The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles #3) - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,180

hundreds more like them, those who reveled in destruction. Rafe was right. Like the Komizar, they would not listen.

But I had to believe there were others who would—the clans pressed into service, and others who cowered and followed the Komizar because they had no other options. The thousands who were desperate for any kind of hope. They were the ones I had to take a chance on.

“Before the battle begins, I am going to make the offer, Rafe.”

“Did your father agree to this?”

“It doesn’t matter. I am regent.”

“The Lesser Kingdoms will never agree to it.”

“They will if Dalbreck leads the way. If we lose, it’s going to happen anyway. And if we win—it still has to happen. It’s the only way for us to move forward. Everyone needs hope, Rafe. I have to give it to them. It’s the right thing to do.”

He argued that there was no time to offer a settlement and the battlefield was not a place to negotiate one. There were tens of thousands in an army that would stretch for miles—I couldn’t speak to them all, and the Komizar wouldn’t listen. The moments before battle were charged with uncertainty.

“I know. But I’ll find a way. I’m just asking you to help me. Without Dalbeck in agreement, I will only be offering them false hope.”

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if I can make that promise, Lia. You’re asking me to break a treaty that’s centuries old.” He stepped closer, his anger receding. He brushed a wisp of hair from my cheek. “I know what else you plan on doing. I’m asking you one last time. Don’t. Please. For your sake.”

“We’ve already discussed this, Rafe. It has to be someone.”

His eyes sparked again, resisting—it wasn’t what he wanted to hear—but then our attention was drawn to an urgent knock at the door.

It was Aunt Bernette, breathless and holding her side. “Dalbreck troops!” she gasped. “They’ve been spotted! An hour out of Civica.”

My heart caught in my throat. “And the squads?” I asked.

Her eyes glistened with worry. “We don’t know.”

* * *

Rafe, Tavish, and I, and a dozen soldiers rode out to where the troops were marching toward Civica. We saw a brigade of maybe five hundred. Not the six thousand Rafe had requested.

“The rest may be farther back,” Tavish commented. Rafe said nothing.

When they spotted us riding toward them, the caravan halted. Rafe hailed the colonel and asked where the rest of the troops were. The colonel explained that General Draeger had already recalled them to Dalbreck before the colonel got Rafe’s message. I saw the heat glowing in Rafe’s eyes, but he moved on to the subject that at the moment, was more pressing—the princes and their squads.

“They’re here, Your Majesty, riding in the middle,” he said, nodding over his shoulder. “I’m afraid there were losses. We didn’t—”

My heels dug in, and my horse and I flew toward the middle of the caravan. When the Dalbretch blue gave way to Morrighese red, I jumped from my horse, looking for Bryn and Regan and calling their names.

I spotted five horses with large bundles tied up in blankets draped over their saddles. Bodies. My throat closed.

A hand touched my shoulder.

I whirled and faced a man I didn’t recognize, but who seemed to know me. “They’re alive, Your Highness. This way.”

He walked me back in the caravan. He identified himself as a surgeon and then described my brothers’ injuries. The brunt of the attack had been directed at them. “Their men fought valiantly, but as you can see, some lost their lives.”

“The attackers?”

“Dead, but it would have been the other way around for the whole Morrighese squad if the king hadn’t sent a message.”

We reached the wagon, and the surgeon hung back, letting me meet with my brothers alone. My temples pounded. They both lay on bedrolls, their ashen pallor lit with a greasy sheen, but when Regan saw me, his eyes brightened.

“Sister,” he said, and tried to sit up, then grimaced and fell back. I crawled up into the wagon beside them and held their hands to my cheeks. My tears ran through their fingers. They’re alive. Bryn, Regan. I whispered their names aloud as if to convince myself they were really here. Regan’s eyes were wet with tears too, but Bryn’s remained closed, a sleeping elixir keeping him in a dream world.

“We knew it was a lie,” Regan said. “We just didn’t know how deep it ran.”

“None of us did,”