Free Lonen's War by Jeffe Kennedy

mask,” High Priestess Febe said, her
featureless mask making the order resonate with hollow echoes. “I
discussed this eventuality in a general sense with the folcwita of
the council once news came of the devastating losses of our
priestesses. The Trom are ancient guardians who can be summoned in
times of extreme need. Many are the cautions against calling on
them lightly, as the price they demand is high. That’s all any of
you need to know.”
    “What is the price?” If Oria hadn’t
squandered so much time not learning hwil , she wouldn’t be
scrambling to assimilate all of this new information. She’d be
privy to the temple’s sacred knowledge.
    “ I know some and will share that with
you.”
    “The specifics may be shared only with those
who have achieved hwil . The inherent power is far too
dangerous otherwise.” High Priestess Febe nodded, several of the
priests and priestesses echoing the gesture knowingly. “Suffice to
say that the price is different every time, chosen to suit the time
and place. I urge we look at every option before we choose this,
only at the hour of extreme need.”
    “Aren’t we there already?” Folcwita Lapo
demanded. “Look around you!”
    “No,” Captain Ercole said quietly. “Not if
we surrender.”
    They all looked expectantly at Oria.
    “ Don’t give them more opportunity to
argue. You are queen for the moment.”
    “Princess Oria, you are inexperienced,
fragile by your own admission, have no mask, and can’t know what a
grave step—”
    Oria cut the folcwita off, happy to also
shut down the frustrated rage he sent her way. “I am also the royal
princess and, in the absence of anyone who outranks me, my word is
law. Captain Ercole—how do we go about offering surrender?”
    Folcwita threw up his hands. “Without my
help, I can tell you that. I’m not eager to die.”
    “We need an emissary,” Priestess Febe said.
“Someone brave enough to approach the enemy within the walls, to
make the offer to discuss terms. The folcwita is correct—the risk
of death is high. They may not wish to listen. The Destrye are a
bloodthirsty and barbaric people, who live to destroy. It’s
entirely possible they won’t withdraw until they’ve slaughtered
every one of us.”
    Captain Ercole nodded. “I will do it.”
    “No.” Oria smiled at him. If they survived,
she’d remember his stalwart loyalty and courage. “We need you to
continue to lead the guard. I will do it. They won’t kill a woman
under flag of surrender.”
    The group exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Finally, Captain Ercole said, “Princess—we believe they won’t
hesitate. They murdered the priestesses on the walls in cold
blood.”
    But not her. She wears no mask. She isn’t
one of them. “They will recognize me as no priestess. I have
the the best chance of speaking to them of any of us.”
    “It’s too great a risk, Oria,” Priestess
Febe said in a gentle, insistent tone. “You may be no sorceress and
perhaps can never take the throne, but we cannot afford to squander
your potential, just in case.”
    Oria shook her head, pressing her lips
against the regret. “Such is the fate of a figurehead.” One about
to collapse at that. “You have Queen Rhianna. She is strong and
will recover. Perhaps my brothers yet live. It’s worth the risk to
my small life to perhaps get them back and save what we can of Bára
and her people. To protect the magic well beneath the city, as is
our sacred legacy.”
    A short silence settled over the room, no
one mustering an argument against her logic.
    “Prepare a horse for me, dress it in white
tack. White is for surrender, yes, Captain?”
    He nodded unhappily, but with respect in his
eyes. “I’ll prepare a banner for you also. Would you like some help
with the words to speak, Princess?”
    “Yes. Thank you. I’ll don white also and be
down as soon as I am able.” She hesitated. “I hate to ask, but with
Alva gone, I’ll need someone to help me