Page 148 of Onyx Cage: Volume II
For Rowan. One I had not given my wife in the wake of all the other things that had gone wrong because of our alliance and my time in Lochlann.
I hadn’t seen the need to list out every casualty that had resulted from our union.
Rowan’s features fell. Her brow furrowed as she processed the information, glancing between the three of us before her expression shifted to one of accusation.
“Well, we’re working on that,” I assured her truthfully.
“How?” she asked flatly.
That was a fair enough question, if not a complicated one. The last thing I wanted was to spend a rare private dinner enmired in the endless politics that may or may not save us from Iiro’s tyranny, but I also didn’t want to dismiss her question.
“Slowly,” I answered as simply as I could. “And carefully. We’re trying to find diplomatic solutions, and if not…” I trailed off, allowing her to put the pieces together.
It didn’t take her long.
“And if not, there will be war.” Her voice came out hollow.
I nodded, a single, reluctant dip of my chin. Though I would do everything in my power to maneuver away from an outright conflict, it was only a matter of time before Iiro refused to tolerate the only two clans denying his rule.
Rowan furrowed her brow, pulling her lip thoughtfully between her teeth.
“How would that work,” she asked me slowly. “With your father supporting him?”
That was also a fair question, one I wanted to consider even less. Our alliance with Arès would not supersede a war fought for a king we had actively put on the throne. Not in my father’s eyes, nor those of the other clans.
That was part of why Arès was so furious, and rightfully so.
Taras's words cut through the silence, lending voice to the thoughts that had been haunting us since learning that my father signed the storms-damned petition.
“It’s an unlikely outcome, given the odds, because…Bear would have no choice but to fight for Iiro.”
Rowan looked stricken, her lips parting in horror.
The once lively room fell completely silent, the reality of war—and being forced to fight on the wrong side—hanging over our heads like an executioner’s axe.
I glanced from my cousin’s grim expression to his wife’s trembling hand before looking back at my lemmikki.
She stared down at her plate, half-heartedly bringing her fork to her lips when I knew she had lost all desire to eat.
I placed a hand on hers, silently offering comfort where words were failing. There were no promises I could make her right now, none I could offer to Mila or Taras, either. Not yet, anyway. But I hadn’t spent a lifetime cautiously circumventing my father’s waning sanity only to cave to his worst decision yet. I would find a way.
As angry as Arès was, we were already working together on that front.
Before I could decide how much of that to divulge in present company, Mila dropped her fork with a delicate clatter.
“All right.” She said the words like a declaration, squaring her shoulders. “I hereby ban further discussion of politics this evening.”
Though her tone was light, I didn’t miss the shadows that darkened her eyes as she suggested we move our party to the sauna, joking about arseprints in the snow.
My mind drifted back to the cabin and Dmitriy. Taras's eyes met mine, and I knew he had gone to that same place.
I wondered if Dmitriy had known that would become his legacy, helping us forget the bleakness of our lives and the blood on our hands by sticking our arses into the storms-damned snow.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Though I managed to make no real progress in the area of removing Iiro from his tenuous hold on the throne, the next week was not without mercies.
Namely, that my father appeared to have temporarily forgotten about both his recent vendetta against our people and Rowan’s existence, while his wife was too busy hiding out in her rooms to remind him. I had a small suspicion that Taisiya was helping that process along, since by all reports, my stepmother hadn’t even emerged for tea since Rowan’s return to Bear.