Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 44 of 59

The next morning Delia found Nick at the table in the blossom-draped house. He had a sheet of paper and a stub of charcoal. He did not look up when she came in. "We decided to take the throne," he said. "Now we plan how." Delia sat across from him. "Where do we start?" "My father set one rule." Nick tapped the paper. "Whichever son fathers a child first becomes heir. That's the fastest road. A grandchild, and the crown is ours by his own word." Delia's hands went still. She had lost one child on her wedding day. She had stood in her own field and told a noble she would not breed to crown a prince. "No," she said. "I won't win a throne with my body. I said that to the court. I meant it." Nick set down the charcoal. He did not argue. "Then we cross it off," he said, and drew a line through the word he had written. "That was the king's road, not ours." "Then what's left?" "The nobles." He turned the paper toward her. Two names sat at the top, then a short list below. "My father is old. If enough of his court backs us over Arden, he can't hand the throne past us. The court chooses who the king listens to." "The court wants to own me," Delia said. "They tried to take my ledger. They want my plants and my blood. Why would they back me?" "Because you don't need them." Nick leaned forward. His voice dropped, plain and hard. "That's the change. The nobles bought loyalty for years. You gave healing free. Every village north of here knows your name. Farmers, cadets, mothers. They already say you should be queen." Delia thought of the beds outside, blue and purple, open to anyone. The travelers who came from far roads. The workers she had trained to help. She had spent months hiding her gift. Now Nick asked her to spend it in the open, as a weapon. "So we don't beg the nobles," she said slowly. "We show them the people are already with us. A noble who backs us keeps his seat. A noble who backs Arden loses the room." "That's the road," Nick said. "Support, not an heir. We build it patient by patient, name by name, until the court has no choice." Delia looked at the crossed-out word, then at the list of names. The fear that had ridden her for weeks turned into work she could do with her hands. "Then we start with the ones who already owe me," she said. "The ones I healed. I have a list. I always have a list." Nick almost smiled. "Write it," he said. She pulled the paper close and began to write. The heir's road was gone. Only the harder one remained, and it was hers to walk.