He leaned back, one finger stroking the kitten’s head as he retreated into another silence. It wasn’t until the room was quiet that I realized what I’d just done. I’d talked about the crows, and I’d done it without spiraling into a pit of dark emotions.

Something about Caylus had made me feel comfortable enough to share, and from there, our shared natural curiosity had driven away any lingering doubts. I wanted to know, and so did he.

A three-beat knock sounded on the workroom door. Caylus rose quietly, crossing the room to open it. My heart thudded with each step, the distance between the threshold and me stretching. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember all the things I’d wanted to say.

A figure slipped in, a hood obscuring her face, as Caylus closed the door behind her. I stood facing her. She wore a simple half-white, half-black mask split down the middle, like the ones worn in the Ambriels during Catternon, meant to symbolize the split between the sea god, Duren, and his dark sister, the Night Captain.

“Princess Anthia,” came a hard voice from beneath the mask. She wore all black, her clothes thick and concealing. Leather gloves and heavy boots adorned her hands and feet, every inch of her obscured. Even her eyes were dark as obsidian.

This was it. This was happening.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“You may call me Diah.” She had the easy bearing that came with knowing your place at the top, and I longed to project the same.

“After the Night Captain?”

Diah nodded. “I represent the Ambriellan rebels. We were contacted by one of your people. I was told you wished to negotiate an alliance.”

“We do.” Despite the confidence I projected, inwardly, I analyzed everything. My posture, my expression, my tone. This was the beginning of Rhodaire’s salvation—or its end. I needed her to hear me, to trust me.

Diah chuckled. “The mighty Rhodaire seeks our help. Now that Illucia threatens your borders, your people. Where were your armies when the Ambriels fell? When Jindae fell? Where were your crows?”

“I—” I stopped. What explanation could I possibly give? My mother had sent minimal support to both kingdoms, and it hadn’t been enough. We’d opened our borders to Jin and Ambriellans fleeing Illucia, gave them food and shelter, but nothing more.

“You abandoned us,” Diah said. “Why should we not do the same to you?”

The nervous tension strung through me snapped, pooling sharp and cold in my chest. It struck me that I didn’t know how to do this. Talking to people, negotiating—this was Caliza’s world, not mine. What could I possibly say that would sway her?