Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(86)

“You won’t be going, Olina,” Jovan says. “There are other men I can send.”

“My sister is their Tatuma,” Olandon says angrily. “Her presence and my support could cause the Elite to step down with a simple order.”

I doubt it, but I agree with him for show.

“I’ve been standing here listening to how she might take two of them. If they don’t come at her at once!” he roars into my brother’s face. He rounds on me. “You’re not fucking going!”

I feel my cheeks flush as I shout back. “Who else can go if not me?” I yank him down to my level. I’m so furious I don’t care I’m showing several degrees less respect for the leader of Glacium.

“If you don’t commit to this plan, one hundred percent, then everyone you see for fucking breakfast each morning is going to die,” I say tightly. “This is bigger than you or I.”

Jovan breathes heavily and seems to recall where he is. He extracts himself from my clutches and stalks the tent in angry circles. He rounds on my brother.

“How many can the eight of you take?” he demands. Olandon straightens.

“I believe we have a solid chance at defeating the Elite. If Olina and I fight together, we should be able to bring down near half of them.”

“I hadn’t taken that into account,” I grumble. I turn to where Shard, Ice, Blizzard, Malir, and Ashawn stand, trying to swallow my rage.

“Are you willing to do this?” I ask curtly. They look at me as though I’m insane for asking. I take their expressions as a yes.

“What if the numbers are higher than anticipated?” Drummond asks. I throw my hands in the air as the men discuss this new point of view.

“We’re wasting time,” I say.

“We are considering the consequences,” Jovan replies. “Because I know you bloody won’t.”

I clench my jaw to shutter my infuriated response as the men talk. I take up Jovan’s pacing of the tent, exchanging wordless glances with my brother. Halfway through their discussion I remember my Soar. My suggestion is quickly shot down. I’d just ruin our surprise advantage. I want to tell them surprise is useless if we don’t get there in time, but I hold myself back. Just.

It takes a while for me to realize the tent has fallen silent. Everyone is standing. They may as well be sitting. Jovan’s massive frame towers over them.

He watches me. I glare back at him.

“This really seems like the only way to cover both outcomes.” Yate swallows audibly as the king of Glacium looks at him.

The menace is vibrating off Jovan in droves. I hold his gaze. This isn’t just about me going, I realize. His past is staring him in the face. To let me go he has to accept I might end up like Kedrick, his mother, or his father. On the other hand, he knows I’m skilled enough to go, and have knowledge of the Elite. He knows that he needs to save and protect the women and children left behind. But there’s only so much a person should have to bear. And Jovan has already borne more than his fair share of grief. I won’t allow him to shoulder the guilt of deciding to send me, should I not return. Despite Olandon’s estimation, I know what the chances of our band of fighters winning against the Elite are. My true purpose in going is to give the women and children in the castle enough time to escape. I move to him, dimly aware there are others in the room. They’re part of the background, blurred together and insignificant.

“This is my choice.” I place a palm on his arm and hold his dangerous gaze. Dangerous for everyone but me. He would never hurt me. It seems I’m going to be the one doing that. “We can’t control each other’s fate, Jovan. It’s useless to try. And of all fates to control, I can’t imagine any harder than yours and mine. You know we need to save those still at the castle.” I give him a wry smile. The defeat in his eyes is terrible. An expression I didn’t think possible for Jovan. I can’t bear to see such sadness on an unbreakable man’s face.

“I will come back,” I whisper for him alone. Then his face is in front of me.

“My King,” a voice says. I frown through a haze. I can’t quite seem to move.

“My King,” the voice repeats. It’s Rhone. Rhone is speaking. I blink into Jovan’s blue eyes, which seem to be going through exactly the same murky thought patterns as I am.

“What,” Jovan says softly, not moving an inch. His warm breath tickles my skin.

“The Solati are here,” Rhone says.

Everyone is still. Not a sound is made. I search Jovan’s eyes.

“Rhone,” the king says softly. “You’ll be escorting the Tatuma back to the castle. Malir, bring Rhone up to speed.” My shoulders sag as the tension leaves them.

It was the wrong time to relax.

I’m dragged into his embrace and his lips crush down on my own, hard enough to bruise. It isn’t enough for me. I reach up and grip his arms to balance and I strain up on my toes. He makes a low sound in his chest and wraps an arm around my waist to press me firmly against him. Will this be the last time I touch him? He lets me go, but not before bringing his lips against my ear, his light beard scraping my skin.

“You will come back,” he commands.

“Yes.” I studiously avoid my brother’s eyes as I wrench away from the king.

“Well fuck,” Drummond says.