I rolled my eyes. "I am the War Mage, Ecaeris," I told her. "Queen Diandeliera."
"You're Fae," she considered me, undaunted by my old war titles. An unusual woman, I thought. She had the delicate prettiness one thought of when one thought of mankind princesses at all, the fair skin that spoke of being sheltered from the sunlight, but there was a determination in her eyes that defied her birth and species. This was a princess who would lead her army from the front. I decided that I liked her.
"Yes."
"Bane of Nerith," she repeated what Daerton had said. "You fought with Aurien in the war against Phimion."
"Yes."
Her eyes went to Aurien who, dragon-like, had lost interest in the conversation, and stood caught in his own thoughts, his gaze fixed distantly. He would remember ev
