27 MADINIA
Rythos continued to attempt to make conversation. I ignored him, counting the time based on the meals we were given. Eventually, though, I began to lose track. All I knew was that we’d been here too long. Long enough that Prisca and the others could be on the front lines bleeding and dying, while we were trapped here slowly going insane.
A low, male grunt sounded. Rythos had wound his legs through the bars of our cage and was hanging upside down doing sit-ups. When the main cell door opened, he almost fell.
I smirked. Rythos untangled himself from the bars and leaned against them. His insistence on touching the bars made with fae iron was likely all part of some game he was playing with his brother. If it hurt him, it was impossible to tell from the predatory look in his eyes.
The woman who stepped into the corridor was taller than me by at least a footspan and looked like she spent her days on the battlefield, swinging her sword. She wore a dark-gray dress, and when she smiled at me, I saw Rythos in her smile.
“Cousin,” she said, stepping up to the bars.
“Miric. This is Madinia.”
She gave me a nod. But her smile disappeared, and she tutted at Rythos. “You really fucked up this time.”
“I’m aware.”
“Verdion and Brevan sent me in here to convince you to cooperate with them. Pretend I’m doing that, and tell me exactly what happened and what you were thinking.”
Despite the situation, a tendril of amusement curled through me. Any woman who could order around one of the domineering fae was a force to be reckoned with.
Rythos told her everything. When he got to the part about Verdion agreeing to cooperate with Regner long before we knew war was even a possibility, Miric’s eyes turned haunted.
“And your brother sees no problem with this?”
“My brother isn’t king. Yet.”
She waved her hand. “That doesn’t mean he’s without influence. Lorian and the others…they will be waiting for you.”
“They will be waiting for us. For the fleet of Arslan ships that could determine whether any of us lives through this war.”
She let out a shaky breath. Rythos leaned against the bars.
“Exactly how am I supposed to cooperate?”
“They want you to remove your magic from the council.”
I jolted. “His magic is still working?”
“Yes. My cousin has become more powerful since he has been gone.” She cast him a fond look. “The council has continued to disregard Verdion and Brevan’s orders, and they are readying the fleet for war.”
My heart raced, and I turned to Rythos. “How much longer will that power last?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping it would be long enough for my brother to have at least listened to what we have to say.”
And then the true conversation began happening. Rythos and Miric began speaking using their hands. I’d seen this language before—one of the servant’s children in Regner’s palace had lost her hearing at a young age in an accident. But I’d never learned how to communicate with her.
Rythos glanced at me. “Madinia usually has a lot to say about such situations.” He flicked his gaze to his hands and then to the door.
We were being listened to. And everything we said would be reported back to his brother and father.
I took the hint. And I paced the cell, letting loose with a tirade I’d been holding back for days. The conditions were unimaginable. I hadn’t had any fresh air. My first introduction to the Arslan had proven they were an intolerant, dull, arrogant people who didn’t deserve the beautiful island they lived on.
Miric laughed at that, losing her concentration. Rythos shot me a look.
So, I switched to more important topics. I told her— and whoever was listening—of everything I’d seen, living in Regner’s castle. I told her what it had truly been like, growing up in his court as a hybrid. And I told her just how much he hated the fae—all of the fae.
Someone hit the door with a closed fist. I spoke faster. I would not be silenced. Rythos’s and Miric’s hands moved so quickly, they were almost a blur. I could see them cutting each other off, nodding, planning something.
And then the guard opened the door. Their hands froze, and Miric turned toward the guard.
“I suggest you think about what I said, Rythos,” Miric said, following the Arslan guard toward the door.
“I will.”
I woke up to an empty bed. The indent in the pillow next to me told me Demos had slept beside me all night. And I hadn’t even noticed.
I scowled, rolling out of bed to dress. When I poked my head out of the tent, it was clear Demos had let me sleep late. Most of the tents around mine had already been packed away. Cursing, I pulled on my boots, grabbed my cloak and weapons, and apologized to the waiting soldier.
Demos was tacking my horse when I found him. His gaze caressed my face as I approached.
“Have you eaten?”
I shook my head. “I’ll eat in a few hours.”
He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a neatly wrapped package, handing it to me. My chest warmed.
I took half the bread and dried meat, giving him the rest back. He shook his head but took it.
“You didn’t wake me last night,” I murmured.
“You needed your sleep.”
I swallowed. After everything Demos had said…was he backing away from me once more?
“Sin.” He took my arm. “I wanted you to rest. Today will be a long day, and you looked so exhausted. Besides, I liked seeing you sleeping in my bed.”
My cheeks heated, and he gave me a slow grin. “The next time I get you in my bed, you won’t be sleeping for hours,” he murmured, and my thighs tensed.
Shifting his hand to my boot, he helped me mount.
Vicer had sent a pigeon to let the hybrids know of our impending arrival, and Vicer’s scouts had reported that Regner’s soldiers would arrive by nightfall tomorrow.
We traveled quickly, and it felt more difficult to breathe as the ground sloped up into the foothills. I kept my cloak wrapped around my shoulders for most of the journey, although the sun seemed to spear through my clothes, and the breeze held a chill that danced across my skin. A few hours before twilight, we reached the camp where a group of hybrids waited for us several hundred footspans from the pass.
Tibris’s face was the first I saw, Herne by his side. I jumped off my horse, stumbling a couple of steps as my legs protested walking after so many hours in the saddle.
He threw his arms around me. And I held him for a long moment. Demos stepped up next to us, and I hugged Herne as Demos and Tibris greeted each other.
Herne stiffened slightly and then relaxed into my hug.
“It’s good to see you.”
Demos nodded. “You didn’t need to come to meet us.”
“Yes, we did.” Tibris shot Herne a look filled with pride and adoration. “Since our arrival, we’ve spent every minute setting up traps for any enemies who happened to approach.” All joy drained from his face. “We didn’t truly think we would need such traps. They were just a precaution.”
“Now, they’ll save lives,” Vicer said, his horse trotting up behind us. Tibris grinned up at him.
“How did the hybrids know how to approach?” Demos asked.
“We’ve had sentries posted every day. They allow our people to pass and tell them how to stay safe.”
Tibris gestured, and we followed him, Demos and I leading our horses.
Each of the waiting hybrids took a different route, our small army separating into groups that followed those hybrids. Demos didn’t look pleased by the additional time it would take for us to reach the camp, but even he let out several low whistles as Tibris explained some of the traps we passed.
Many of them were hidden beneath layers of leaves and branches. The deep pits were lined with spikes or left empty to break the limbs of those unlucky enough to fall in. But there were also hundreds of smaller, shallower pits, carefully concealed and waiting for unsuspecting soldiers to break an ankle.
Demos’s favorites were the swinging log traps, which were triggered by trip wires. Large logs would swing down from the trees and, according to Herne, the force was capable of knocking down multiple soldiers at once— and slowing the soldiers behind them.
Spiked barricades were planted at various points, particularly in narrow passages between trees. Hidden nets would ensnare the enemy, and Herne’s people had even found a way to rig certain trees to fall when triggered.
Grim satisfaction flooded me when Tibris and Herne pointed out each trap. Each soldier who couldn’t make it to the hybrids was a soldier who couldn’t kill one of our people.
“Give us an update,” Demos said.
Tibris glanced over his shoulder at him. “In good weather in daylight, it takes the average hybrid six to eight hours to traverse the pass. Obviously, it can take much longer if they’re traveling with children. The moment we received Prisca’s message, we sent as many hybrids as possible, but there are still hundreds of people currently moving through the mountains.
“We’ve sent messages to all our contacts, telling any hybrids who were planning to travel here to stay where they are. But those who were already traveling are still arriving. We just had a group show up this morning. This is the camp entrance,” Tibris announced as we approached a small incline. I ducked my head, avoiding a low branch, and swept my gaze over the camp.
Nestled against the Minaret Mountains, this place had always been a temporary refuge. Now, it was evident many more hybrids had been here recently—and that many of those hybrids had fled. The tents were a patchwork of canvas and cloth, clustered together in groups. Most of those tents were empty, surrounded by an array of clothes, cooking supplies, and children’s toys––left where they’d been dropped moments before the hybrids had taken the Asric Pass.
The air was heavy with the scent of pine and earth, which mingled with the smoky whispers of campfires. Several small streams surrounded the clearing, the bubbling melody a soothing counterpoint to the tension that hung in the air.
The hybrids who remained gave us wobbly smiles as we walked through the camp. The word had likely spread, and they knew what was coming.
They’d also been cooking for the soldiers while they waited. And standing by a huge black pot was Margie— the woman who had become almost like a mother to Vicer. Prisca would be relieved to know she was well.
As we watched, Margie ordered the soldiers into lines for dinner—a simple affair of hard bread, cold meat, and a stew that looked like it was more water than flavor. Still, the soldiers gratefully took their rations, nodding their thanks to the other hybrids who had prepared the meal for them.
Demos stood at the edge of the camp, watching as the soldiers did their best to prepare for the battle ahead without terrifying the women and children, the sick and the elderly. His expression was thoughtful, his mind clearly on strategy once more.
A group of children approached, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and awe. They moved with the carefree energy of the young, a stark contrast to the somber preparations happening around us.
“You’re the prince,” a little girl said, no more than seven winters. Her mop of curly hair framed her face like a lion’s mane, her stance bold, chin lifted.
Behind her, a slightly older boy fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, his gaze darting between Demos and the ground.
Demos glanced over his shoulder, as if looking for someone else. Then he pointed at his chest. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you!” This girl was younger than the first, and she clutched a threadbare doll as she peered out from behind the bold girl’s shoulder. Beside her, twin boys gripped each other’s hands tightly, their excitement palpable as they watched wide-eyed.
“Are you sure?” Demos asked.
“Yes! My mama said.”
“Well, in that case, I suppose I must be.”
A feminine voice began calling out, and the children scampered away. Demos glanced at me. “Will you still want me when I’m a prince, Sin?”
He asked it casually, but I saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. Amusement warred with a strange kind of tenderness inside me. It was a feeling I’d never felt before.
“You’ve always been a prince. Besides, my best friend became a queen and mated the Bloodthirsty Prince. That’s far more impressive.”
He laughed. “You better not let Prisca hear you call him that.”
I knew what he was doing. Focusing on a future we might get to have. It helped.
Demos turned, surveying the camp once more. “We need to meet with the others.”
I nodded, shifting back to reality as I followed him to where Tibris had set up his healer’s tent.
Telean, Stillcrest, and Vicer were already waiting. All three of them looked as exhausted as I felt.
Herne and Tibris stepped into the tent, and Tibris gestured for Telean to sit on the bed. She must have been beyond tired because she actually took him up on the offer. I sat on the ground, and the others joined me.
“Regner’s ships have been sighted moving south. He’s not hiding them anymore. Likely, he’s conserving magic. The sea serpents will prevent the ships from making it across the Sleeping Sea until Rothnic takes down our ward—which will signal to the serpents that they shouldn’t attack. When the ward falls, Regner will attack from the north and east, blocking off the chance for our people to get to the tunnel.”
A sick panic took up residence in my chest. My throat constricted, and I forced my expression to stay neutral, breathing through the worst of it.
“How does the tunnel work anyway?” Herne asked.
“When, when Prisca used it to visit the elders…one minute she was there, and the next she wasn’t,” I said. “Later, I asked her what happened, and she said she was just dropped into a long tunnel. I think perhaps the island can sense the hybrids—and their intentions.”
Tibris nodded. “I’ve seen it myself. Once they get to the correct spot on the peninsula, they don’t return.”
“Our kingdom has magic of its own,” Telean said. “And the elders will be in the tunnel, ensuring our people are safely brought to Lyrinore.”
Demos got to his feet. “The first thing the Eprothans will do is block off access to that spot. And when they do, we’ll have hundreds—if not thousands—of hybrids to protect. Is there anywhere for them to hide?”
Tibris cleared his throat. “There are several caves on the other side of the mountains. We could transport the sick, young, and injured into those caves.”
Stillcrest frowned. “They’ll still be trapped until we can clear a way to the tunnel.”
“But at least they won’t be waiting within the pass,” Demos said, walking back over to us. “The pass is too narrow for our soldiers to attempt to move around them, and if the Eprothans make it past our soldiers, it will be a slaughter within the pass.”
“When,” Stillcrest said. “You mean when the Eprothans make it past our soldiers.”
I clenched my teeth so they wouldn’t chatter.
Demos met her eyes. “Yes. When. We will hold the line here to give our people as much time as possible to get through the pass. When there is no other option, we will retreat.” He glanced at Herne. “And your people will set as many traps as possible within the pass for the soldiers who follow. Traps that we can finish putting into place within seconds.”
Herne’s eyes lit up.
“Tomorrow, we send all remaining hybrids into the pass. Those who can’t walk will be carried by our soldiers. The rest of us will spend our day preparing this camp for a siege.”
“And then?” I asked.
“And then we hope reinforcements come. From somewhere.”