Chapter 40 Quil #2
For the first time since Sirsha broke their Adah bond, the ache in Quil’s heart eased.
He recognized the faces of so many of the soldiers.
Old friends like Rallius, Silvius, and Dex, but others, too: those who had helped take back Serra and been with him there while Spiro worked on the Ikfa.
Many had joined the encampment farther west when he’d left to beg the jinn for help.
Quil clasped hands, welcomed their well wishes, answered their questions.
Again and again, he spoke the same words: I’m here now.
All will be well. I bring allies. They will help us defeat our enemy.
But what he was thinking was he had to get the evacuation organized, secrete his people away to the east, where they would be safe until he, the Empress, and their new allies could end this war for good.
Finally, the Shrike bellowed to clear the way, Tas muscling ahead of her.
Elias led the remaining Jaduna to the Empress’s command tent, and Quil spotted Sirsha disappearing as the crowd surrounded him.
His heart leapt to his throat. If he’d still had the Adah coin, he would have taken hold of it. Don’t leave, love. Not yet.
She glanced back at him, as if she heard his thoughts. Her brown eyes met his, unreadable. He held her gaze, even as voices called to him. We belong to each other, he said to her in his mind. No broken coin will change that.
But before he completed the thought, she turned away. Because of course, she couldn’t hear him anymore.
He spotted Sufiyan and Arelia cutting through the crowd, flanking Sirsha. They would keep her safe and they’d keep her from leaving.
“Highness,” the Shrike said. “The Empress isn’t far.” The Shrike had soldiers bring around mounts. Quil and Tas followed her as she picked her way east for about a mile, through a tangle of gullies that opened to a brush-choked ravine.
Falcon’s Rest, named for the birds that made their home atop the wide rock arch that hunched low over it. Quil and his aunt had camped here once when she was teaching him to hunt, just the two of them. It had been one of their rare trips alone.
As Quil dismounted, dozens of soldiers hurried in and out of the ravine, carrying piles of brush. Aunt Hel stood below the arch, her blond crown braid glowing red in the torchlight.
“Clear all of it,” she commanded. “Stone will not burn, but brush will. We cannot let her smoke us out.”
His aunt did not turn at the sound of Quil’s arrival, but he was close enough to see her face now. Beside him, Tas cursed. Quil had to force himself not to stop in his tracks.
On the surface, his aunt looked impeccable, as always, crown braid neat, armor spotless.
But her hands were raw with cuts and scrapes, her face gaunt, and her pauldrons loose around her shoulders.
When Quil got closer, he saw that she was moving strangely—the bit of shirt visible beneath her armor was wet.
“Why the hells is she up and about when she’s wounded?” Tas hissed at the Shrike, who shot him a murderous look.
“You try telling the Empress what to do in the middle of a bleeding war, spy,” she said. “She won’t listen to me even though she took a hit near her liver. Healer Silvius said an inch to her left and she’d have died. She got lucky.”
Aunt Hel clawed at the dried tumbleweeds before her. “Rains followed by drought,” she muttered. “Left too much tinder. This entire ravine will go up in flames.”
“Aunt,” Quil said, and she whirled at the sound of his voice. In two strides she’d reached him.
“Quil—Tas.” She pulled them into a hug. “You two are a welcome sight. But—” She touched Quil’s face. “What has happened to you, my boy?”
He had no words for what it meant to have a soul bond broken. But then, if anyone understood, it was Aunt Hel.
“Nothing you haven’t already survived, Aunt. As you’ve said, work is a great healer.” He took her hands and guided her away from the ravine. “Though not with a wound to your liver. Leave this to someone else. Come—you need rest, or you won’t recover.”
Aunt Hel glared at the Blood Shrike. “Shrike’s been tattling, has she? We must clear the brush, Quil—”
“Never mind the Shrike and never mind the brush.” Quil used the voice she’d taught him, one that brooked no argument.
“We’re evacuating anyway,” Tas said. “Please, Empress.”
Aunt Hel went with them unwillingly, glancing back at the ravine multiple times. It was filled with tumbleweeds, dried trees, and a substantial amount of scrub. But clearing it was an impossible task and a waste of the Empress’s time. Quil didn’t understand why she’d fixated on it.
He and Tas told her swiftly of their journey as they headed back to the encampment.
But she reacted to little of it, other than a sigh of relief when Quil told her how many Jaduna had come with him.
By the time they reached her tent, her shoulders were slumped.
A pair of Illustrian Paters looked worriedly at her as she passed, and a group of legionnaires muttered to themselves, brows furrowed.
His aunt had always healed remarkably quickly. The magic in her blood meant she survived wounds others didn’t. But she still needed time and rest.
Quil didn’t like the number of eyes watching her. No matter how loyal her people, seeing the Empress weak would let doubt worm into their hearts. Doubt led to fear, and fear to poor decisions—which they couldn’t afford in the middle of a war.
“Shrike,” Quil said. “Help me get her around the back. I’ll deal with the Jaduna myself, after. Tas—bring me M’radh from the infirmary.”
“I cannot sleep, Quil,” Aunt Hel said when Tas disappeared. “Nor do I wish to. If you haven’t noticed, we’re under attack.”
“You’re no good in an attack if you’re dead on your feet.”
Aunt Hel smiled at him, a false thing that only drove his worry in deeper. “I’ll recover. Truly. If you insist, I will rest. For an hour only.”
“Fine,” he said. He considered for a moment and then reached out with a tendril of his magic, trying to seek the truth of her mind. Perhaps a memory was eating at her. Some old demon he could ease into quietude.
But the magic only revealed the flame-lit hell Quil had seen weeks ago when he’d accidentally touched her memories.
This time, even as it felt like the smoke was choking him, he tried to remain calm and observe.
It’s not the future. It’s the past. Or was it?
The memory was hazy at the edges, as if it weren’t quite real.
Or as if it weren’t a memory at all, but a dream.
They reached the back of Aunt Hel’s tent, where two Masks stood guard. After ensuring the quarters were secure, Quil followed his aunt in.
“I need a moment with her please, Shrike,” Quil said. The red-haired woman nodded, slipping out the tent flap.
“Aunt.” Quil decided candor was best. “What do you dream of?”
Aunt Helene winced as she sat down on her cot. The bedroll had been changed, but there was a staggering amount of blood staining the dirt floor. If it was all hers, then it wasn’t just luck that she yet lived. It was a damned miracle.
“When I was your age,” she said, “someone told me I was a torch against the night if I let myself burn. I dream that I burn, Quil. And that I—I am afraid.”
Her skin was waxen now, and he grabbed pillows from a basket to help bolster her.
“To love is a terrifying thing,” she whispered. “After my family was killed, I thought I had nothing left to—to fear. And then A-Avitas Harper died.”
Quil was quiet. He knew of Avitas Harper, his aunt’s great love many years ago, only through the stories others told. She had never spoken of him.
Aunt Hel brushed Quil’s neck, where the Adah coin used to be.
“Sirsha broke the bond,” Aunt Hel said. “But even if it was magic, the coin is only a symbol. When you love someone so deeply, it doesn’t just disappear.
And neither does the person you love.” She smiled.
“You know I still talk to your grandfather sometimes? To your mother, even.”
“Do you talk to—to Avitas Harper?”
Aunt Hel’s face closed, and Quil immediately regretted asking. But after a moment, she spoke.
“There were many days I could have chosen a life with him,” she said. “But I chose the Empire instead. When I think of that, I am ashamed. I do not know what to say to him. So, I say nothing.”
His aunt’s gaze was faraway. “I’ve been thinking a great deal,” she said. “About what you said to me before you left. You chose loyalty over freedom once before, yes? It got you the Empire, but what did you give up? I—I do not think you should do the same.”
“Aunt, please rest.”
“No. Listen to me. The choice comes every day, Quil. Every single day. Loyalty or freedom. I am not saying you should forsake the Empire. I’m saying some days, you should choose freedom.”
She fell back then, her eyes drifting shut. Once again, Quil reached toward her memory, hoping he could discover a more peaceful recollection that her dreaming mind might latch to.
But once again, when he entered her memory, all he saw were flames and all he felt was fear.