Shouting at Zarek did nothing but ruin my throat and coat my vision in frustrated tears. My pleas and curses could change nothing, and not even Basson's apologies and soothing words could rectify the injustice I'd come back to. So I sat slumped and defeated at the table of Ishren's dining hall, staring at the heaps of familiar dishes laid out in front of me. Grittlecakes and glazed strawberries, biscuits and gravy, smoked salmon surrounded by an array of vegetables. It was a taste of home, one I'm sure was meant to be Basson's final surprise, a thoughtful conclusion to his attempt at bonding. It might have worked, I might have sat down and ate with his family, maybe even tried to enjoy myself, but now all I hungered for was an outlet, a safe way to unleash all the anger I carried inside. Basson's children discussed their plan of action, their voices fighting for purchase while I did my best to remain composed, the last few minutes playing in my head on a loop.
"Harlow is human!" I cried out.
"He's a soldier," Zarek retorted without an ounce of sympathy. "You should be honored; Prodia finally provided something useful."
"He could die!" I gripped at my racing heart, realizing how true that statement was, that there was a very real chance he could already be dead.
"Son." Basson called for Zarek's attention. "Harlow was not our soldier to send. How could you be so careless?"
Zarek frowned, stubborn pride just barely covering the bruise of his father's disapproval. "Illithor isn't here, and neither were you. I made a choice to send who we had instead of waiting. The human could have said no—" He looked at me. "He went willingly."
I had only balled my hands into tight fists, unwilling to display anything other than the righteous anger of a human princess looking out for her own. I hid how much that revelation had wounded me.
Of course he went willingly.
Harlow would never refuse an order, not when innocent people were in need of help, or if it meant letting a comrade enter battle alone. I've always known this— why did his rigid principles make me so angry now? I ground my teeth, already knowing the shameful answer.
It was because the people he left to protect were not his own, they were devils, and Sayge was not truly his comrade. Still, he would fight for their sake, die for their sake, while I would let them all burn to stay by his side.
I let the thought burn through me, turning to Basson, who watched me from a distance. "Bring him back," I begged, not caring how it looked, allowing him to see the desperate need that consumed me. My time with Ishren's king taught me many things. His opposition to war and murder, his blatant refusal to use his magic, his need to be different from his predecessors—but it also taught me that for whatever odd reason—he wanted to earn my trust. I tugged on that part of him without shame. "Please Basson...you're powerful, you could do it easily."
Basson softened with obvious sympathy, but waging war beneath it was a regretful truth. "I am sorry...but maintaining the ward over the palace requires a certain peace of mind and mental stability. If I'm put in a position where I need to expel power, the ward could waver and drop."
"You would rather protect an empty palace than your people?"
Basson drew in a sorrowful breath. "Not exactly."
Folen came to Basson's side. "Dear child, we have no way of knowing if this attack is isolated or if we should expect more. We mustn't act rashly."
I seethed. "So, you do nothing?"
"Not nothing," Basson assured. "My children evacuate the city, including Harlow, and I will work on finding a peaceful solution to this mess."
"Yes," Folen added, "and you and Aramel will greet the people of Mylobel tomorrow as planned."
