Chapter 37 Leon
Leon
Ana drops the scythe of Ethira on the table with a clunk.
The tent is crowded, but it doesn’t stop people curiously leaning forward to examine it.
There’s an air of awe and fear in the room as she nods to Tira and me.
Tira lays the bow down beside the scythe as I complete the set with the cup and seal.
“There they are,” Ana breathes.
I stare at the scythe which did so much damage to me, then at the seal my father died for.
All the artifacts give off the same, strange energy—a hum of intense, old power that’s impossible to ignore.
And yet at first glance, each of them seems quite ordinary.
It’s ridiculous to think these four objects have caused so much trouble.
“The question is,” Ana says, looking around at the gathered men and women, “what do we do with them now?”
All of Tiearland’s nations are represented here.
My brother and Odaire stand beside my soldiers; the Trovian General Becane frowns down at the artifacts with Lieutenant Vostani and Captain Drisha.
Diomi and the other council representatives, Inas and Letrium, have also agreed to attend this meeting.
I think after this war, the Agathyrians will feel less conflicted about getting involved in foreign politics.
Even Harman sits propped up in the corner, with Esther and Alastor watching over him protectively.
Vostani is the first one bold enough to speak. “We could split them up,” she suggests. “Each nation could get a token. That seems fair.”
“But there are four of them,” Odaire points out warily. “And who decides who gets what?”
“Well, naturally we would claim the cup,” Diomi says. “It was hidden on our land after all, and it’s said to have healing properties.”
Captain Drisha sniffs disapprovingly. “You think it’s fair a nation full of healers gets the healing cup? Don’t you think the rest of us need it more?”
“There are other useful artifacts,” Letrium argues, a note of defensiveness in his voice. “Legend says the seal’s protective powers are very beneficial.”
“This is true,” Fairon says. “It allowed Caledon’s army to hold their advantage, even after we joined the fight.”
More clerics and Temple soldiers than we expected survived the battle.
Still, almost all surrendered when they saw Caledon’s body.
We carried it through the Miravow, Ana using her orbital magic to float it high above the battlefield for everyone to see.
As people noticed it, the sounds of fighting quieted, soon replaced by a chorus of varied shouts, cheers, and weeping.
He was meant to be a god, and yet here he was, dead. It took the wind out of their sails once they knew their supposedly immortal leader could be laid low.
“I would like to hear what Her Majesty thinks,” General Becane announces.
“Yes,” Inas says. “If anyone knows about what happens when these tokens are used, it’s you, Your Majesty. Do you think the benefit of their gifts outweigh their danger?”
Word has gotten back to them now about how the Queen of Trova danced with divinity to conquer the Grand Bearer.
News of it has spread through the camp too, ballooning into wild inaccuracies that I’m sure will be a headache to set right later—about how Caledon nearly brought the sky crashing down on us before Ana stopped him, about how the gods themselves appeared and waged their own battle before Ana’s side claimed victory.
We might have brought the Temple to its knees, but belief in the powers that be is alive and well.
I’m not sure any of the crazy rumors can do justice to the truth, though.
Caledon was bested by two young women—a queen and a peasant girl, who a year ago had never stepped foot outside their little village.
Ana has been listening to everyone attentively, but now she answers in a firm, clear voice that casts no doubt.
“I think the temptation they represent is too big,” she says. “There will always be greedy, ambitious people attracted to the idea of reliving Ethira’s legend. Our nations flourished before we had the tokens, and they will thrive now, even if we destroy them.”
“I agree we should make sure that no one can combine their power again,” I say, speaking aloud for the benefit of those gathered, even though Ana can already sense my idea through the mooring.
“But all we need to do is destroy one of the artifacts. Take one out of the picture, and all the others become safer, because nobody can follow in Caledon’s footsteps without all four. ”
There’s a rumble of affirmation among the group. They don’t hate the idea.
“But which token should we get rid of?” Harman asks from the corner. His voice is hoarse, and he’s clearly pushing through some pain to be here. I suspect Alastor fought to keep him in the healer’s tent and lost. After missing most of the battle, Harman won’t rest through the victory too.
“The scythe,” Ana says immediately.
“Really, Your Majesty?” Becane asks. “It’s one of the more powerful tokens.”
“It also serves no purpose but to slice a soul from a body,” she says coolly. “I have seen that firsthand, General Becane, and I cannot imagine any good reason why we mortals should want to meddle with the natural order of things like that.”
“You didn’t mind meddling when you had to tear your own soul in two to save me,” I say archly.
“Sometimes we have to make terrible choices to deal with terrible things,” she admits, meeting my gaze. “But wouldn’t it be better to ensure that no one has to make that choice again?”
I nod my understanding.
“I agree,” Fairon says. “After seeing what that scythe did to my brother, I think destroying it is the right decision.”
The dryads take a moment to confer, then nod. “We believe the council would agree with this,” Diomi says. “The soul belongs with the body, and the scythe is a tool of violence. We have no objection to its destruction.”
“Well then, no time like the present,” Ana says.
Most of the people in the tent warily move back as she picks up the scythe, holding it at arm’s length as she carries it outside.
I follow, as do most of the tent’s occupants.
Ana takes the scythe all the way to the perimeter of the camp, earning some curious looks from her soldiers on the way, then she walks beyond the border of tents.
When she’s in view of the Miravow, she sets the curved blade down on the ground.
The sun is shining brightly today, and it gives her hair a reddish glow as she stands over the artifact.
“Keep back,” she calls. “I’m not sure how much of a fight it’ll put up.”
The others obey, but I stay close by, ready to protect Ana. She senses me standing there and throws me a wry smile.
“Always such a rule breaker,” she says.
She closes her eyes and reaches out her hands so they’re hovering over the scythe.
Her fingers start to glow, and I bask in the feeling of the immense heat in her veins.
I can sense it across the mooring, bubbling up inside her until it bursts out of her hands like the sun breaking through clouds on an overcast day.
Her golden beams of sunlight hit the scythe, making its metal glow with an orange radiance.
In a few moments, the glow turns white, the metal so hot I can feel it from where I stand six feet away.
Ana’s hands shake, and still she pours the sunlight out of her, drawing deep on her wells of power. The surface of the metal starts to bubble.
“Nearly there, my love,” I say.
“It’s stubborn,” Ana replies, sounding tense even across the mooring. “But I think I—”
She stops mid-thought as the scythe starts to separate, melting into a glowing puddle that splits and then splits again. A hum of power builds around us, reaching a crescendo as the liquid metal sizzles against the earth, throwing up a trail of smoke.
“It’s done,” she says.
The second Ana drops her hands, the buzz of energy in the air bursts like a bubble. My geostri magic feels it rushing downward, sinking deep into the earth.
“Good work, Your Majesty,” General Becane says approvingly, offering her a salute.
“Power doesn’t simply disappear,” Harman says, limping over to examine the scorch mark the scythe left behind, ignoring Alastor’s muttered complaints about not looking after himself. “The artifact was destroyed, but where did its magic go?”
“Even on this side of the border, the Miravow’s roots run deep,” Inas says, pointing to the ground and tracing a finger up to the tree line. “The forest will probably take that power, just like it took Her Majesty’s immortality.”
“And the other tokens?” General Becane asks.
“We can decide about their fate another day,” Fairon says.
“Neither I nor the Agathyrians have reason not to trust Queen Morgana with their safekeeping. Right now, I must see to my troops,” he looks over to the camp the Filusian army has set up next to the Trovians, several healer’s tents now shared between them.
“A king’s work is never done, much less a new king’s.
” He meets Ana’s eye as if to say this is something she’ll learn soon too.
As Odaire turns to follow Fairon back to camp, Tira scampers over to them, sticking her hand out to block Fairon’s way.
“Are you going past the mess tent?” she asks Fairon. Odaire stares at her, clearly baffled by her behavior toward his king. My brother blinks, also caught off guard for a second, but then his lips twitch.
“Perhaps. Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Starving,” Tira says, falling into step beside the two fae as she starts to chatter about the battle.
I think I hear her asking the pair if they saw the aisthekis try to take Caledon out, then inquiring after the one that lives at the palace as they walk away.
I wonder if she’s on a mission to liberate the creature just as Ana did with Dots.
“Fairon has a point. I should go to the healer’s tent,” Ana says as Alastor helps Harman hobble off. “There might still be people I can help there.”
“We’re just going there ourselves, Your Majesty,” Inas says, nodding to us as she passes with Diomi and Letrium.
I respect their offer of help, but while the dryads played their part in Caledon’s demise, they didn’t fight any battles today. Meanwhile, I see how tired Ana is, yet I know arguing with her about resting will get me nowhere. She’s too good a queen for that.
“I’ll come with you,” I say as we slowly start to follow the dryads toward the healer tent. “You know, I think Tira just wanted an excuse to spend time with Fairon.”
Ana’s eyebrows shoot up. “You noticed that?”
“Of course I noticed. I have eyes,” I say, almost offended. “No two people as different as Tira and Fairon willingly spend time together unless it’s a case of opposites attracting.”
Ana shakes her head. “I agree, but it’s still bizarre. I mean Fairon’s just so…serious.”
“Do you know how long I’ve been praying for him to find some woman to loosen him up?”
“Loosen him up?” she repeats, incredulous. “She might kill him in the process.”
“We Claerwyns are made of tough stuff, my love,” I tease, then stop, squinting into the distance.
“I don’t think they’ll need your help at the healer tent,” I say, a smile spreading across my face. “They’ll already be in good hands.”
I point toward the Miravow at a line of green-haired figures riding toward our encampment.
“Diomi!” Ana calls to the dryads ahead, catching their attention. “Did you tell them to come?” she asks.
“We did,” Diomi replies, looking at his colleagues with a bewildered expression. “But there’s no way our request for aid could have gotten north of Starfall yet. They must’ve started making their way here of their own accord.”
“Let’s go tell the other healers,” Ana says excitedly.
Yet when we turn the corner, I see a sight far more shocking than the appearance of the dryads. Damia Rhymis, also known as death on two legs, is holding hands with Corrin Wadestaff. And they’re laughing.
Damia’s laughter stops when she spots us, but I note that she doesn’t drop Corrin’s hand. Instead, she raises her chin to give me a defiant look.
“There you are, Damia,” I say. “I was worried you got mauled by a ruined, but now I see you’ve picked up something else from Hallowbane.”
“Very witty, Your Highness,” Corrin says, rolling his eyes, while Damia glares daggers at me. “But might I remind you that Hallowbane will be going up in the world soon, thanks to the reward I’ll receive as the queen’s advisor.”
He gives Ana a meaningful look, and she glances at me, amused.
“Don’t worry, I won’t forget,” she tells Corrin. “How can I, when it seems you’re about to become one of the family?”
Ana nods meaningfully between the two of them. Corrin beams, and Damia goes a little pale.
“That’s…not…I…” she stutters. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so lost for words.
“We haven’t gotten as far as discussing that yet,” Corrin says smoothly. “But it’s early days. I suspect Damia will want to pretend she’s not madly in love with me for a few more months at least.”
“You already know how I feel,” Damia says, ducking her head and keeping her voice so low I nearly miss it.
Corrin smiles even wider, and he squeezes her hand.
It’s all so intimate, I feel almost embarrassed, thinking this is what Ana and I subject other people to.
Though at least we have the good grace to keep most of our proclamations of love inside our own heads.
“Stratton will be very disappointed,” I say, trying to lighten the moment. “He doesn’t want to be stuck as the only single one.” We all know Hyllus, who is perfectly happy on his own, doesn’t count.
Damia scowls at the thought. “Listen, you’ve got the fact you’re my captain to protect you. But you can tell him if he makes any jokes then he’s snake food.”
Barb hisses happily, emerging from Damia’s collar to wind over onto Corrin’s shoulder and nestle her head under his chin. It seems Damia’s not the only dangerous creature to be charmed by the criminal.
“Oh good,” I say, grinning at Damia’s words. “She’s back to threatening people again. I’m glad to see you haven’t completely changed her personality, Wadestaff.”
“Stop teasing them,” Ana says, even though I can feel her amusement through the mooring. Corrin just laughs and tugs Damia away between the tents.
“Why? It’s so fun,” I reply, watching them go. “And you were stirring the pot too with your ‘part of the family’ talk.”
She shrugs. “I just thought with Harman and me marrying into this crazy fae clan, we could do with another human to balance the numbers.”
I blink at her. “Has Alastor…”
“No,” she laughs. “As if they’d have gotten engaged without Alastor blabbing it to every person in this camp. But you know it’s only a matter of time.”
I pull her tightly toward me, wrapping my arms around her. We survived, we’re together, and I can only think of one thing that could make me any happier.
“As long as they don’t get around to it before you marry me first.”