with Aron.”
“You will not.” Dari’s stallion struggled against his lead as she leaned forward, her eyes wide. “You can’t hold a sword to defend yourself—it would be suicide for you to ride in the vanguard.”
“Nic,” Lord Cobb said, turning his mount to face Nic. “Prince Mab. It would be better for you to remain with your wife and Lord Ross and their Guard contingent. The more blades to protect you, the better.”
“I’m not asking for permission or opinions in this matter.” Nic spoke as calmly and forcefully as he had when he asked Lord Ross to lead them. Fresh wisps of red escaped his shoulders and neck, wreathing him in a regal light. “My place is with Aron, just as Dari’s is with her grandfather.”
Aron tightened his grip on Tek’s reins to hold her still. He wanted to argue, too, but Nic no longer sounded like his friend and peer. Nic was speaking as a man with the full measure of the Mab graal guiding his actions, as a dynast heir and lord—and as Eyrie’s next king.
Dari sat back, her mouth open. Shock moved to worry on her pretty face, then to outright fear.
“I’m certain,” Nic told her, his tone much more gentle. “I would never leave your side if I didn’t know it was necessary.” He lifted his fingers and sent her a kiss on the breeze.
Lord Ross tilted his head forward, acknowledging his future king’s wishes with, “Prince Mab.”
Lord Cobb did the same, and the matter seemed to be settled for everyone but Dari. Her free hand drifted to her belly, as if she might be protecting herself from a blow, or holding back a powerful bunch of curses. Aron sensed her pain and uncertainty like dark ripples moving across his brow and chest, and when she looked at him, he could tell Dari wanted him to reason with Nic.
Aron’s insides clenched, but he couldn’t bring himself to argue with Nic, not even for Dari. The red haze around Nic grew by the moment. Now that Aron had watched the force of Nic’s graal begin to show itself, and felt how Nic’s mind-talent fueled his own, he knew he wouldn’t challenge Nic. It wouldn’t have been right, not for Nic or the battle or Eyrie—though Aron wasn’t at all certain what would have been right for Dari.
Her look of frustration and betrayal when Aron refused to speak crushed something deep in Aron’s heart. He turned his face away from her, but he heard her clearly enough when she said, “You keep him safe. Aron, you owe me that. You keep my husband alive. Promise me.”
The vow rose to Aron’s lips, but he didn’t speak it.
Brother help him, he wanted to. He needed to promise Dari what she wanted so badly that tears almost found a way to his cheeks—but he didn’t. He had already condemned Nic in such a fashion once, to stay alive when death should have claimed him. He wouldn’t agree to do that again, not to Nic, or anyone.
“Aron,” Dari cried, and Aron knew she thought he was refusing out of retribution or spite, or worse yet, jealousy and a wish that Nic wouldn’t survive the battle. Her tone made him sick, but he had to believe she would reason through his actions at some later time, when the world was calmer and more forgiving.
“Steady,” Snakekiller said, and Aron thought at first she was speaking to him.
When he raised his head, determined to survive Dari’s bitter gaze, Lord Ross had the lead of Dari’s stallion. Her features seemed blurry and indistinct, and Aron knew only Nic’s prohibition about shifting to her Stregan form was keeping her from becoming a giant, furious dragon.
Lord Ross gently pulled Dari away with him as he went to assume the head position in his riding column, Nic stood below Aron, trembling.
“Steady,” Snakekiller said again, and this time Aron realized she was comforting Nic.
Nic swayed, and used Tek’s massive, scaled flank for support. His breath left him in quick whistles, and his graal flickered around him as Aron had seen it do before a fit, or in those frightening, dark times when Nic drifted between life and death afterward. It was gut-kicking to watch Nic racked with agony and dying, yet unable to cross over to the next life because of the damage done by Aron’s first graal command.
Aron placed a hand on Nic’s shoulder. He imagined his own energy, sapphire-blue and soothing, flowing down his arms and through his fingertips.