7 MADINIA
We buried Darnis in a small clearing close to a stream.
Whirna lay on the ground, clutched at the dirt, and sobbed. Most of the others were crying too. I stared at the tiny grave, throat tight, eyes burning.
Would he have lived if we’d made it to the Asric Pass? Vicer had almost certainly stationed healers there. I had simply been too slow.
The world spun dizzily around me, and I stumbled.
“Please, eat something,” someone murmured, grabbing my arm to keep me steady.
“I’m fine.” The other hybrids needed the food. And I felt too sick to eat. The woman pulled me until I was facing her. Her eyes seemed almost crazed, her face tight with desperation. “We need you. The remainder of these children need you.” She shoved a few pieces of dried meat into my hand, and I didn’t argue, simply lifted one to my mouth and began chewing.
I was so, so tired.
Part of me wished I’d killed Stillcrest back at the camp. Likely, she’d been cut down shortly after we escaped. But if she was alive…she should have to live with what she had done.
And still, the guilt clawed at me. I should have insisted these people leave the moment I arrived at that camp. I should have made Vicer use his power. I should have—
“She’s not going to leave him,” the woman next to me said, nodding to Whirna’s prone form. “You will need to do something about that.”
I looked at her. She looked expectantly back at me.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Glenda.”
Her eyes were a blue so light, they reminded me of the fae king’s. But unlike Conreth’s icy gaze, hers was warm, despite our increasingly dire situation. Deep laugh lines had been carved around those eyes. This was a woman who enjoyed her life.
“Do you have children, Glenda?”
She nodded toward twin boys of around eight winters.
“Then you can imagine her pain much better than I can.”
“Ah, but she doesn’t need my empathy. She will have that when we find safety. Right now, she needs strength. Conviction. Force.”
“You want me to bully a pregnant woman who has just lost her son?”
She gave me a steady look. “We took too much time here. We are not out of danger. You know this.”
And Whirna would need someone like Glenda for sympathy. For support. Glenda would be the one to make sure Whirna got up each morning and put one foot in front of the other. I didn’t want Whirna to remember this woman berating her next to her son’s grave. Not while she was mourning him in the weeks and months that followed.
If we lived that long.
Whirna had stopped crying. Now, she lay next to the grave, her eyes blank as she stared into space.
I crouched next to her. “I can’t even imagine the pain you’re feeling right now,” I murmured. “It’s inconceivable. But we need to keep going.”
“Just leave me.”
I reached out and touched the swell of her stomach. “You know I can’t do that.”
Her gaze dropped to my hand. When her eyes met mine, some of the blankness had slipped away, replaced by pure agony. “I promised him I would keep him safe. It was my job to keep him safe.”
I had nothing for her except the thought of vengeance. “We’re going to make them regret this,” I swore to her. “We’re going to kill Regner and wipe out his iron guards.”
A tiny spark flickered in her eyes. Something nudged at my hand, and I yanked that hand away, gaping down at her stomach. There had been so much force behind something so tiny. The baby seemed to do what my words couldn’t, and Whirna allowed me to help her to her feet.
“You will return to this place one day,” I promised. “You’ll visit your son.”
She didn’t seem to have the strength to reply, but as I tightened my hold on her arm, she took a few steps.
It was enough.
And so, we continued. Until screams sounded in the distance, piercing the stillness of the forest around us. My heart leaped, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Everyone froze.
I lowered my hand, gesturing for the group to crouch. The screams went on and on, and horror slid into the hybrids’ eyes.
One of the other groups had been found. My power burst from me, and I forced the flame from my hands.
Perhaps I could give this group the exact directions to the next stop. I could go fight with the others and return—
“You can’t save them,” one of the older boys said bitterly as he watched me. “It’s too late.”
I’d once thought the worst feeling was terror. I was wrong.
The worst feeling was helplessness. Nothing could be worse than wanting to help someone—to save a life— while knowing it was entirely out of your control.
This was why it was better not to care about anyone than to end up in a situation like this, where there were no good choices left.
“We need to keep moving,” I said.
“Why?” one of the older girls asked. “We’re all going to die. You think the soldiers are going to stop?”
I caught two exhausted nods as I whirled to face her. “No. They’re not going to stop. But better to die trying to live than to sit here and wait for death.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Tears flooded her eyes, and she turned her gaze back in the direction we’d come. Where Darnis lay in a shallow grave.
I didn’t give her any further encouragement. I didn’t have a single kind word left in me.
“Keep moving,” Glenda murmured to her. “You can do it.”
We made it to the first camp. I was too numb to feel anything close to elation, but logically, I knew we were in a better position now. The chest was where Vicer had described, and we pulled out the blankets and food we ideally would have used to spend the night.
But we couldn’t. We had to keep moving. So we ate quickly and took whatever supplies we could carry with us. No one protested as we reburied the chest and began walking once more.
Our pace slowed until it was barely a shuffle. I used my power to light the way, dampening it whenever I heard a noise in the distance.
Eventually, we curled up deep in the forest, children stashed beneath bushes, adults pulling as much undergrowth over us as we could.
I couldn’t sleep, my mind replaying every moment. But the rest would help.
Hours later, more screams cut through the night. To my left, someone’s teeth were chattering. But all of us stayed still, attempting to keep the children quiet. By now, they were exhausted, a few of them even sleeping through the screams.
Finally, the sun began to rise, and I clenched my teeth. I refused to give in to the sick panic dragging vicious claws through my chest. These people would live.
Slowly, quietly, I woke the others. A few moments to duck behind bushes or gulp at water from a nearby stream, and then we were moving once more.
The forest around us was both sanctuary and adversary—the trees and brush providing cover, but the rustle of fallen leaves carving through the silence, each snapped twig underfoot as loud as a thunderclap to my ears.
Our progress was painstakingly slow. The younger children were carried in the arms or on the backs of anyone who could hold them, their weight slowing us even more. Tiny faces were smudged with dirt and tears, wide, fearful eyes looking to us for assurance. All I had to offer were weak smiles and hushed encouragement.
And then, in the distance, the haunting sound of hoofbeats.
My heart plummeted into an abyss. “Down,” I hissed.
Everyone dropped.
By now, the children knew to stay quiet, although the youngest hiccupped through her suppressed sobs. If we’d had young babies in this group, we likely would have been found by now.
The hoofbeats thundered toward us.
“Run!” I ordered, handing the boy I was holding to an older girl. “You know the way.”
My palms turned slick, my entire body went cold, and the metallic taste of terror flooded my mouth. I was all these people had. If I went down, they were next.
“Faster,” I ordered desperately.
The forest around me erupted into a cacophony of sounds—the cracking of branches under the weight of heavy boots, the clanging of armor, the cruel laughter of one of the guards.
There was no outrunning them. I had to take a stand here and buy the others as much time as I could.
An arrow whistled past my ear, embedding itself into a tree with a gruesome thud. Baring my teeth, I aimed my flames at the horse, begging forgiveness. I gave it a swift end, but its death caused further chaos, the other horses bucking desperately.
“Face your death with dignity, corrupt filth.” The iron guard wore silver trim along his armor. The captain.
I hurled my fire at him. It crashed against his ward, but his pained grimace made it clear it had hurt.
Good. Every second I delayed them was another moment for the hybrids to escape.
I pulled my sword. “Fight me like a man.”
Several guards laughed. Most of them were moving forward to surround me. Scanning them, I counted. Seven. More than enough to decimate every single group of hybrids currently fleeing.
Dark power swept toward me. This was it. I rolled my shoulders.
The power bounced off a ward so strong, it glowed silver.
I jolted back, brandishing my sword as another man stalked through the clearing toward me. Our eyes met, and his mouth dropped open.
“You,” he snarled. “Why is it always you?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Calysian.
“You owe me a life debt,” I blurted.
He smiled, ignoring the dark power hitting his ward once more. “I thought you didn’t want my debt?”
“It’s not up to me, remember? You said the debt hadn’t been satisfied. A matter of honor.”
His teeth flashed as he laughed, and my stomach clenched. After a long moment, he heaved a sigh. “Oh, fine.”
By the time he gave the iron guards his full attention, they had surrounded us. But at least that meant they hadn’t yet gone after the hybrids.
The captain smiled, as if reading my mind. He gestured to two guards behind us. “Go.”
Just as an arrow hit Calysian’s ward.
Calysian gave the soldier a bored look. More arrows flew toward us, and I sent my fire twisting between them, igniting one of the guards who’d turned to go after the hybrids.
I blocked out his screams, watching the captain. He was tired. He couldn’t hold the ward while his own men attacked, yet Calysian seemed as if such a thing was easy for him. It was the one advantage we had. I waited until the guard at his left fired another arrow…
Now.
I’d used this tactic on the iron guards at the hybrid camp. And just like those guards, two men clawed at their eyes, wailing for mercy as my fire engulfed them.
Calysian tutted as he lifted his hand, reinforcing his ward against a sudden barrage of dark power and fae-iron-tipped arrows.
I sent more power toward those arrows, and several of them dropped straight to the ground. “Feel free to help whenever you get tired of watching.”
“There’s that sharp little tongue. Do you ever get tired of wielding it?”
I ignored him.
“Ah, silence. Adorable. Tell me, just how did you end up here, Madinia Farrow?”
Grinding my teeth, I ignored him some more. A life-or-death situation, and he wanted to chat. Idiot.
I had no interest in people like him. People who took nothing seriously. I took everything seriously.
Every muscle in my body ached with fatigue. A guard to my left was attacking again and again, his movements almost too fast to see as he nocked his arrows. Those arrows slammed into our ward, until I could almost feel the headache it must have given Calysian.
The guard let loose the next arrow, and I waited. He lifted one arm to pull an arrow from his quiver.
Now.
I directed my flames toward a slice of skin I’d glimpsed along the back of his neck—between helmet and armor.
Calysian’s ward was holding, and I used it for cover as I attacked again and again. He slid outside of the range of his ward, leaving it to cover me as he targeted that same slice of unprotected skin, his sword slicing through a guard’s neck like a warm knife through butter.
Two left.
“Behind the tree,” he ordered.
“I don’t—”
“Now.”
Darting behind the tree, I reached for the last of my power. Calysian’s ward dropped. It had been impressive, but from the bitter frustration on his face, even his power wasn’t enough to hold such a ward indefinitely against iron-tipped arrows and magical attacks.
I couldn’t understand how he’d held it this long already.
The captain wasn’t looking quite as smug anymore. He was staring at the death around him—and the last guard across the clearing—as if he was wondering just how it had all gone so terribly wrong.
Calysian could likely take the captain. Slowly, I began to creep behind the trees, toward the remaining guard.
A desperate scream sounded, and I whirled.
The captain lay on the ground, lifeless. His horse had bolted, while Calysian shoved his hands on his hips, shaking his head. It was almost as if he was displeased by how easily he had killed the captain.
An arrow flew toward his unarmed back.
I slashed at it with the last of my power—just enough to throw it off course.
Turning, Calysian raised one eyebrow as it dropped to the ground. His lips pulled up from his teeth in a snarl. Irritation gleamed in his eyes. “That’s another life debt.”
“You would have likely saved yourself.”
“It doesn’t matter. Intention matters. Make me owe you again, and I’ll kill you myself.”
I showed him my teeth. “Try.”
His gaze narrowed on my face. Irritation gave way to languid amusement. I looked away.
“That one was free,” I panted, the world spinning around me. I doubted I could call even a single spark to one of my fingers. “You don’t owe me anything.”
He shook his head. “Wait here.”
I didn’t argue, simply slumped to the ground with the tree at my back. A single muffled yell came from the remaining guard, and Calysian returned mere moments later.
He frowned at me. “You smell like death and sorrow.” “We lost one of the hybrids. A child.” My throat thickened. He studied me, as if surprised I would care. I wanted to smash my hand into his face for that look.
Of course I cared.
I wasn’t entirely a monster. Although, I was sure I was close.
I surveyed him. He’d once told me he’d become trapped on this continent when the barrier went up. Which made him over four hundred years old. He didn’t seem like one of the fae, but if he was hybrid, he would have shown more signs of aging. So, what was he?
“What were you doing here?”
“I was attempting to travel to a northern village.”
“Why?”
He gave me an amused look that silently asked me why I felt entitled to that information. “I will help you round up your lost sheep,” he said.
I didn’t bother arguing. Hopefully, the hybrids had continued moving in the direction I had instructed. I surveyed the carnage around us one last time.
They would have hunted every single fleeing hybrid until we were all dead.
I wished we could kill them all again.
Pelysian’s mother stared at me. It had been hours since I walked into this hovel, and I’d been forced to sit here and watch her stitch. She hadn’t even offered me sustenance.
Her gaze flicked to the mirror behind me, and I turned. Still black.
“Only two such mirrors in existence, and one of them was shattered under your watch,” she said.
“I almost died, witch.”
She just tutted at me.
“What is your name?” I asked, shifting on the uncomfortable wooden chair. It scraped against the earthen floor. Truly, it was barely a hut. And yet, I would need to get used to such poverty—at least until my son was crowned. Without the grimoire in my hands, making sure Jamic took his rightful place would be difficult. But not impossible. If Prisca killed Regner, Jamic and I would find a way to kill her and take the book.
The hag turned her attention to the shirt she was stitching. “How many times have we spoken before now?”
If she thought such a pointed question could embarrass me, she was mistaken. “Too many,” I said.
She let out a chuckle that turned into a hoarse cough. “My name is Ravynia.”
“Your power is vast. Why do you not use it to claw your way out of this poverty?”
“This is not poverty. You do not know poverty. You have not seen it, smelled it, lived it. I am content with my life and my home. Besides, if those in power were to learn of my gift, what do you think would happen to me?”
I knew what would happen to her, because I had plans to install her in the castle the moment Regner was dead. She would ensure I could always see my enemies coming. And forever outwit them. She would fight it, but I knew who her children were. And as I knew well, people would do anything for their children.
She gave a faint smile as if she was reading my thoughts. “Imagine if Regner had enjoyed my power,” she said mildly.
I shivered at the thought. But her life would be much different under my service. Unlike my husband, I was not evil. Nor was I insane.
The afternoon passed achingly slowly. Finally, hooves sounded outside. I stiffened, but Ravynia waved her hand. “It is my son.”
He took his time, likely untacking his own horse. When he finally opened the door, he didn’t look surprised to see me.
A quick glance at his mother and then his eyes met mine once more.
“Your ladies are dead, aren’t they, Your Majesty?”
I felt a pang somewhere in my upper chest at the memory of the terror in their eyes. “Yes.”
Pelysian’s gaze dropped to my hand, which was rubbing my chest. “And does it bother you?” he asked softly. “Knowing you’re the reason for their deaths? Knowing they likely could have lived if you had given them a second thought?”
My throat thickened as a strange feeling burrowed deep into my gut. Fury. It was fury. That’s all it was. “In times of war, sacrifices must be made,” I snapped.
Something that might have been grief flickered across Pelysian’s face before his eyes turned cold. Remote.
“So be it.” He took a step back from me. As if I were contagious. As if he were repulsed. Blood roared in my ears, until I barely heard his next words. “You are the second most recognizable person in this kingdom. I cannot keep you safe here,” he said. “You must join with the hybrid heir.”
I sniffed. I had no desire to go crawling to that little bitch, with nothing but the clothes on my back. But his declaration was not a surprise. I’d had hours in this place to ponder my options after all.
I had a choice to make. Bury my pride long enough to get close to Prisca, or hide somewhere until the war was over and my son was ready to take the throne.
The decision was easy, despite my distaste. It was finally time to see my son.
Torinth was alive.
Yesterday, we’d received the news from one of Demos’s contacts in Gromalia. And Demos’s expression had transformed into pure, unadulterated joy. That look on his face…it had made my knees turn weak.
But within moments of reading the message, he’d turned silent once more—even though Tor had agreed to meet us. Ever since, Demos had become increasingly withdrawn as we traveled, his expression distant.
Already, we were traveling north through Gromalia toward Prisca and the others in Sorlithia—a city Tibris and I had never seen, and one Demos had visited when he was so young he could barely remember.
Not only was Tor alive, but he’d been living in Thobirea. And he’d agreed to travel west to meet us in one of the larger villages, where we would find a tavern grimy enough that four hooded visitors wouldn’t draw any attention.
The rebels had begun evacuating before we’d left camp. Tibris had been busy up until the last moment, ensuring those who were leaving were in good health, and giving final instructions to the human healers traveling with them. I’d caught the last of his goodbye with Herne, their low, pained voices barely reaching my ears. I’d had to look away, unable to watch their faces, tight with suppressed grief and fear—not for themselves, but for each other.
Shockingly, Conreth had given permission for those who were heading toward the Asric Pass to travel within the fae lands, along the border—preventing the need for them to step foot into Eprotha. He’d even ordered a group of fae guards to meet the rebels and escort them—likely to ensure no one wandered off and stumbled across a wildkin.
When I’d expressed my surprise at Conreth’s sudden cooperative nature, Demos had shaken his head. “The idiot killed his brother and almost killed my sister. This is likely a temporary lull in his bad decisions. But we need to take full advantage before he changes his mind.”
As we traveled, we occasionally stopped at small villages to find supplies. There, we came face-to-face with signs mourning Eryndan’s death. The Gromalian king’s death had shocked his kingdom. Worse, there were also plenty of signs with Prisca’s face, declaring her to be the king-killer.
Regner’s lies had reached even here.
By the time we reached the village of Ardanor, none of us were speaking. Vynthar had disappeared to do whatever it was the Drakoryx did when he wandered off alone. Tibris was distracted—likely worrying for Herne and the other rebels. Demos was brooding and somber as he prepared to face Tor. And I was consumed by the thought that he might not help us.
I was also consumed by another thought.
The same thought I’d attempted to ignore even as it continued to poke at my subconscious.
A thought that felt like an itch I couldn’t scratch.
A thought that intruded even into my dreams.
A thought that insisted I needed to be a larger part of ending this war.
One day, when this continent finally knew peace, I wanted my name to be mentioned in the old tales.
I wanted it written that while I might have been partially responsible for the start of this war, I was also responsible for ending it.
That I had been brave and loyal and true.
That I had been worthy.
“Asinia?”
I lifted my head. We’d reached the tavern, and Demos was waiting for me to dismount.
“Sorry.”
His gaze had already turned to the sturdy wooden tavern door. Hopefully, Tor was waiting at a table inside.
Tibris slid Demos a concerned look. We’d told him what we knew of Tor, but it was clear he was also unused to Demos’s grim silence.
The tavern door hung open, anchored by a large rock. Demos lifted his head, and we followed him inside. Nerves fluttered in my stomach.
Long tables, worn smooth by the passage of time— and countless elbows—were clustered together across the wooden floor, surrounded by smaller circular tables wedged against walls and windows. It was nearing the midday meal, and villagers and travelers alike had gathered to eat and lift a cup.
It felt strange, to suddenly be confined within a room of people after so long traveling and living in the camp. The noise seemed to swell, and I gritted my teeth through it as Demos scanned the room, his expression intent.
The bar itself—a solid slab of oak staffed by a scowling innkeeper—was lined with an array of mugs, continually lifted and carried by a tired-looking barmaid.
Demos turned away, and Tibris and I followed him to one of the small, circular tables in the back.
A cloaked figure waited. He lifted his head, and both men went still.
His nose had been broken at least once, his hazel eyes were shadowed, and he needed a shave. But I could make out smile lines around his mouth.
Someone burst into laughter a few tables to our left, the sound sudden enough that it seemed to snap whatever tension had caused both men to freeze. Tor got to his feet as we approached, clasping Demos’s hand. After an awkward moment during which it seemed as if both men considered and rejected the thought of a hug, we were all quickly seated, and Tibris and I were introduced. I blew out an unsteady breath. So far, so good.
Tor nodded at us, but his gaze met Demos’s.
“You’re alive.”
Demos nodded. “I didn’t know it at the time…didn’t know it until my sister appeared in the dungeon, but Telean had been forced to work as the queen’s seamstress. She convinced her to let me live.”
Tor nodded. But he didn’t say a word. I shifted on my wooden stool.
It was Tibris who cleared his throat. “We’re here to ask for your help.”
Another nod.
We told him everything we knew.
“You truly believe I can help with Regner’s wards.” From the tone of his voice, Tor either didn’t believe us or didn’t want to believe us.
“I know you can,” Demos said. “To this day, I’ve never come across anyone else with your particular power.”
Tor took a deep breath. And his gaze was steady. “I can’t fight in your war.”
A leaden weight had taken up residence in my gut. One chance. We had one chance to kill Regner.
“You mean you won’t,” Demos said.
Tor narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “I have children now, Demos. Everyone we loved from that time is dead. You may have moved on, may have created a new family and forgotten what happened to the people who trusted you the most, but I haven’t.”
My nails dug into the wooden table beneath my hands. “Watch your mouth,” I snapped.
Tor glanced at me. “It’s only a matter of time before he gets you killed. You may be willing to lose your life for this, but my children need a father.”
“And what will happen when war comes for your children?” Demos asked. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep them safe? Your family could have a home. In our kingdom, Tor.”
He shook his head, his mouth trembling once before he thinned it. “We spoke about that for years. And I never saw that kingdom. All I saw was our friends arrested. I heard their screams when they burned.”
Demos flinched. This was killing him.
My hands began to shake, my entire body stiffening until my muscles felt frozen.
“And where were you when he was rotting in that cell?” I hissed. “My best friend broke in to the castle and saved our lives. What did you do, except turn and run? Did you enjoy building your new life, while knowing Demos would never experience such joy again? Did you even think of him?”
“Asinia.” Demos’s voice was as unyielding as iron.
“No. If he’s going to blame you, then he can look at his own actions.” I turned my attention back to Tor. “Or lack of them. Even Vicer never forgot about Demos. He made sure Prisca knew to get him out. Meanwhile, you moved on.” I curled my lip at him. “Demos said you were once like brothers. If that’s the case, I’m glad I’m an only child.”
Tibris canted his head but stayed silent. Demos reached for my hand and rubbed his thumb over my wrist. His hand was so warm, his touch soothing. I took a long, deep breath and let the air shudder out of me.
Tor dropped his gaze to our hands, his expression contemplative.
Demos was silent for a long moment, and his words from the camp circled through my mind.
“I don’t want him to join us out of guilt. I want him to join us because he has hope.”
I didn’t care why Tor joined us. Only that he did.
“I want you to understand the choice you’re making.” I met Tor’s eyes. And now I could see the war that raged within him. “Without you, we have no chance of killing Regner. His wards are just too strong. All the people you lost? They’ll never be avenged. And more will die. More and more and more, until this continent is steeped in death.”
Tor watched me. And the barest hint of a smile flickered around his mouth. His eyes met Demos’s. “Always knew you’d find a woman just like this.”
I squinted at him. “Like. What?”
“Fierce.”
I opened my mouth. Truthfully, I’d expected him to call me something much worse. And the way Demos had snarled told me he’d expected the same.
I shrugged.
Tor sighed. “At least tell me how it would work.”
Daharak was taking no chances as we sailed north along the Gromalian coast. At least two hundred ships sailed with us. When I’d mentioned that this could be somewhat concerning to the Gromalians, who might fear an invasion, she’d shrugged.
“We’ve been in their waters since the barrier fell. If that spoiled prince doesn’t know you’re on the same side by now, then he’s useless to us.”
Thora’s lips had curved at that.
When Daharak had learned who Jorvik was—and that he’d managed to get onto her ship under false pretenses— she’d practically breathed fire. Zathrian’s little messenger was currently residing in the brig, where he would be staying. According to Marth, Jorvik hadn’t had a chance to pass on anything that would harm us irreparably.
In the distance, the unmistakable green banners of the Gromalian fleet whipped in the wind, their ships cutting through the water and approaching us with a caution that bordered on hostility.
“What were you saying about the prince knowing we were on the same side?” I muttered to Daharak.
A smile played around her mouth, and she merely raised her hand. The air was thick with tension, and I licked my lips, tasting salt. A Gromalian ship peeled away from the others, slowing as it neared us. The Gromalian captain, tall and solid in polished armor, called out across the water.
“State your purpose in our waters.”
Lorian watched him, seemingly unconcerned. Daharak squinted into the sun, holding up a hand to shade her eyes. “Idiot,” she muttered to us. “You don’t want to know the amount of armor we’ve found at the bottom of the ocean, their owners decomposing inside it.” I wrinkled my nose, and she raised her voice. “We seek an audience with your prince in Sorlithia. He will wish to speak to us.”
Silence stretched as the Gromalian captain considered her words. We would, after all, need to sail past the capital. And yet, the natural harbor protecting Thobirea made the city impossible to invade by water.
The captain’s eyes met mine, before flicking to Lorian, Galon, and Marth.
“Let them pass,” he commanded. “But your remaining fleet may not dock.”
Daharak nodded easily. We hadn’t expected to be able to dock. Not just because of the logistics of bringing this many ships with no warning, but because of our currently fraught relationship with Rekja.
Still, the threat of those ships should keep us safe as we made our way to Sorlithia.
The fleet continued northward over the next few days. As the coastline began to curve inward, the silhouette of the city started to emerge on the horizon, and we adjusted our course toward it.
The Gromalian captain had obviously been in contact with the ships guarding Sorlithian waters, because those ships turned, granting us passage, and we prepared to dock, sails descending, ropes creaking, crew calling to one another in the language of the ship—one I was unlikely ever to understand.
Not long now.
A choking sensation tightened my throat, until I struggled for my next breath. So much rested on this meeting. On our ability to convince Rekja to go to war with us. Without him…
Even with some of the most powerful fae on the continent fighting on our side of the battlefield, they could only do so much against thousands and thousands of humans, many of them bloated with stolen power.
While many humans had received their power back when the barrier fell, too much of that power was still kept in oceartus stones, used for convenience in Regner’s capital, and held by his most loyal people.
We needed boots on the ground.
I turned to find Daharak and the others talking a few footspans away. I hadn’t even heard her approach.
“After we speak to Rekja, you should return to the rest of the fleet,” I said to Daharak. “Keep your trowth stone by your side, and if you don’t hear from us by nightfall tomorrow, move back south.”
Daharak’s mouth twisted. “I don’t like it.”
“It’s unlikely Rekja will cause any problems once he sees Thora,” Lorian said. “But if he does, you will need to meet with the others and continue with our plans.”
From Daharak’s expression, she didn’t like that thought either, but she gave us a stiff nod.
I hesitated, and then the words spilled from my lips. “Please look after my aunt.”
Her expression softened. “You know I will.”
I did. One of her pirates had already saved Telean’s life not long ago. My aunt would stay on the ship. We hadn’t spoken since the morning I’d woken up. Truthfully, I didn’t know when we would. For the most part, she’d locked herself away in her cabin. She was just as stubborn as I was.
Galon and a few of the other warders formed a barrier around our ship as we docked. Daharak was the first off the ship, sauntering down the ramp as if there weren’t fifty guards waiting for her.
“Take us to your king,” she said.
“Our king is busy,” one of them called. Several others laughed.
Daharak gave him a wide smile. “And yet a captain of your fleet already allowed us through.”
A heavily muscled guard stepped close, putting him just inches from me. “I suggest you get back on your ship—”
Lorian let out a low, vicious snarl. He was becoming a little…feral as time went on with no sign of my power.
The guard froze.
Daharak raised her hand, the silver coin gleaming in the sun. He reached for it, and she shook her head, tucking it away. “I don’t think so.”
The guard narrowed his eyes but sent a wary glance toward Lorian. “Let them pass.”
“But—”
“Don’t make me tell you again.”
One of the other guards spat on the ground in front of us. But he stepped aside.
Sorlithia was much, much smaller than Thobirea. Small enough that Thora had suggested we walk from the dock to the city walls.
Where the Gromalian capital sprawled from the docks to the castle, Sorlithia was barely a large town in comparison.
Fortified walls encircled the town on all sides, rising high above the ground, designed for defense. Several guards strolled along those walls as I watched, eyes scanning anyone who approached. Every few footspans, crenellations rose like jagged teeth against the sky, providing cover and strategic points for archers and defenders. Towers, taller than the walls themselves, punctuated the perimeter at regular intervals, providing an even higher vantage point.
And yet, it didn’t feel like a military town. Those walls seemed ancient, covered in a patina of time, with creeping ivy and blowing wild flowers softening their imposing structure.
The town unfolded like a tapestry of quaint charm as we walked through it, several guards trailing after us. The streets wound in lazy, meandering patterns, giving me an opportunity to study the buildings—their facades displaying an array of pastel colors, from warm peach tones to soft lavenders.
Residents wandered past, some of them stopping to stare, to whisper. But for the most part, they were wrapped up in their own lives, hauling baskets to and from the market, cajoling stubborn children, finishing the day’s errands.
Like most cities, Sorlithia’s heart was its market square, and the bustling hub somehow retained a relaxed atmosphere. Taverns and inns surrounded the market, while children splashed in a huge fountain.
This was a city of trees. Lush gardens sprawled every few blocks, attracting birds and butterflies. I could see why Rekja preferred Sorlithia to his capital.
And we were about to destroy whatever peace and solace he’d found here.
Next to me, Thora twisted her hands. I couldn’t tell if she was nervous or trying to restrain herself from elbowing past us and running toward the castle as it came into view.
It was perched atop a gently rising hill—an unassuming yet undeniable presence. Unlike the castles in the Eprothan and Gromalian capitals, the castle of Sorlithia was all quiet elegance and understated strength.
Its walls were a light gray, with huge windows large enough for a man to stand in. The guards at our backs spoke to those at the castle gates, who gave us long, suspicious stares but allowed us to pass.
Gravel crunched underfoot as we strode toward the large wooden doors. Intricately carved with creatures I had once thought were nothing but myth, the doors were ajar, guards stationed on either side.
One of those guards spoke briefly to the guards escorting us, murmuring something that made Lorian’s lips quirk. But the guard turned, gesturing for us to follow through the grand hall, which boasted a ceiling that arched high above our heads, painted in deep blues sparkling with silver—the night sky. Lorian took my arm as I almost tripped, my gaze stuck to that magnificent ceiling.
The guard turned left, and we followed him into a formal sitting room. I swept my gaze over the room, noting the plush silk chairs, the polished wood of the side tables. But my attention was caught by Rekja.
He stood by the window, his long red hair tied back as he gazed down at something out of sight. He wore casual clothes. But no one who looked at him would doubt he was born to wear a crown.
The Gromalian prince slowly turned, his eyes meeting mine, his expression unfriendly. “You. And just how did you get— Ah.” Striding forward, he plucked the coin from Daharak’s fingers. “Due to my respect for ancient traditions, I will give you five—” His hands fisted as Lorian and Rythos stepped aside, revealing Thora.
Her mouth trembled, her eyes flooded with tears, and she reached for him.
Rekja caught her hand, pulling her close. “How—” He cupped the back of her head in his hand as she buried her face in his chest, and a series of emotions flashed across his face. Incredulity, shock, and finally, a burning, endless wrath.
“You took her from me.”
“We saved her,” Lorian corrected.
Thora lifted her head long enough to pin me with a look. She knew we would have arranged for her kidnapping, regardless of the fact that she was already being hunted.
My heart sank. But she took a deep breath, clutching Rekja close. “They kept me safe,” she said. “If not for their spy’s quick thinking, Jinoran would have killed me.”
Rekja’s expression darkened. “He disappeared three nights ago. Gods, I thought you were dead.” His gaze met mine, and his eyes were no longer unfriendly. No, now they shone with appreciation. “It seems I owe you my gratitude.”
Thora sent me a warning look. It wasn’t difficult to follow her thought patterns. If Rekja learned we were responsible for spreading rumors of their relationship, he’d be unlikely to work with us. Thora was keeping that from him in an effort to save both of our kingdoms.
One day, when all of this was over, I hoped Rekja made Thora his queen.
“You’re aware that Regner is moving his army south through Eprotha,” Lorian said.
Rekja nodded. “My scouts have reported signs of his regiments outside of Lesdryn. But…he sent this yesterday.”
Releasing Thora, he swiped a scroll from a nearby table and handed it to me.
To His Majesty King Rekja of Gromalia,
Please accept my sincere condolences on the passing of your father. Occasionally, difficult choices must be made for the greater good—a reality I also understand all too well.
At this time, I find it necessary to remind you of the alliance forged between our kingdoms under your father’s reign—an agreement witnessed and honored by advisers from both our kingdoms. This alliance promises to ensurethe prosperity of humans across our continent. Any deviation from this agreement would be deeply regrettable and could be construed as a declaration of war.
It is my sincere hope that we continue to maintain the friendship and cooperation established between Gromalia and Eprotha.
His Majesty King Sabium of Eprotha
My lungs seized, and I lifted my head. If Rekja allied with Regner instead…
Lorian had leaned over my shoulder to read, and he plucked the message from my fingers when I was done, handing it to Galon and the others.
“Not-so-thinly veiled threats,” he said.
Rekja nodded. “His decision to march some of his regiments south may merely be a way to warn me of the consequences of not cooperating.”
I studied his face, but his expression gave no hint of his thoughts.
“And will you ally with him?” Marth asked.
“No,” Rekja said. “But the situation is precarious. I am king in name only—I have not yet been crowned. And there are many in Gromalia who would prefer we committed to our alliance with Regner—and our fellow humans.”
“He will not allow another king to live on this continent,” Lorian warned.
Rekja nodded. “I know this.” But his gaze was drifting over Thora in a way that was all too familiar. I glanced at Lorian, and his lips twitched.
“Perhaps we could give you some time to reacquaint yourselves,” he said smoothly. “And we could discuss our mutual enemies after that?”
Rekja gave him an appreciative nod. “Actually,” he said suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “There’s someone you should meet.”