. Wine glasses clinked, and colorful dresses swirled across the new marble floor. “We dance and drink to remind ourselves the peace is holding.”
Selivia’s smile faded. “But war really might be imminent.”
“Not here,” Sora said firmly. “Khrillin has no reason to look north to Trure.”
“But—”
“Sel, I understand how you must feel, but Trure is not going to get involved in the southern conflict.”
Selivia stared at her sister. Sora was bookish and unassuming until you got to know her, but she was every bit as formidable as Queen Rochelle in her own way. Selivia hadn’t expected to face opposition from her.
“What if Khrillin comes here?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice even.
“He can’t carry Watermight quickly enough to inflict the kind of damage he did in Sharoth.” Sora’s gaze flitted briefly to Latch. “He traveled there by sea, using up an unprecedented amount of magic—not to mention wealth—to do it. To reach us, he’d have to cross the Linden Mountains and half the plains on foot. Unless he gets his hands on a large flock of Cindral dragons, he’s not a threat.”
They’d sent soldiers to protect the borders of Cindral Forest, where the dragons lived, for exactly that reason. But other magical substances were more portable than Watermight. Selivia set Lok down and folded her arms. “What about the Lightning?”
“He doesn’t have it yet,” Sora said, “and he won’t if Dara has anything to say about.”
“I thought you would help us.”