Chapter 165: The War Tent
***AUTHOR’S NOTE: SORRY I’VE BEEN DEATHLY UNDER THE WEATHER AND LOOKING AT A SCREEN TOO LONG MAKES ME SICK. I AM GRATFEUL TO ALL OF YOUR PATIENCE. THIS SICKNESS IS KICKING MY ASS ***
Arya thought to herself ’I should have practiced the words. But how does anyone prepare to tell a mother her child is lost to their enemy? How do I tell Kalvin that the woman he loves is beyond our reach? How do I stand before these people, my friends, and say: "We have abandoned you?" when I know it will feel like I have abandoned them myself?’
The planning tent was large enough to hold an entire war council. Lanterns cast long shadows on maps and plans, that covered the oak table. Outside, wind whirled in restless gusts.
Inside, the air was heavy, tight, like a lung that refused to expand. At the head of the table, Violet stood with her back rigid, her hands gripping the edge so hard her knuckles had turned white. Her magenta eyes burned with a feral intensity, like a wild animal cornered and ready to strike.
Arya had barely stepped inside when the tension struck her, a wall of sharp, unrelenting expectation.
Roland, sat to her left, his calm expression. Kalvin, their son, sat to the right, shifting constantly, unable to keep still. His jaw twitched, his bright eyes frantic.
Ash leaned forward on the opposite side, his fingers resting under his chin, his gaze cold and calculating. Oliver, Gabriel, and Jeremy sat nearby, each brimming with their own brand of quiet, dangerous energy.
Rosa, paced near the entrance, her boots clicking, her sharp gaze flicking from face to face. Lilith, lounged in the corner with the coiled patience of a serpent, her dark lips curled in a faint, amused smile. Vlad, sat with his arms crossed, his face a mask of resigned sorrow.
All eyes turned to Arya. Their anticipation weighed a thousand pounds.
She felt Violet’s stare dig into her skin like claws, but she forced herself forward, her boots heavy on the ground. She paused by the table, her heart pounding like a war drum.
Violet’s glare cut into her, a hot brand. "Speak," she demanded, her voice low, trembling with barely contained rage.