“You’ve been queen for just a few months,” General Dunedain said, “and yet, in that time, you’ve launched the kinds of changes this queendom has needed for a long time—in the army, in the council, in dealing with the flatland refugees. That’s my opinion, Your Majesty,” she added hastily, as if realizing that she might sound presumptuous. “But I’m not the only one that thinks so. You have considerable support among the native-borns in the army.”

“Too bad there aren’t more of them,” Raisa said dryly.

“There are several hundreds assembled at Chalk Cliffs, awaiting orders,” Dunedain said. “That’s a start. And if we can find a way for the highlanders and the Demonai to work together…” She looked at Nightwalker, who nodded, his gaze flicking from Dunedain to Raisa.

We need wizards as well, Raisa thought. And, except for Micah, wizards are noticeably absent from this meeting.

As if he’d guessed her thoughts, Micah said, “I’ve risked everything for you.” His eyes spoke more than he said aloud.

“I know you might be thinking that you tried to do too much too soon,” General Dunedain went on. “But you had no choice. Klemath meant to betray us. You may have forced his hand, but you couldn’t allow him to continue to defy your orders.”

Raisa nodded, blotting at her face with her sleeve. Somewhere along the line, she’d broken into a cold sweat.

Magret crossed the room to her side. Brushing back Raisa’s damp hair, she touched her forehead. “Your fever has broken, Your Majesty,” she said, with something close to a smile.

Jemson spoke up for the first time. “Save for Maiden Gray and me, everyone in this room is near your age, Your Majesty,” he said. “I think that’s significant. You and your generation are the new queendom. You represent hope that things can be different.” He paused. “I know that you have suffered many losses. No one here would blame you if you walked away from…all of this. But we hope that you will stay with us a little longer and give us this one best chance to go forward—to save this precious bit of earth we call the Fells.”

What does he mean by that? Raisa wondered. Does he think I might try to escape, either by running away or by taking my own life? Or go mad with grief?

Raisa drew the shawl up over her shoulders as if she could defend herself against the pressure of so many eyes. As if she could shield herself against the weight of their faith in her.

They were asking her to lead them into peril once again, when she already had so many deaths on her conscience. The entire room was full of ghosts—and gray wolves, too.

Their whispers filled her head—maybe just a remnant of her fever dreams. Go forward, Raisa ana’Marianna, they said. Choose love.