With the acceptance of the Red Shield Tribe into the alliance, and the exile of Juhani, Liv fought to suppress a rising sense of excitement and confidence. All of the work she’d done before the voting even began was showing now, in a powerful voting block that was carrying through the things she wanted – no, needed – to happen.

But after the disaster of the conclave at Coral Bay, Liv couldn’t escape the lingering, gnawing doubt that at any moment things would begin to fall apart. That there would be some surprise, some cunning rival, such as Genevieve Arundell, who had secretly set a trap for her. The entire time, she’d been quietly bracing for disaster, and the fact that it hadn't come yet sent her mind lurching between a sort of relieved exultation, and an ever more desperate fear that disaster simply hadn’t yet revealed itself.

“The next question before the council is the judgement of Nighthawk Wind Dancer,” Elder Raija declared. “Though this man’s crimes seem obvious, who would speak against him? And who would speak in his defense?”

Liv could feel Wren’s eyes on her, from the audience, as a sort of pressure. While she permitted first Elder Veera, and then Keri’s father, Elder Taneli of House Asuris, and even, to her surprise, one of the Veitha elders, who had otherwise kept themselves removed from the discussion all to speak, Liv met Wren’s gaze repeatedly, with a calm nod meant to reassure her friend.

Not Soaring Eagle, but Walking Tree, rose to speak in Nighthawk’s favor, emphasizing the many years in which he had been a good chief for his people. But though the old woman’s words may have provoked sympathy for the man he had once been, she was unable to offer any real argument against the things he had done.

Still, as each argument was put forward, Liv found herself only more confident. When she finally raised her hand, it was only after all of the other speakers had run themselves dry, like an overdrawn well.

“You would speak for mercy, Livara of House Syvä?” Raija asked, giving her permission to speak with a nod.

“No,” Liv said. She had a glimpse of Wren’s panicked face in the crown, but continued anyway. “No, I won’t ask for mercy. I will ask for the judgement to be deferred until such time as Nighthawk is able to speak in his own defense.”

Raija glanced to Liv’s father and grandmother. “It is my understanding that he is currently frozen and asleep, secured by your own house’s magic.”

“That is correct,” Liv’s father answered.

The shrouded elder was silent and motionless for the space of several heartbeats. “Valtteri ka Auris, in your judgement, can Nighthawk Wind Dancer be safely woken? Or would he present a threat to this gathering?”

Liv’s father shook his head. “I would not recommend it.”

“I fear that we will be unable to risk allowing him to speak,” Raija said, turning back to Liv.

“Which is precisely why I would ask this council to set the judgment aside for the moment,” Liv said. “Specifically, until we have been able to study the manner by which Ractia enslaved Nighthawk Wind Dancer, and then remove her magic.”

“Your argument is that he has been enslaved?” Raija asked.

Liv nodded. “If you would permit it, I would ask his daughter be allowed to speak. Wren can explain why I believe this, based on her own firsthand experience.”

“It will be permitted,” Raija decided. “Wren Wind Dancer, descend and address the council.”

Liv returned to her seat, settling in next to Baron Crosbie.

“This is your plan?” Triss’s father murmured. “Do you believe we have the votes?”

“So long as Aira supports us, I know it,” Liv said. “And I think all we need to do is to give her a reasonable excuse.”

In the meanwhile, Wren had made her way down the steps and out into the light of the bonfire. She shifted her boots in the dirt for a moment, and Liv felt a momentary flash of guilt for forcing her friend to speak in front of such a large audience. But it was necessary: on this, Wren’s words would carry more weight than Liv’s.

The huntress visibly took a deep breath, gathering herself. “Valtteri,” she began. “You fought my father throughout most of the battle. Did you see what color his eyes were?”

“Red,” Liv’s father answered, without hesitation. “Unnatural red, like pools of thick blood."

Wren nodded, and looked into the crowd. “Inkeris. You saw my father hunting a wyrm. What color were his eyes?”

Keri stood, nearly as easily as he once had, and his voice was firm. “Red. Just as Valtteri describes.”

“For my entire life, up until the day Ractia returned, my father’s eyes were brown,” Wren said. “I wasn’t in the room when it happened; it was just him and the blood-letters, at the center of a rift. When the two of them walked out together, my father’s eyes were red, and he was completely different. I didn’t want to believe it, at first – I kept looking for the man who had raised me. But he didn’t seem to care about me at all, at that point – only about doing what Ractia wanted, whatever it cost him. I think she changed him that day. Enslaved him, somehow.”

Liv rose. “Which would force us to ask the question, is an enslaved man responsible for the actions he is forced to take?” She cast her gaze around the assembly - not only the elders on their benches, but the shadowed crowd, only partially lit by flickering torches. “I don’t have an answer for you. I can’t tell you what Ractia did to Nighthawk, because we haven’t had time to figure it out. If he’s executed tonight, we won’t ever get the time we need to find an answer. And what if he isn’t the only one? What if she enslaves someone else, and we need to understand how to break the magic? If we kill the only example we have, we’re giving up the chance to save someone else in the future.”

She looked over to Aira, quite deliberately. “My grandfather was born a slave. We call ourselves Vakansa – free people. Don’t we owe another slave at least the chance to speak about the things he was forced to do, before we judge him?”

When she saw the old woman nod, Liv knew that they’d saved Nighthawk’s life – at least for a while. Liv didn’t even need to count the hands as they came up: instead, she took a moment to exhale in relief. Wren had trusted her, and the possibility that she might not have been able to live up to that trust had been terrifying.

“You saved two lives today,” her grandmother said, leaning over from the next bench.

Liv nodded, looked down at her own hand, and found that it was trembling. “Only one thing left to do,” she murmured.

It was Keri’s father who rose as the first speaker, when the future of the alliance was broached. Liv had known that he would, and nothing he said was really a surprise. She tried not to take any of it personally.

“After we were attacked here, this council agreed that all of our houses would make war upon the risen Lady of Blood,” Ilmari began, pacing before the stone benches on which the elders sat. “It is impossible to know what war will bring, when we first begin to fight – even for those of House Däivi.” The old man’s smile made it plain that he was being humorous, and a ripple of subdued laughter made its way through the audience.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit NovelBin for the authentic version.

“As a result, I do not criticize the decision made to ally with Whitehill,” Ilmari continued. “Our warriors fought to keep the duchy safe from southern aggression, and in return, the knights and mages under Livara tär Valtteri more than repaid that aid. They fought with our men and women across Varuna, seizing no less than three rifts from Ractia’s forces before our final ascent up Nightfall Peak. I also do not question the right of the people of Whitehill to recognize Livara as their queen.”

“But I must speak against Houses Syvä and Däivi’s decision to join them.” Ilmari paused for a moment, looking out over the crowd. “We have, since our people first threw off the shackles of the Vædim, been ruled not by kings or queens, but by council. As Livara said, we named ourselves the Vakansa - and free people should not kneel. Not even to one of our own.”

“I have no doubt that you believe what you are doing is needed,” the old man said, turning back to address Liv directly. “But what you wish would break our people. The alliance has served its purpose. Ractia has fled. Let our soldiers rest. When the Lady of Blood reveals herself once again, the bonds we have forged in battle will not be forgotten. I have no doubt that we will call upon each other’s aid at that time, and that those calls will not be ignored.”

“But,” he concluded, “I will resist any attempt to bring our people under the control of the Kingdom of Whitehill. No matter how well-intentioned.”

If Liv had hoped that Ilmari’s words would be met with silence, she was disappointed. More applause than she was comfortable with came from the audience, and from among other elders, as well. She could have answered; she could have argued. But once again, she remained seated. People who actually have power can make others wait for them, Keri had told her. He’d been speaking about Aira tär Keria, at the time, but Liv intended to learn from the old woman’s example.

Instead, Liv’s great-uncle Eilis rose next. “It is fair to ask why our houses have made the decision we have,” he said. In the light of the fire, his blue hair looked black as night. “Our people have been engulfed in two crises. The first, and most obvious, has been the conflict with Ractia. And while that battle may have subsided for now, it is not over. I believe it would be a great mistake to believe we will never be forced to confront her again. So long as one of our would-be slave masters walks this world, our freedom will always be threatened.”

“But the other crisis is one that is more difficult to speak about,” Eilis continued. “It makes us uncomfortable, and so it is easier avoided. We would prefer not to speak, and to ignore it. But the truth which we all know, if we care to admit it, is that our numbers have been dwindling for a long time. We do not have children easily, and what children we have take nearly a century to mature. When we lose warriors to an erupting rift, or to a war, we do not recover those numbers as easily as Whitehill, Lucania, or Lendh ka Dakruim.”

“If Ractia returns in twenty years, Whitehill will have raised an entire new generation of soldiers and mages to fight her,” Eilis said, extending his arm to point at Liv, Baron Crosbie, and Master Grenfell. “We will be calling on the same warriors who were wounded fighting against her the first time. No Elden child born tomorrow will be old enough to go to battle in twenty years.”

“Ilmari ka Väinis said that even my house could not predict everything a war would bring. But I tell you now, it does not take the word of time to see one thing: our people are dwindling, and if nothing changes, we will die.” A great noise of anger rose from the crowd, but Liv’s great-uncle shouted them down.

“If nothing changes! For centuries we have made matches to preserve our Vædic blood, carefully matching our sons and daughters to strengthen those lineages. But the greatest talent of this generation of youth is sitting right there, and she is half human!”

Once again, Liv could feel every eye in the assembly on her, but she refused to quail or cower before the attention.

“You want to know why we would join ourselves to Whitehill?” Eilis shouted. “Because it gives us a hope! Choosing to remain as we are, to keep doing what we have been doing, is choosing a slow death. Let us stop hiding from the rest of the world, obsessing over our bloodlines and who is worthy to breed, and make something new! Do you know how many half-human children are in Al’Fenthia right now?”

He waited only a moment before turning to Aira.

“Thirty-two,” the old woman answered, loudly enough for the entire assembly to hear.

“Thirty two,” Eilis repeated. “Do any of our great houses, with their immaculate bloodlines, have thirty-two children at the moment?” Again, he paused, but rather than silence, the amphitheater was filled with muttering. “Yes, I choose to make a change. I choose to try something, anything, rather than ignore what is coming. You can choose to come with us, or be left behind.” And with that, Liv’s great-uncle took his seat once again.

Veera of Soltheris rose next.

“This is nothing but a blatant move to consolidate power,” the elder began, her voice rising before she’d even finished her first sentence. “We need to unite against a common enemy, so that this girl can rule us?” Her face twisted into a scowl. “I say no. And what will you do? Force us? Enslave us, just like the Vædim did? Go on and live up to your title, Lady of Winter. But I would rather die killing a tyrant than be a slave.”

Liv let the older woman stand there for a moment, practically quivering with rage, before she stood. “I don’t intend to make you a slave, Elder,” she began.

“A subject, then – the same thing.”

“Is it?” Liv asked. “I’ve been a subject of one king or another all my life, and I don’t think it is. I saw the difference between a king and a tyrant. I was standing right where you are now, Veera, and I fought back. So what makes you think I would turn into exactly what I stood against?”

She took a deep breath, and continued. “I’m in a position that none of you, not a single person here, has ever experienced. I wasn’t raised among our people. I didn’t meet my father or my grandparents until I was nearly grown. I am both one of the Vakansa, and an outsider, all at once. And as a result, I see you – perhaps more clearly than you see yourselves. What I see is that so many of you are afraid.”

There were shouts of anger from the audience, but she continued. “You’re afraid to change, but you’re also afraid that if you stay the same, it will be the death of you. You’re afraid of Ractia, but you’re also afraid to truly unite against her. You’re afraid to be enslaved, but you’re also afraid to become like the Vædim.”

“At least some of you knew what was on that ring,” Liv shouted, flinging her arm up to point into the northern sky, where the great ring shone over their heads. “But I’ve never seen any of you make use of it, other than Elder Aira, once. How many people’s lives could have been saved by those healing enchantments, and yet you won’t touch them? How much could be learned in the rifts, but you only cull what comes out?”

“I think you’re terrified to use anything the Vædim left behind,” she went on. “You want to know what I intend? I’ll tell you, then. I want to see our cities linked by waystones, from Kelthelis to Whitehill, from Soltheris to Varuna. I want to see healers in every city who can use the enchantments the old gods left behind. I want to see a college where anyone – Eld, Human, or Red Shield – can learn how to use magic. I want to see a great council, made up of elders, barons, and chiefs, where everyone in this alliance can have a voice.”

“And when Ractia does come back,” Liv said, “or when we finally track her down in whatever fastness she’s hidden herself away, I want soldiers from all across this alliance, who’ve trained together, who trust each other in battle, to fall on her and end her forever.”

“The way we do that,” Liv told them, looking out into the crowd of faces, only dimly lit by flickering firelight, “is not to tear each other apart. It is to build something together. You can either join us, or you can stand aside. No, I won’t force any of you. But I do invite you.”

When she finished, Liv realized that she was shaking with the effort of it, of trying to paint a picture for them with only words. She remained standing, but looked to Elder Raija.

“Those who would make the alliance permanent,” the veiled woman called, “show us your hands.”

It was the ones who Liv knew were behind her who raised their hands first: her great uncle Eilis, and the two elders with him. Sakari and the rest of the Iravata, along with Kaija, her father, and her grandmother. Raija herself, and Eliel of House Asuris, along with Baron Crosbie and Master Grenfell, Ghveris and then, after a moment, both Soaring Eagle and Walking Tree.

For a long moment, she didn’t know whether Aira would stand. Was this a step too far?

With a great groan, the old woman levered herself to her feet, and then swatted Elder Severi at her side so that he stood, as well. Immediately, Vilja of House Isakki joined them, and then Marttis of the Esteri.

When all was said and done, only the elders of Mountain Home and Soltheris remained seated, with their hands lowered. Liv looked at Keri’s father, and the old man met her eyes.

“Please,” she whispered. “For Keri.”

Ilmari ka Väinis stood, crossed to the bench where Veera of House Kalleis sat, and offered her his arm. Together, with the other four elders of their houses clustered about them, they quietly left the amphitheater.

Liv watched them go, unable to escape the fear that, in trying to save her people, she had also irrevocably broken them.