Chapter 31
Morgana
The fae save us. For now.
When we burst out of the Miravow, the Filusian army is laid out before us, gathered between the forest and our encampment.
Leon finds Fairon’s friend Captain Odaire—General Odaire now—near the front and relays the situation.
Odaire takes in the state of our group, burned and bloody, as the Trovian forces limp in from the forest, dragging our wounded.
Then he quickly sends up the order to hold the border.
We push on toward camp, but I watch things play out behind us from the back of Leon’s horse.
When the first line of clerics breaks through the trees, the fae are ready.
They hit the Temple forces with all the energy of a raging storm, letting our fleeing, battered soldiers slip past as the fae plow into the clerics and cleavers chasing after them.
The Temple forces soon realize that once they’re away from the cover of Caledon’s possessed trees, their advantage is lost. Almost as soon as they appear, they’re retreating, slipping back into the Miravow.
The sun is low in the sky now. I’m surprised to realize we’ve spent most of the day in the forest. Though I’m exhausted, I make Leon take us straight to the healer’s tent, searching for Harman.
I find him there with Alastor. Mal’s already working on his wounds, slowing the flow of blood, but Harman looks pale as a corpse.
I have to look away when I get a glimpse of his stomach, the torn flesh revealing the sheen of organs underneath. It’s then I recognize other faces among the healers in the tent: Heda from the Crossed Keys is using her balms and potions on our injured while Lafia works diligently as her assistant.
My mind is a fog of fear and pain, but it finally occurs to me that I can do something too.
I walk among the beds, reaching out my magic to the injured.
I focus on the ones I can help—those at risk of slipping away before their injuries can be healed.
I pour my power into their inner flames, making them flare brighter, reminding their bodies they should be fighting to live.
“Ana.” Leon lays a hand on my shoulder, gently tugging at my awareness across the mooring. “You must come now.”
I resist the pull, keeping my eyes fixed on the soldier I’m currently reviving. “There’s still more I can do here.”
“I know, my love, but your country needs you in other ways,” Leon says more firmly. “Becane is waiting with Vostani and Fairon to speak with you. The Filusian army has the Temple at bay for now, but we need to plan our next move.”
I let him lead me out of the tent, but not before I cast a backward glance at Harman.
Alastor is knelt beside him, cradling his limp hand in his fingers.
Tears run silently down his face, and I can see he’s muttering a relentless stream of words.
The sight makes it easier for me to leave.
I know that Alastor will pray hard enough for the both of us.
Leon takes me to Becane’s tent. To my surprise, Tira is already there, speaking to Fairon. They both turn to me as we enter, and I approach Fairon to embrace him. He returns the gesture, if a little stiffly.
“Thank you for coming,” I say, my voice croaky with emotion. “You saved us.”
Fairon frowns. “I haven’t saved the day quite yet. I just heard from the border. General Odaire says the Temple have fallen back, disappearing back into the Miravow, but he suspects they’ll regroup during the night just as your army is doing.”
There’s movement at the tent entrance, and Esther, Harman’s lieutenant, ducks inside.
“Trouble?” Leon asks as my heart skips a beat. Is she coming with an update about Harman? Has the worst happened?
Relief floods through me when Esther shakes her head.
“Our lookouts caught someone approaching the camp border. You’re going to want to speak to them.”
Then she steps aside to reveal three dryads.
“Diomi,” I say, shocked to see Etusca’s brother. I soon recognize his companions too: Letrium and Inas, from the Agathyrian high council. “What are you doing here?”
“A strange question, considering a war is being fought on our land,” Letrium says pointedly as we gesture for the dryads to come inside.
“I just thought…” I trail off, unsure how to answer him without insulting him.
“That we’d decided to hide away until the fighting was done?” Inas says with a grim expression. “There were some who advocated for that, but ultimately, we decided Agathyre won’t sit by while this violence rages on.”
“But how did you get past the Temple?” Tira asks.
Diomi gives her a pitying look. “We dryads know the Miravow better than anyone. It wasn’t hard for three of us to slip past the invaders undetected.”
“You know what’s happened?” I ask. “That Caledon’s taken control of the trees?”
The dryads’ expressions grow somber. “We’ve sensed the shift in the forest, yes,” Diomi says. He shakes his head. “What’s happening is unfathomable. Never has such an unnatural force seized the Miravow’s power like this.”
“It’s because he’s a solari,” Sophos says, stepping forward from the shadows. “At least, that’s my theory. The forest’s magic is celestial, and like calls to like.”
The dryads exchange alarmed looks, probably triggered at the sight of Sophos’s red bearer’s robes. But I wave a hand.
“It’s alright. Sophos is no friend to Caledon anymore.”
“You, however,” Leon growls at the dryads, “have probably helped Caledon out by not telling us about the token hidden right beneath your feet.”
“We didn’t know the cup was in the forest,” Letrium says defensively. “The Miravow keeps secrets even from us.”
“So you say,” Leon snaps.
The conversation is about to devolve into argument, and we just don’t have time for that. I meet Diomi’s gaze, offering him a pleading look.
“Es gasta, en weste?” I ask in Agathyrian. “Why are you here, my friend?”
Diomi sighs deeply, replying in the common tongue.
“I’m sorry, but we cannot fight beside you.
To do so would go against everything we stand for, as well as throwing us out of balance with the very land we live on.
But we may be able to help you in other ways, if it means we can protect Agathyre from Caledon’s destruction. ”
He doesn’t need to say it, but I know our last visit must be weighing heavily on them.
They were reluctant with their support then, never imagining Caledon would come to burn their home down first. The Agathyrians have spent so many years protected by the forest, they’ve forgotten that even the Miravow is vulnerable to outside evil.
I could demand more of an apology—force them to admit they were shortsighted. But what’s done is done, and they’re suffering enough for their mistakes. Besides, I’m not about to turn down any help I can get.
“What sort of ways do you mean?” I ask.
“We can use our influence with the Miravow,” Inas says. “There are ways we can try to calm the trees so they don’t attack so brutally.”
Vostani scoffs, causing Becane to throw her a look.
“Is something wrong?” Leon growls.
“Forgive her, Your Highness,” Becane says cautiously. “But I think we’re both wondering how such a thing would be possible. If Caledon is a god now, surely nothing can overpower him?”
“Caledon is not a god,” I correct.
“Isn’t he?” Vostani snaps, fear shining in her eyes.
“We all saw how swords and arrows just bounced off him, how he commanded the very trees of the forest—trees that none of our geostri could bend to their will. The whole camp is talking about how we’re supposed to kill an unkillable, all-powerful being. You’re trying to do the impossible.”
Anger rises up in me at her words. Caledon doesn’t deserve such awe.
He’s not worthy of this fear. I can’t argue he’s outplayed us each step of the way, but he’s been playing this game for a very long time.
In the end, he’s just a greedy, horrible man, and I’ll be damned if I let my armies go to pieces thinking this enemy is beyond them.
“The whole camp, you say?” I answer coolly.
Vostani realizes she’s crossed a line, ducking her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Alright then,” I say, striding past them all to exit the tent.
Outside is heaving with activity as people run around trying to rearm, or heal the injured, or tend to horses.
It would be great to get some sleep tonight, but everyone knows we have to deal with more important things first: refueling.
That’s why I know I’ll be able to find most of my able-bodied forces trying to scarf down some food in a mess tent a few yards away.
“Listen up!” I shout, trying to get my voice heard over the cacophony. A few soldiers turn to look at me, their expressions curious, but most seem not to notice.
Leon steps up beside me. “Your queen is speaking!” he roars, his voice rolling through the camp like thunder.
Everyone in earshot goes silent.
“I want to make one thing clear,” I call. “When you leave here, tell all of your comrades, and brothers and sisters in arms, because I won’t repeat myself.” I pause, allowing a beat to make sure they’re utterly focused on my words.
“Caledon is not a god,” I say.
I spot more than one doubtful expression in the crowd. The others come out of the tent behind me. My eyes fall on Sophos, and I remember what he said in Elmere about gods and their nature.
“Godhood is more than invincibility. More than immense power,” I say, fixing my gaze on the soldiers once more.
“The gods we worship—Ralus and Lusteris, Firesta and Winnivus, even Ethira—are powerful, yes, but they gift that power to us, sharing it out so that we can thrive. They don’t use that power to control us, turning living things into puppets who obey their every command. ”
A pair of soldiers near me exchange looks, one nodding to the other in agreement. Encouraged, I press on.