. . . and I did not want to miss the opportunity of inviting you to join that council.”
To rebuild Koth? Lizzan sighed. “What would it be rebuilt as?”
“What it was always meant to be . . . though in truth.”
Without Varrin’s lies. “Did you already ask Aerax?”
Lady Junica gave her a wry look. “Must I repeat his answer?”
“Was it more than a grunt of refusal?”
“Not much,” the councilor laughed. “Though he did say that Koth should stop pretending to be what it is not. And I did not even truly know what that meant.”
Lizzan shrugged. “Merely that Koth is not what it purports to be. The idea of Koth, where one might be anything one chooses to be, is a fine one. But simply saying it is true does not make it so. Always, it is a goal to be worked toward—with the full understanding that never will it be true. That there will always be someone who is working hard but still not achieving all they wish. So becoming what Koth wants to be is a struggle that is never finished.”
“But it is a struggle worth the effort. And so yours is a voice we will need on the council.”
“It is not,” said Lizzan. “Because I said this to you, and you listened. And my story will be told over and over. But there are so many in Koth to whom no one listens. Begin with my mother, if you must, for she knows what it is to be the one who is ignored and forgotten and shunned. But there are many others whom Koth always forgets. Add those voices to your council, so they will be heard, too. For I merely need to speak to you, and you hear me, and take my voice into consideration. So I do not need to be on a council.”
Lady Junica sighed. “So you also refuse?”
“I do. Though it does not mean that I’m abandoning Koth or her people. Always I would protect them. But Koth has left me with scars, and I am not full certain I wish to return to its arms until I see that true change is made . . . or if instead everyone will cling to the false image of Koth so hard that all will be the same.”
Though she sighed again, Lady Junica nodded. “I will fight to see that it is not.”
“And I look forward to seeing what you make of it.” She hugged the woman. “Safe journey to you.”
She continued on, beyond what remained of the walled camp, toward the camp the alliance had made. They would stay here until Riasa and her warriors arrived, but two of the Parsatheans were heading out in the morning with messages for their queen, and a few warriors had already taken to their beds. But she found Seri, Ardyl, and Kelir still at the fire, and joined them.
“The lesson is not yet finished?”
Ardyl gestured deeper into the forest. “We saw something afire over there not long ago.”
But they must be returning, for Caeb trotted out of the shadows and headed for Lizzan, rubbing his face to hers.
“Were you singed again?” she asked, and he gave her a look of sheer disdain before settling in at her side. With a laugh, she scratched his ruff, fingers slipping across the silver chain looping his thick neck.
At the other side of the fire, Seri held the stem of a small wildflower pinched between her fingers. As Lizzan watched, the petals withered and Seri tossed it to the ground.
“Now me,” Kelir said, holding out his hand to her.
Stubbornly, she shook her head.
“You hold death in your hand every time you hold your sword,” he told her. “But you do not fear that.”
“Because I know how to use it,” she said to him.
“Through practice,” he pointed out.
“Through practice,” she agreed. “And how many times did I slip? But a slip with a sword is only a cut. A slip now, and I kill my brother. A kiss now, and I kill . . .”
She waved toward the forest, and Lizzan’s heart leapt as it always did when her gaze found Aerax. Always she saw her husband first, though Tyzen and Preter walked ahead of him. On a sweet kiss of greeting, Aerax settled beside her.
“How go the lessons?” she asked him, and though Aerax grinned, Preter groaned in despair and dropped next to Ardyl.
“We will not survive the journey to the northlands,” the monk declared.