"You would be in the sa rooms with them," Azriel supplied, eyes twinkling with a smile at Zavian. "And we are sorry they aren't your comfortable chambers, but it is only for a while."
"What if…," Kitana's father began, trembling like a leaf on a windy day. "What if Aloysius…"
Wins, the last word found its way to their ears without being said. But Zavian had thought of that possibility as every warrior should. What if Aloysius wins? What will be of the earth? Of the humans? And the futures of everyone?
"I was waiting for sothing encouraging from you," Freya snarled. "If you cannot hold the sword, at least sharpen your faith in us. Or it isn't too late to join forces with Aloysius."
"Freya," Azriel placated the hot-blooded demon with a palm to his armored chest.
"No," Freya shot forward, dismissing him. "The fear in here is so much, it's sickening. We have trained, we have prepared, and I won't have so ancient demon pulverizing everything so easily with his negativity, with all of your negativity!"
"Freya, stop," Zavian said to her.
If he didn't know better, he would translate the look on her face as one betrayed by his lack of support for her rant. But Zavian knew his sister, and when she had resorted to lashing out at anyone who as much as breathed her way in the past days, deep inside her, there was fear nestled there, unsleeping.
"If they don't shut their trap holes, I would fry their tongues for a pre-war snack," Freya said.
"Outside, Freya," Zavian ordered.
"What?"
"I said, go outside," he ordered.
Freya lingered, her glare now directed at Azriel, who pointed his thumb to the door. She muttered so words so vulgar that Azriel coughed over her to keep them away from the Dukes and governors' ears.
When Freya stepped outside, she almost bumped into Neera. She scowled at the Queen and assessed her clothes in surprise. Neera was dressed in the sa black war attire, and the only weapon she had wound to her side was a small dagger, the poml glittering like an ornant.
"What are you doing?" Freya hissed.
"Going to war," Neera declared.
Freya gave a short laugh at Neera's deadpanned humour, but when she saw the determined pose, the sure eyes, she stepped up to the Queen.
"No, you are not," Freya said, blocking her path as she moved to the doors she had just exited. "You aren't a warrior, have never as much as killed a fly. And you think you can handle what is out there? You be crushed like millet."
"I have no use doing nothing," Neera said. "One hand more can save everyone."
"You have so much faith in yourself I wish you can bottle that confidence and give it to the demons in there to drink," Freya said, still assessing Neera.
The door behind them opened, and Freya stood next to Neera to have a good look at the expressions of their new company. Zavian and Azriel stopped, and it beca uncomfortably quiet.
"What are you doing?" Zavian asked, breaking the silence.
"I am going to war too," Neera stated, more determinedly than the first ti. Through the open doors, the voices of the nobilities of the Kingdoms having a low discussion thrumd over the voices of the people downstairs.
"You aren't going anywhere," Zavian said. "You will stay down with all the humans and the won, and you won't co out until it is over."
"No," Neera refused, throwing Zavian off a bit. "I will go out, and I will fight. I am tired of staying around and doing nothing," she faced Azriel. "Give two swords."
"You won't," Zavian said.
"As your Queen, I am ordering you to do so," Neera ordered the Commander General, leveling the power of her position.
"And as your King, Azriel, I am ordering you not to," Zavian countered.
Neera lowered her demanding hand. "If you don't give any, I have a thousand guards I can ask."
She stalked away, and when the footsteps followed behind her, she moved even faster. She needed to get lost among the throng of people, and they wouldn't have the ti to look for her before the war started.
Her arm was grabbed before she even made it to the stairs.
Zavian whipped her around to face him. His face was inches away, and there was anger, the anger she was tired of seeing, and it enacted hers to the surface.
"Do you have a death wish?" Zavian asked in a low growl.
"I thought what I do with my existence is of no bother to you, so why do you care if I choose to fight or not?" Neera fired at him.
His face softened, and again, the noises around them faded into a low static volu of sothing happening far away. Golden eyes searched purple, and they pulled into each other. Neera was vaguely aware of the hand on her face, caressing, carefully, and it sent sparks all through her body and down to her feet.
"Neera…," Her na was heavy, precedence of what was unspoken between them lodged behind Zavian's tongue and ready to fall out in an avalanche. But Neera wanted only to hear four little words, four little words before the uncertainty of the war swept them all.
"Neera…," His forehead rested against hers, and she waited. Even if he didn't say it in words, she would take the action. She would read it in his kiss, find his desperate need to communicate that way. She would take anything.
But Zavian's breaths grew ragged, hands tightening around her face, exerting control over himself a tedious task.
"Talk to , Zavian," Neera whispered against his lips. "I am here, tell what you want to say, I am listening."
Please, she almost heard herself plead.
A scream so shrill rang in the courtyard that it pulled Zavian out of the hold of the spell of the mont.
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