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Havilliard sat on his throne.”
Yrene muttered, “Offer them the damn
moon, if it will convince them to help.”
His father smirked. “Can you offer such a
thing, as the heir apparent to the Healer on
High?”
“Careful,” Chaol growled.
His father ignored that, too. “I would rather
have my head on a pike than give the wild
men of the Fangs an inch of Anielle’s land, let
alone ask them for aid.”
“I hope your people agree,” said Yrene.
His father let out one of those joyless
laughs. “I like you better than the assassin-
queen, I think. Perhaps marrying the rabble
will breed some backbone into our bloodline
once more.”
Chaol’s blood roared in his ears, but
Yrene’s lips curved into a smile. “You’re
exactly as I’d pictured you to be,” she said.