Chapter 5
Merryweather was the last true city along their route before they reached the mountain pass fortress at the tiny town of Bellweather: their entrance into the Bridelands.
Merryweather was a half-day’s march from the place they made camp that night, and the terrain had already grown steeper and rockier.
Great boulders lay scattered like a giant’s dropped marbles in the midst of wheat fields; stone formations thrust up through the trees, valuable vantage points on which the drakes alighted and scanned the area surrounding their chosen campsite: an abandoned farm with expansive, terraced fields bisected by low stone walls.
One such stone edifice buttressed the western side of camp, a windbreak and a shield against assault.
It was here that Amelia pitched her own command tent, and where she met with her generals in the flickering glow of lantern light while the rest of camp went up with its usual pandemonium of shouts, and laughter, and the hungry whickers of horses.
A traveling trunk served as a makeshift table, the actual table still in a wagon somewhere and not worth unpacking at this point. Atop it was spread another map.
Amelia was sick to death of maps at this point.
This one offered a much tighter view than the others, a rendering of the city of Merryweather and, a half-mile farther up the road from it, Chateau Boniface, the historical seat of Family Boniface, now all dead or captured.
“The house is set on an upward slope,” Edward said, tracing the boxy shape of it with his forefinger.
He and Reggie were the only two of them who’d been to Chateau Boniface before, and it was clear Reggie had enjoyed the festivities there far too much to recall any details of the place.
“There’s a moat, but it’s only three-sided, and the trees grow right up to the edge of the walled garden in back. ”
“So we approach from the rear,” Reggie said, motioning to the dense grove of pines, drawn on the map as a series of triangle shapes.
Connor cleared his throat, and Reggie snapped a dark look his way.
“If you say anything—”
“I’m saying nothing.” Connor’s face creased, a choked-down smile, then smoothed. “Given what the Sels did in Inglewood, I say it’s likely they’ve clearcut the forest. Which means we’ll have no cover.”
“They might have,” Edward agreed. “We’ll use the drakes if we have to.” He glanced toward Amelia, as though this was a given strategy.
By all means, it should have been, but she frowned. “When we attacked the tower, they had scorpions in place. Only the dark, and luck, and the drakes’ intelligence spared them. We might not be so lucky next time.”
Connor straightened from the map and folded his arms. “What’s the point of having them if not for an aerial assault? They breathe fire, Amelia. We should use that to our advantage.”
“And we will. But I don’t want to lose one of them in bloody Merryweather of all places, before we’ve faced down the main horde.
” That was what she said; what she thought was that if any harm came to them, ever, she wasn’t sure how she’d live with herself.
Her mind was linked with Alpha’s: she could feel the love he felt for his females, knew that he was capable of empathy and sympathy for her.
He grieved Malcolm because she did, because he’d been important to her.
The girls were tolerant of and even affectionate with Reggie because he was her friend.
They were more than weapons to her, though doubtless none of the men would see it that way.
Leda sipped from a wine flagon and said, from her perch on an overturned bucket, “It’s to be a full moon tomorrow night.
If the skies are clear, any lookouts will spot a drake’s silhouette from a distance, and sound the alarm.
Correct me if I’m mistaken, gentlemen, but isn’t this mission to be a stealthy one? ”
“It is,” Edward agreed.
“The wolves will go,” Leif said, capturing all their attention, silent up ‘til now. He stood with his bare arms folded across his chest in a way that was, frankly, distracting.
(Amelia thought of Leda’s assertion that she was a woman used to a certain level of amorous activity, and that she was merely feeling lonely and lustful. It wasn’t a reassuring thought, exactly, but it forced her gaze to Leif’s face, which was serious.)
“It’s only a half-mile,” he continued. “Once the army is installed in the city, we’ll shift and go up the hillside to scout the chateau. A wolf in the woods won’t attract much suspicion. We can determine how many guards are stationed, and which points are the best for an approach.”
Amelia glanced toward Edward, who nodded.
“It’s critical,” Leda said, “that the commander be silenced before he can send word to Bellweather.”
“We’ll need to make sure no vultures leave,” Connor said, “nor messengers on horseback.”
Amelia recalled Oliver’s wild story of meeting with the emperor, and wondered if a Sel general could close his eyes, slip to another plane, and warn his countrymen in the Between.
That bore further investigation, but she wouldn’t bring it up here, now.
“We’ll send a large enough party to secure an escape,” she said. “And we’ll send the drakes in low to the city itself tomorrow evening, so they can’t be spotted from the chateau. I’ll ride Alpha myself.”
“We’re agreed, then?” Edward asked.
Murmurs of assent all around, and then, weary and road-dusty, they dispersed.
“Leif,” Amelia said, when he was at the tent flap. He paused, and let Reggie slip past him out into the night. She waited until they were alone—Connor shot a suspicious glance over his shoulder as he left, but said nothing—then said, “I want to speak with Cassius.”
He stared at her a moment, expression unreadable save a faint groove between his brows. Then he nodded. “I’ll fetch him for you.” And ducked out.
In his absence, Amelia paced the width of the tent, fiddling with the cuffs of her tunic.
The events of the morning, Cassius unshackled, walking around camp on his own, appearing beside her like a wraith out of the fog, had returned to her throughout the day, more concerning with each remembrance.
She’d never ridden close to them, but had spotted Ragnar and Cassius walking together a time or two.
She hadn’t needed to be a wolf to read the aggression and frustration vibrating off of Ragnar. He was boiling with rage.
How strong was the magic that bound the torq to his throat? Was Leif’s authority as alpha absolute? Able to withstand that kind of anger and resentment?
Perhaps more concerning: What had the quiet and expressionless Cassius done to engender such anger? What was he really planning?
She turned toward the rustling of the tent flap, and next heard the clink of chains as Cassius preceded Leif into the light.
His ankles were bound again, with only enough slack to allow him to walk.
Likewise, his wrists were bound, secured before him with new, thick silver cuffs more substantial than those he’d worn that morning.
Leif steered him forward with a hand gripped tight to his shoulder and said, “I hope you don’t mind: I took the liberty of having the smith fashion him new restraints.”
“I don’t mind at all. Thank you.” She was relieved to see that Ragnar wasn’t with them.
Cassius’s expression betrayed no emotion save calm readiness. Alert, but not frightened, so perfectly benign it was an obvious effort. A performance; not a brave one, but a trained one.
It was eerie.
Leif halted, hand tightening in a painful-looking way on Cassius’s shoulder. By contrast, his expression was all authority: a warrior at the ready.
Amelia’s mind flashed to a scene from the road: Ragnar’s shoulders bowed up nearly to his ears, chest heaving as he fought to regulate his breathing; a sun-scored portrait in profile, lips peeled back off his teeth, canine’s sharper than a normal man’s.
She made a swift, instinctual decision. “Prince Leif,” she said, formally, “would you please secure the prisoner and then leave us?”
Leif’s brows flew up. “Leave you?”
“Yes.” She indicated the tent’s main support pole, and then drew the sword she still wore on her hip.
Lantern light flared like fire down its polished length.
“He’ll be bound, and I’ll be armed.” She offered a bare smile.
“I have no doubt we’ll be fine, and I’ll send someone to fetch you when we’re done. ”
Leif clearly didn’t like the idea. He studied her a long moment, brow furrowed.
But, finally, he shook his head, and towed Cassius over to the tentpole.
He wore the key to the cuffs around his neck, and he made fast work of unlatching one, and then tugging Cassius’s arms behind his back and securing his wrists around the pole.
“Sit,” he ordered, and shoved Cassius into an ungainly sprawl on the dirt.
“Thank you,” Amelia said. “That’ll be all.”
Leif’s parting glance was a warning. Be careful, it said. I hope you understand what you’re doing. He clearly didn’t think she did.
When he was gone, Cassius hitched his back up higher against the pole, sitting straight, and situated his legs to a more comfortable position.
He tilted his head, so his white hair settled in neat sheafs over his shoulders.
It was heavy and slippery as watered silk, tangle-free despite a lack of proper grooming.
He said, in the voice of a neutral but fascinated observer, “You give orders to a prince.”
“I make requests. The prince and I are friends, and because he’s in my country, he lets us Southerners take the lead.”
He cocked his head, quizzical, his gaze all the more penetrating for its confusion. “The úlfheenar warrior. Ragnar. He questioned me today.”
Amelia’s skin prickled with gooseflesh. She had questions of her own, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to hear what had transpired today. “About your home? About Seles?”