Ren studied her sister’s uneasy expression and forced a smile. “I am. Even if Rozalind weren’t strong-arming us, Akeylah, I heard you talking to that Talon captain. You’re better at this than I ever would have been.”

Akeylah grimaced. “I don’t feel good at this. I’m only doing what’s necessary, because there’s nobody else to turn to. I’m not ready to run a country, Ren. It’s too much.”

Ren took the pen from her sister’s hand and squeezed her fingers in the process. “You’ve held the Keep together during what has to be one of the worst times in the history of the Reaches. Yasmin died, Father was murdered, his queen is on the run.… The fact that there isn’t a mob of panicked nobles storming through the halls is testimony enough. You’re ready to rule.” She held Akeylah’s gaze. “And you have your sisters behind you, no matter what.”

Akeylah sighed and rested her hand on top of Ren’s. “I wish Zofi were here.”

“So do I,” she murmured, surprised by how much she meant it. Zofi would know what to do. How to hit Rozalind where she hurt, how to strike first instead of just reacting to the queen’s every move.

They’d just have to channel her as best they could. Ren bent over the parchment.

“Read it at dinner, would you?” Ren asked, once she’d signed the testimonial with a flourish. “If the whole Great Hall hears, that should be public enough for Rozalind.”

“I will,” Akeylah promised. “You just stay safe.” Akeylah hugged her one more time, tight and fast, before she went to distract the Talons long enough for Ren to slip by unnoticed. On her way out, Ren grabbed a few more tithing books from the library. Couldn’t hurt.

Ren didn’t know what she should be feeling. Sorrow, perhaps, at signing away her claim. Or defeat. The heir was one step closer to winning. Yet somehow, with Akeylah on her side and a semblance of a plan, what she felt instead almost resembled hope.

23

Zofi

By midday the next day, Zofi and Vidal reached the Hook and Barber. There, Vidal, who had donned his armor just in case they ran into any trouble, proved a source of great amusement.

“Deena’s daughter has got herself a trained Talon, fancy that,” one woman commented with a guffaw.

“You’re surprised?” her friend joked. “I’m just shocked Deena never had one of her own.”

They led Zofi and Vidal into a sprawling stable complex. Zofi nuzzled her stallion’s nose in apology before she left him in the innkeepers’ care and picked out a new horse, another sand-stepper, this one dull gray. At least he’d blend into the crowd better.