First came the people of Velle, answering the call of the whisper networks and the posters designed by Cleo, which hung in every apothecary, laundry, seamstress shop, and bakery.
Second came clergy members from Silas’s tenure in the Church. These were the folk from outside the city who had remained faithful despite their denied promotions, who were bolstered by the New Maiden’s resurrection and Silas’s new position of power. They embraced the Royal Chaplain with kisses on weathered cheeks, and fell to their knees to press their foreheads to the hem of the New Maiden’s gown fussing over her hair and hands and smile. Their robes were a nearly translucent white, so well-worn that the fabric hung from their shoulders like butterfly wings waiting to be unfurled.
Next came the pragmatists, an eclectic mass from all corners of the country who had not been seduced by the Second Son’s goading. Elodie’s father was among them, bringing with him a community of farmers whose embittered reactions to the embargo made them excellent conduits of anger. The New Maiden especially liked Duke Antony, a humble, funny man who proposed, somewhat seriously, that they ought to skewer the whole invading force with pitchforks.
“You ever try to lift a barrel of hay?” he asked Sabine, who admitted she had not. “Those prongs have quite a bit of power.”
Then came the descendants of the New Maiden’s Favoreds, some from beyond Velle’s borders. Petra’s and Hera’s family lines arrived together, a gaggle of cousins who marched forward in lockstep—their actions, words, and expressions mirror images of one another. Petra’s family of healers had brought with them tinctures and salves and would handle all triage and injuries garnered in warfare. Hera’s family were hunters, bringing with them preserved meats to keep the army well-nourished and energized throughout the uncertainty.
Beck’s descendant Envin, the woman from the Lower Banks, brought with her not only others in her line but also the entire fleet of attendants from the New Maiden’s pilgrimage site, who embraced Sabine, Katrynn, and Brianne warmly.
“It is an honor to fight with you, Maiden,” Envin said. “As She welcomed Beck with open arms, so, too, do we commit to your battle. We will station ourselves wherever you need us, will organize and build and barter. Employ us how you will.”
Genevar returned, too, with cousins in the line descended from Ruti. “I have spent my life protecting the New Maiden’s secrets,” the old woman said. “I would not miss my chance to defend her legacy, too.”
Theo’s descendants were carpenters, who set to work building a barricade at the city’s western gate in hopes of deterring the invading army.
Mol’s descendants were fighters, and for that Sabine was especially grateful. While Maxine had enlisted a handful of Loyalists to join the queen and the New Maiden, she had banished even more of them as punishment for their affiliation with the Second Son. So Mol’s descendants were a blessing, with their gunpowder and their axes as well as an ox-drawn carriage towing a cannon.
“The New Maiden need only ask, and we are at Her service,” one of Mol’s great-grand nephews said, eyes twinkling with the same particular mischief Artur possessed. Sabine’s brother was instantly drawn to their camp, refining his homemade explosives under the watchful eye of experts who had been blowing things up for centuries.
There were no descendants of Sebastien. He had never invested in his own filial line.
All in all, they had assembled nearly one thousand people. Upon first hearing the number, Sabine’s heart leapt. There was a time when she could not have fathomed even ten people devoted to her defense, let alone one hundred times that. But one look at Elodie’s and Maxine’s expressions told her that the news she found so joyous was, in reality, a tragedy.
“Velle’s army used to outfit ten thousand men,” Maxine said, pounding her fist against the glossy wooden table of the War Room. “The Republics’ population is in the hundred thousands. There’s no way we can overpower them.” She hung her head in her hands.
“Do we need to overpower them?” Katrynn asked, timidly.
“We most certainly do need to overpower them,” Maxine said, eyes alight. “We want to win, don’t we?”
“Well,” Sabine said carefully, “what does it mean to win?”
“We win if the city does not fall,” Elodie said. “If we can outlast them and withstand their attacks. If we can prove that our core is stronger than outside threats. We must show them that our army will not lie down at the first sign of danger.”
But Maxine shook her head. “We won’t be able to hold them back,” she said, referring to their own paltry numbers. “We can stall them, but we cannot stop them.”
“If that’s the case,” Cleo said skeptically, “what’s the point of fighting at all?” Brianne nodded in agreement. Silas was silent.
“The point is to make them think they’ve won,” Sabine said, quietly with trepidation. “It’s exactly what they’ll expect. They do not believe that we can withstand their brute force, so we prove them right. Let the barricade fall, let the army enter the city, make them believe that they have bested us.”
“And then what?” Elodie looked at her incredulously.
“We follow His instruction,” Sabine said. All seven pairs of eyes stared at her as though she’d lost her mind. “We call the moths to us—and then we set them ablaze.”
“We cut off the alleyways,” Maxine said, nodding with understanding. “We direct them toward a place of our choosing, which we’ve rigged with explosives.” She turned to Artur. “How’s that going, by the way?”
Sabine’s brother’s eyes lit up. “Mol’s descendants are experts. We have everything we need.”
“Excellent.” Maxine nodded tersely. “So we direct them toward a district, and then… boom.” She paused, the room hanging on every word. “Some will get caught in the destruction. The others will be frightened and retreat, while my army is safely stowed far from the blast. It’s risky, but it’s all we have.” She met Sabine’s eyes with a nod of gratitude before turning toward Elodie. “Now—which neighborhood do we sacrifice?”
The queen’s face paled. Elodie, who had worked so hard to do right by her people, would never be able to offer up one of her city’s districts. It would tear at her heart, knowing that she had made yet another decision that harmed the people she had sworn to serve.
“Harborside,” the New Maiden answered for her. “We lead the troops toward the water.” Elodie opened her mouth to protest, but Sabine continued to speak. “The infrastructure is already faulty, and the harbor itself is the farthest point from the rest of the city—the destruction will be isolated. Besides,” she said softly, “my neighbors have aligned themselves with the New Maiden in the highest numbers. It will make it easier to ensure that all civilians have been evacuated.”
Her stomach squirmed even as the rest of the group agreed. It felt like a betrayal of her community, to recommend the destruction of their homes. But she could see no other way to make the greatest impact with the fewest casualties. Once the battle had ended, she would rebuild Harborside better than before, just as the New Maiden had revitalized the Lower Banks once upon a time.
Elodie, who still looked pained, turned to Katrynn and Artur for confirmation before agreeing. “All right,” the queen said, once the Anders siblings had acquiesced. “If we must.”
“Only as a last resort,” Maxine chimed in. “Perhaps our barricade will be sufficient enough to restrain them.” But she did not sound convinced. “Those on the front lines will take a defensive approach. We’ll arm them with explosives and take hostage anyone who tries to fight against us on the inside.”
“Except for Tal.” Sabine knew that he would find a way beyond their barricade, no matter how carefully they protected the perimeter. It was not a question of if she would come face-to-face with the Second Son’s prophet, but when. “If you see him, do not harm him.” She swallowed resolutely. “He is mine.”
30
The bells began at sunrise. Elodie, who had spent the entire night at the hazy edge of sleep, was on her feet in seconds. She shrugged on a dressing gown and raced to the top of the east tower, the better to witness the invasion that was heading for the city below.
The Republics’ army crawled toward Velle’s capital like an endless line of ants, the soldiers’ uniforms black as midnight, swords glittering silver at their sides. They marched two by two, kept in line by commanders on horseback. From her height, Elodie could not make out the faces of the commanders, although she caught a glint of bright red hair from beneath a black cap.
Their numbers were impossibly mismatched. Elodie’s scrappy legion stood no chance against the rigid, well-trained force at their door. Their only true asset was the element of surprise in their defense plan. Still, she was not convinced it would be enough.
The bells continued to toll. An attendant from the Lower Banks had been stationed in the bell tower at the city’s center to ring the alarm at the first sign of invasion. Across the city, their makeshift army would be moving into place. The time for strategizing had ended. Now Elodie could only hope their execution would be enough.
Dizzy from the height and the impending battle, Elodie retreated from the tower. The corridors bustled with activity, servants hurrying to their own stations, as Elodie returned to her rooms to dress. She pulled on a basic white frock, signaling her loyalty to the Maiden, and then ran for the War Room. The rest of her council was already there, bleary eyed and frightened. They were all so young, awaiting a ruthless enemy.
“It is time,” Maxine said, her face set. “Majesty?”
