“I know.” My eyes narrow on him. “That would be . . .reckless.”
He grunts.
I feel their eyes on me, waiting for more, so I feed my baby birds. “So we go around them. Avoid the madness up here completely.”
“It’s a dangerous idea, little temptress,” Skartovius says. “Tempting fate and putting our secrets in the hands ofhumans? Baffling you’d even consider it.” He scoffs in my direction. I’m of the mind to slap the paleness off his face.
We’re in the Firehold’s main eating hall, sectioned off from the remaining Grimsons who are still awake. Across from us at two of the tables, Chained Sisters mingle with the Grimsons. They seem to be getting along well, which lifts my heart.
I turn my attention to my nobleblood, steepling my hands on the table. Skar is across from me, Vallan is next to him, while Lukain and Garroway are on my side of the bench.
I twirl my wrist at nothing in particular. “It’s this, and risk danger, or go the other route and guarantee it. We don’t have the numbers yet to attack Aramastun head-on, or try and save Liolen, if that’s what’s even needed. We don’t know enough.”
“ThatI agree with,” Skar grumbles. His full lips pout as he stares at me, red eyes shimmering gold. “I am enjoying this strategic turn in you, however. Even if this isn’t your finest example—”
“I don’t need your accolades, Lord Ashfen.” Anytime I use his previous title, it makes him shut up and go rigid, which is what I need. “I’m not asking your permission.”
Garroway says, “Speaking of being spread thin, should we do something to congregate our allies in a single location yet?”
Skartovius shakes his head firmly. “No, graybird. Still too dangerous to risk an ambush against our forces. It could be disastrous. An end to the revolution.”
Vallan snorts angrily. “If Sephania dies, it won’t matter.Thatis the end of the revolution.”
“Besides, we haven’t even started it,” Lukain points out. “The Silverblood is in practically zero hands because we’re too timid to test it.”
I clench my jaw, my neck twisting left and right to hear everyone’s opinions. There are too many voices, too many attractive faces all pinched in anger and frustration, and it’s overwhelming me.
I sweep a hand across the table to gain everyone’s attention. “We’re getting distracted, boys.” Then I stand from the table. “Follow me if you wish.”
Of course they all follow me like good dogs, as I make my way out of the eating chamber, down the narrow passageways, and to Antones’ lodging.
I stop at one of the only doors in the Firehold, knock, and wait. My mates shoulder in beside me in the cramped space, to make themselves look intimidating.
Ant opens the door and isn’t intimidated whatsoever. He’s gotten used to us loitering in his corridors, even if he doesn’t like how long we’ve been here. His eyebrows rise when he sees me standing there with my arms crossed, a vexed bent to my expression. “What’s wrong, Seph?”
“I have to ask you something, Ant. You might not like it.” Thumbing over my shoulder, I add, “My guys certainly don’t.”
He smiles faintly. “I like to see you taking initiative. What is it?” The man hobbles out of the room, grabbing his cane resting next to the door and leaning forward on it.
“I wanted to see if you could summon a meeting.”
His head tilts curiously. “A meeting between whom?”
“The biggest players in Nuhav. The ones who will be responsible for distributing our Silverblood once it’s ready. You’ll know who they are better than me. It’s high time we share hands and get on the same page with everyone involved. Fewer secrets, more action.”
Antones slowly nods. He doesn’t disagree immediately, which is good. His lips make a sort of frown, and he tsks. “Is this . . . prudent, Sephania? It sounds—”
“Reckless, mad, and ill-advised, I know. I’ve heard it all.” I lift my eyebrows, challenging him. “Can you do it, Ant? We’re running out of options here. It looks like Aramastun Wyvox is ready to make a play, and we’re behind the sword.”
His fingers slowly drum on the pommel of his cane.Tap, tap, tap.“I’ll see it done.”
After my meeting with Ant, I’m feeling invigorated with winning a small battle. It’s hard not to gloat or beam at my mates, because they look pressed about this news.
Skartovius and Lukain go to spar, to let off some steam, and I don’t blame them. I often hear their swords and growls many hallways over, they’re so loud when they battle. All the Grimsons and Chained Sisters love watching and learning from them, too. Especially when they inevitably take their tunics off from getting sweaty.
It seems the brothers’ relationship has grown into something like a rivalry. I’ll gladly take that over a full-on war between them. If they need to play at swordfighting to deal with each other, that’s fine by me.
I watch them recede down a dark corridor—nearly of the same height, similar wiry builds, though incredibly dissimilar to each other.