They lose. If the wards are breached, there’s no way to estimate the death toll. Every Navarrian civilian between the border and the wardstone’s natural limitations will be in mortal danger.

“Silver One?”

“I’m fine.” But I’m not.

“If you’ve already seen the outcome, then what the hell do you expect us to do about it?” Ulices challenges, lifting his hands as he shrugs.

My head turns in his direction, but I bite my tongue before I can reply that he obviously expects us to help.

“Change the outcome by fighting at our side.” Melgren frowns like he’s being forced to swallow rotten fruit. “In the battle I see, none of you are there.” He glances at Xaden.

“And we’re not going to be.” Ulices shakes his head. “We don’t fly for you.”

No, we fly for… Wait, who do we fly for? Not just Aretia, or even Tyrrendor. And if we’re willing to fight to defend the civilians of Poromiel, why wouldn’t we fight to defend Navarrians, too?

“No, but you do fly for the Empyrean,” Mom interjects. “Dragonkind won’t stand aside if the hatching grounds in the Vale are compromised.”

“Your mother is presumptuous to speak on behalf of dragonkind,” Tairn mutters.

“If the hatching grounds are compromised. Losing one outpost won’t take down the entire system, and half your riot left with us,” I remind her.

“And you’re proud of that? What you caused may very well be the reason we lose this battle!” the box-framed captain beside Mom snarls, lifting his shortsword in my direction.

I flip my dagger, pinching the tip in readiness to throw, but shadows jolt forward, knocking the sword from the captain’s hand and putting him on his ass.

Xaden clicks his tongue and wiggles his pointer finger. “No, no. I’d hate to lose the spirit of civility, wouldn’t you? We were all getting along so nicely.”

“Godsdamned traitor,” the captain spits out, fumbling for his sword before finding his feet. “Malek will meet you for your crimes.”

Mom sheathes a dagger I never saw her draw, her focus flicking between the captain and Xaden.

“Tried that. He didn’t want me—or any of us, remember?” Xaden scratches his relic with his empty hand.

“Enough,” Melgren shouts. “I don’t expect you to ally yourself with us for nothing. Fight for us at Samara, and I have it on King Tauri’s word that we will respect the independence of your riot…and the city you’ve taken refuge in.”

The breath freezes in my lungs. “Does he know about Aretia?”

“I can’t tell.”

“We will not conscript your citizens for our army, nor will we drag your people into a border war you have no chance of winning.” Melgren shrugs.

“If you truly thought that, you would have invaded the second we left.” Mira sounds like she’s bored. “Unless you saw the battle didn’t go your way.”

“This is the only offer.” Melgren ignores Mira, focusing on Ulices. “If you are not our allies, then you are our enemies.”

Allies. That’s the logical answer.

“I think we’ll sit this one out,” Ulices says dismissively, as though he’s rejecting an offer of tea. “A kingdom who never comes to the aid of others doesn’t deserve aid in their time of need. Personally, I think you all deserve whatever the dark wielders do to you.”

I blink, everything in my body rebelling at the sentiment that civilians deserve to die because their leadership failed them, no matter who that leadership is.

“And you speak for your rebellion?” Melgren’s attention slides to Xaden. “Or does the heir apparent?”

Xaden doesn’t rise to the bait, nor does he argue against Ulices’s statement. But he’s going to, right?

The color drains from Mom’s face as she looks between Mira and me, past us, and for the first time in my life, I see her wobble, like someone has knocked her off her center.

Bootsteps sound behind me, but I can’t tear my gaze away from the emotions crossing Mom’s face in rapid succession long enough to look to see who it is, and honestly, I don’t need to.

“We rule by committee,” Brennan announces, his arm brushing mine as he stops between Mira and me. “And I think I’m safe in speaking for the quorum when I say that we do not defend kingdoms who sacrifice neighboring civilians”— his head turns toward Mom, and her eyes bulge—“let alone their own children so they can hide safely behind their wards. You will not escape the suffering you’ve forced the rest of the Continent to endure.”

“Brennan?” Mom whispers, and the urge to cross the line and hold her upright is almost too strong to fight.

“For fuck’s sake, Brennan,” Mira whispers.

“When all three of your children stand against you, perhaps the time has come for self-reflection. This meeting is officially over,” Brennan states, his gaze locked on our mother. “Your hatching grounds are not in danger, and our riot has their own to protect now.” He places his hand over his heart. “I mean this with every fiber of my body. We deny your offer of peace and happily accept war, since it sounds like you won’t survive another two weeks to fight it.” He pivots and walks away, leaving our mother to stare slack-jawed at his retreating back.

Is that all there is to it? With Suri and Kylynn in the woods behind us, the Assembly truly has a quorum, but Xaden hasn’t spoken.

“Right.” Xaden nods, tension straining the muscles of his neck. “If I were you, I’d try calling on the allies who helped win the Great War in the first place— oh, wait. You cut off contact with them centuries ago. I suppose this really is farewell.”

I glance up at him and quickly school my features to mask my surprise. They’re really going to leave them to die. We are going to leave them to die.

Wrath shines in Melgren’s narrowed eyes. “We’re done here. Do what you need to say goodbye,” he says to my mother before leaving the field, walking toward the trees as Codagh moves with him, slinking backward and baring his teeth in warning for anyone foolish enough to attack his rider’s back.

All the Navarrian riders beside Mom follow.

“Brennan,” Mom whispers again, her shoulders folding inward as she covers her mouth with her hand. Her eyes water, and the pain I see there makes me look away.

Our riders make quick work of mounting, leaving only Xaden, Mira, and me on the field.

“Why did you want to see Violet and Mira?” Xaden asks, his tone devoid of sympathy.

“He’s alive?” Mom asks Mira, her voice faint in what I think has to be shock.

“Obviously,” she replies, folding her arms.

Mom’s gaze shifts to me, like I’m going to give her a different answer. “He’s the one who mended me after I took a venin blade in my side.”

Her eyes sharpen. “You’ve known for months?”

“It’s appalling to be left in the dark, isn’t it, Mom?” Mira snaps. “To feel lied to, perhaps even betrayed, by your own family no less.”

“Mira,” I chastise.

“She sacrificed you, too, Violet,” Mira reminds me. “Maybe she put you into the Riders Quadrant to save you from being killed as a scribe once you learned the truth, or maybe she did it to kill you before you could learn the truth and tear her precious war college to the ground”—she glances sideways at me—“which you did, if you remember.”

Mom straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, pulling herself together with astonishing, enviable speed. “I need a word with my daughters,” she says to Xaden.