41. Ayna
Ayna
Using my water magic to draw the worst of the wetness from my leathers and Royad’s and dumping it in an empty vase on the carved mahogany sideboard by the back wall, I join the others, eyeing the distance from the Askarean border to the final pin marking the most recent location and ready to leave at a moment’s notice. I’m already in my armor; all I need is a weapon, and I’m ready to enter a battlefield.
“They’ve been following reports of the caravan passing through for a while, but it’s only today that they were certain they know which direction they will travel.” Tori catches us up. “They would have tried to stop it on their own, but there is a small army travelling with the delivery, and not all of them seem to be human. It would be too great a risk. They’d lose and expose themselves at the same time. We need their network to build an army from the inside of Tavras.”
However Tori comes up with those strategies, I fully agree. We can’t lose the rebels. They got me out of Erina’s palace, and I will not send them to their certain death because of a delivery we can destroy on our own. “When do we leave?”
At my request, Royad throws me a concerned glance that is echoed by his cousin whose eyes wander back and forth between us, reading the silent communication.
“Pouly said it will take about two more days before the caravan is out of the settled regions. We don’t want to attack around people and risk the destruction of their livelihoods.” No one is more surprised than I am when Herinor states he wants to make sure to keep civilians safe.
Interestingly, Kaira doesn’t bat an eyelid at his comment. “ Is he secretly a teddy bear? Because if he is and you ’ re not telling me, I swear to the gods of his sacred Neredyn I ’ ll rip his head off and dig out the stuffing.”
Kaira gives a startled laugh, but in her mind, she shoots me a sharp warning. “ He ’ s exactly the bloodthirsty grump you know him to be. Only his priorities of bloodshed have shifted.”
There is so much to unpack in that statement I don’t even want to begin.
“No civilians.” Silas nods his agreement. “That will shorten our window of opportunity for the attack, though.” He leans over the map, drawing a line with the tip of his knife, the film of color peeling away and rolling to the side as if to form a corridor for the steel. “If we attack here”—he pins his blade into the paper right above the symbols of a small farm village by the edge of a forest—“we might need to accept some collateral, but we’ll have enough time to get it done, and we’ll easily hide all traces of our carnage.”
Myron puts down his hand on the table with a slap. “No. Carnage. No. Civilians.” His growl is death and night, and Silas sinks back into his seat.
I’m hypnotized by the expression on Myron’s beautiful face, the black veins creeping into the white of his eyes, but from the edge of my vision, I can make out a trickle of ink-black fog coiling around his fingers.
“No civilians.” Silas lifts his hands in defense.
No one else dares to look at Myron, except for the King of Askarea, who nods his approval. “You make for a formidable ally,” he says, brushing his hand over the map and eradicating all traces of Silas’s suggestion. The knife slips from the sealing paper, color bleeding over the scar like it’s never been gone in the first place.
“We’ll wait the full two days and attack during the darkest hour of the night after the second day,” Recienne decides, pointing at the spot where the Plithian Plains open and the number of settlements slows. “Human soldiers will be at a disadvantage. We could be in and out without slitting throats. All we need is to spill the magical weapon so it can no longer be used. From all that we know, it should be as easy as that, and once it’s destroyed, we won’t need to fear the attack of a full army any time soon. It will give us time to plan ahead and figure out a smarter way to defeat Erina than by slaughtering his army. Without the magic-nullifying serum, they are no match for us.”
Clio and Tori nod, but the wary glance of the general tells me he fears it won’t be that easy. The Guardians shall turn his fears into past concerns which never came to pass.
“Let’s hope we’ll manage without bloodshed,” Royad agrees.
Across the table, Kaira is chewing on her lip, fingers digging into the edge of the table. I haven’t seen her nervous like this. Not even when we were escaping the palace in Meer.
“You all right?” I prompt her, not switching to our mental channel because, if she has concerns, we all should hear them.
Kaira’s eyes meet mine. “I don’t know. After what happened at the Flame estate, I wouldn’t put it past Erina that this is another trap.”
She has a point.
“Erina needs the weapon with his army, and his army is clearly gathering. Unless he has legions collecting elsewhere that we haven’t found.” Herinor’s tone is not gentle but not harsh either as he speaks to the part-Flame.
“He might have already sent shipments to the army. This might not be the only delivery,” Kaira objects. “It’s possible he has everything he needs in place and is merely waiting for us to walk into an ambush.”
My chest tightens at the mere thought of another situation like at the estate.
“Then we’ll be prepared for it,” Myron says, his tone that of the king who won’t show mercy if anyone dares harm us the way Erina and the Flames did at the estate .
The black veins have retreated from his eyes, and his fingers are no longer wrapped in shadows, but the resolve in his face tells me he’s ready to do whatever it takes.
“Tata will be joining us,” Clio announces, earning a sideways look from Silas that could murder. “She shared the details of the shipment with my brother and Tori while you were scouting the plains. “We know it’s supposedly still liquid, and it’s too heavy for humans to carry. The caravan the rebels reported fits the description Tata provided. Three carriages with four horses each. Guards ride with them, and foot soldiers march along. From what we know, they don’t stop for the nights but exchange their horses every other day.”
Memories of riding north in a carriage with Andraya and Pouly float into my mind. We didn’t stop for rest either. “Whatever Erina has in mind, delivery or trap, he is under time pressure if he doesn’t dare to stop.”
Tori nods at my assessment, folding his arms across his chest as he slides his gaze back to the map as if he can see everything Clio just mentioned, as if the whole terrain is coming to life in his mind. I wouldn’t be surprised if it did; that male can melt stone after all.
“The rebels’ hideout is closer to the point where we’ll attack than the border. We’ll site-hop there then rest for a few hours to restore our energy before we find our vantage points,” he explains, all business, and I can see why Recienne relies on him for strategy—the way his mind flits from point to point, connecting them and creating a full picture out of the bits and pieces we have been providing. “Use the time we have left to train and rest. We’ll set out tomorrow at sunset. ”
Wordless, Recienne, Clio, and Tori disappear from the head of the table, leaving us to ourselves. The map is gone, replaced by a basket of bread, a large pan of scrambled eggs, and a bowl of fried bacon sits between a platter with sliced vegetables and a glass jar filled with some thick, red paste I have never seen in my life. Small plates are laid out in our usual spots, alongside silver cutlery. A steaming pot of tea and a carafe of water share the space at the center of the table.
I’m no longer hungry, but I walk over to my usual chair and sit down, reaching for the pan and serving myself.
Kaira eyes me like she’s ready to throw up.
“If I want to be prepared for anything, I’ll need my strength.” Without another explanation, I start shoveling the eggs into my mouth, barely tasting the aroma of the chopped chives that magically pop up on top of my serving.
Myron is the first to follow my lead. Whether it’s because he’s hungry or he wants to support my endeavor, I don’t know, but I appreciate his presence as he sits himself in the chair next to me and summons a slice of bacon to his plate with his magic.
Herinor and Silas sit across from us, in Clio’s and Tori’s places, pulling over their plates and heaping them with food. Even Royad joins, picking up a slice of toast and smearing it with the red paste that smells surprisingly like spring and winter all at once. I don’t ask what it is. I’ll be able to figure it out when we return if we succeed. And it won’t matter if we walk into a trap.
We finish our meal in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Not even Kaira disturbs my mind with a comment as scenarios of doom play before my inner eye .
“What do we do now?” the part-Flame eventually asks when none of us lifts our forks anymore and the teapot is empty.
At first, I believe no one is going to answer, and I take a deep breath to inform her I have no idea, but Clio storms in, shortsword at her hips swaying with her purposeful gait as she waves her hand at my sister and me, a knowing expression on her face.
She walks up to the head of the table, bracing her hands on the high backrest of Recienne’s empty chair, and pins Kaira and me with a look.
“Now, my friends, we get you ready for battle.”
We follow Clio down the hallway in a single file. She’s provided us all with leathers and weapons before, but this time, she seems to have something different in mind. A stairwell wide enough for two leads down to a windowless corridor with a single, wide steel door at the end.
“We don’t know what we’ll be facing out there, so everyone better pick their own weapons.” Clio pushes the door open, sparks of magic running along the outline of the threshold, and the magic locking it dissolves at her command and exposes a room lined with racks and shelves full of armor and weapons.
Silver spears sit next to black steel; curved and saw-edged blades cross along the walls. Wooden stands hold up pieces of leather embossed with emblems and shield crests I have never seen before. There are even assortments of helmets with horns attached and helmets with holes on the sides that make me wonder if those are meant for creatures with horns growing out of their skulls.
“Welcome to the armory.” Clio’s voice trembles with excitement like a little girl’s. “My dear brother approves for you to take whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” The disbelief in Herinor’s tone is almost comical. His gaze isn’t on the weapons, though, and thank the Guardians, Kaira is standing in front of him where she can’t spot the way his eyes have landed on the back of her head.
“Any piece of armor or weaponry in this room that fits you and that you can carry into battle, yes,” Clio specifies, but there’s humor in her voice.
A part of me wants to tell Kaira to put Herinor out of his misery already, but I’m not one to give relationship advice considering where I’ve ended up on my own. Right now, I can’t even tell my own mate how badly I want him.
Silas is already wandering through the rows of swords and hatchets, picking up various items and weighing them in his hands. A shimmer of enthusiasm I rarely find on the sarcastic male’s expression has settled on his features while he quietly evaluates their worth for his fighting style.
“That’s very gracious of the Fairy King, and I appreciate the gesture.” Myron inclines his head at the princess of Askarea. His gaze slides over the display of armor on the side of the room until it lands on a set of black leathers decorated with silver ornamentations. It’s definitely too small for him, and the wide hips of the pants suggest it’s made for a female form. “This one looks fit for a queen,” he notes, stepping to my side and sliding his fingers along my arm in a silent question.
“It does.” Clio flicks her fingers, summoning the set and holding it out for me. “It’s Sanja’s, but she’s already agreed that you could wear anything of hers as long as you’ve made sure Erina and Ephegos never set foot into this palace.”
My throat tightens at both the trust and the responsibility the Fairy Queen instills in me with such a simple statement. “I’ll wear it with pride.”
It takes three long minutes behind a changing screen at the side of the room to get my body stuffed into the sheath of black leather, but once I’m in, silver vines climb along my body, flexible despite the hard steel they are made from. They seem to shift with every movement, protectively wrapping around my side when I lift my arm, crawling over my knees to the outside of my thighs when I bend my legs. They even slither over my throat when I tilt my head backward, making panic rise in my gut.
“They are spelled to protect their bearer,” Clio explains, gently stroking along the living metal, and it retreats to the collar of the leathers, allowing me a deep breath. “The vines are made from steel infused with magic by one of the ancient mages that once walked Eherea. It’s the last one of this making.”
Air floods my lungs in a deep inhale. “It’s beautiful.” Because it is.
From the side, Myron is eyeing me with awe so profound it takes my breath all over again.
“Let’s see what the others are choosing, shall we?” Whether Clio is oblivious to our moment or is deliberately saving me is irrelevant. I’m grateful when the female twirls around, stalking between Myron and me toward Royad, who’s set his sight on a carved bow made of black wood.
“This bow was a gift from my mother to my father.” Her shoulders hunch ever so slightly as she runs her finger along the curve of the bow.
Royad is about to put it back on the rack, probably not wanting to offend Clio by taking something of meaning to her, but the female stops him. “Take it. It hasn’t been used in centuries. She’d want it to belong to a decent male for once.”
While I’m struggling to unpack the meaning of her words, Royad seems to understand. “I’ll take good care of it and return it after our mission.”
Clio shakes her head, closing Royad’s fingers around the bow. “Keep it.”
“This one looks wicked.” Silas, oblivious to or purposefully ignoring Clio and Royad, swings a double-bit hatchet with swirling engravings so close to Herinor’s ear he cuts a few hairs off.
The warrior doesn’t flinch. “Stop playing and pick something already,” he grumbles.
Next to him, Kaira is sorting through a row of slender swords without enthusiasm, avoiding Herinor’s gaze.
“Aren’t you going to choose anything?” I ask him.
Herinor shakes his head. “If we come across Ephegos, I’d rather have the worst blade in the world in my hands so I won’t stand a chance against Myron or you when the traitor orders me to kill you.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at that admission, so I look away, watching Myron pull a long, broad blade from the rack closest to him. He slides a fingertip along the engraving an inch from the edge, listening as if he could hear the sword sing, and nods to himself.
When we leave the armory half an hour later, we’re all clad in black armor and carrying new weapons. All but Herinor, who sticks with his decision to keep his old things. Kaira abandoned the sword and opted for daggers like me, and from Silas’s belt, the double-bit hatchet is dangling, happily ready to cut throats. It’s the most prepared I’ve felt in years and the least prepared I actually am.
It won’t matter. Trap or real, Erina’s delivery needs to be intercepted. We can’t take chances with our fate.
As I glance up at Myron, who’s walking by my side, I know what I need to do.