Chapter 23
MERYN
Looking down at the death sprawled out and waiting for us, one thing is clear: I can’t take Saela down there without a plan. I’m sure it’s psychological, but I swear I can smell the blood from here.
“No, that is the smell of blood,” Anassa confirms.
Great. Helpful as always, Anassa.
She snorts and shakes her head.
I signal for our group to halt. Venna’s wolf, Skaia, twitches uncomfortably at the sight before us. Anassa gives a low rumble that is somehow both menacing and comforting.
My sister needs to be somewhere safe—both to protect her from witnessing the horrors awaiting us at the front line and to keep her away from anything that might trigger her bloodlust.
I take a deep breath and try to reach for calmness. “Saela,” I say simply.
Stark understands me. “There are some semipermanent tents on the outer perimeter of the base, where soldiers and Bonded can rotate for rest periods. Many of them should be empty right now, considering,” he adds grimly.
Cratos shifts beneath him, and Stark’s body tenses to adjust for the displacement of his weight.
“She’ll have privacy and security in one of the tents in the Bonded section. It will be comfortable.”
“I can accompany her. Stand guard,” Venna offers immediately. “We can have the wolves procure animals if Saela needs to feed.”
A zing of gratitude moves quickly up my spine. When it reaches my chest, it catches in my heart and seeps strength into my blood. It means a lot that Venna’s taking Saela’s condition in stride.
“Thank you,” I tell them, slipping from Anassa’s back to help Saela down.
She lets me guide her, but when her feet are planted on the ground, she doesn’t let me go. Her hands wrinkle the fabric of my shirt. I recognize the way she stands, folded in on herself. That little dip of her head has always been a giveaway that she’s nervous or afraid.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” she whispers. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry, Mer.”
She’s giving voice to my insecurity, too. I let myself be convinced that the safest place for my sister was with me. But seeing this, understanding what it means to be in an active war zone where my own side is rapidly losing ground… have I made a grave error?
I can’t afford to show doubt. She needs my reassurance, not my insecurities.
Kneeling before her, I reach up to gently hold her wrists.
“Regardless of how we got here, we’re here. And you’re a princess of Nocturna with responsibilities to its people.” Saela’s eyes widen slightly. “You need to be brave for them. Venna will protect you. I’ll come stay there tonight once I’m done at central command.”
She steps forward and hugs me. It takes everything I have not to burst into tears. I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight.
The embrace is far shorter than I’d have preferred, and then she’s stepping away from me. Venna helps her onto Skaia’s back, and then the two of them ride off in the direction of the tents.
Saela glances back at me, though, with an expression that makes my heart ache.
I stand there for a moment, staring after her. I stare until Stark’s fingertips brush the top of my shoulder. The fingers on that arm twitch like they want to return the touch. But when I look at him, I can’t tell if he’s comforting me or telling me we need to move on.
So I say nothing and continue toward the command center at the heart of the encampment.
As we descend, the stink of too many bodies and too much death becomes undeniable.
The camp is a strange mix of tumultuous triage and eerie emptiness. Phylax forces have been stationed here on and off for decades. Now they’re gone, and the reinforcements are still days away.
The empty tents make the place look like a ghost town. Which isn’t exactly reassuring.
We make our way through the medical triage area, feet squishing through deep mud.
I don’t know much about medical care, but even I can see that the workers here are shorthanded.
The few medics rush back and forth without stopping to rest. And to our left, a wagon that holds several bodies just… lies there.
I’m sure someone is going to come back for them, make certain they get home to their families so they can properly grieve. Still, the sight of them waiting is unsettling.
I look again as we pass closer to the dead, and my breath catches. I recognize one of them.
Roddert. He was Strategos. From my training cohort.
He sat at breakfast with us. I remember him staring at Izabel as if she were made of diamonds. I remember him sparring with Nevah. She said he had an uncannily good grasp of parrying.
Guess it wasn’t uncanny enough.
It hits me. Actually, it rolls over me like a snow squall. I’m drowning and burning at the same time. Because they’re not just anonymous casualties. Being here, seeing it, feeling it. Knowing it.
It’s impossible to put distance between myself and the lives being lost.
How many familiar faces will I never see again?
Izabel’s name rings in my ears.
“Meryn.”
I lift my head and see we’ve reached the central command tent. Stark holds open the door flap, waiting for me to enter first.
I exhale deeply and duck inside. The interior is dark, save for a few streams of light from slits in the tent’s canvas, a handful of lanterns, and a single brazier billowing smoke up into a ventilation channel.
Several people are gathered around a table. Goblets are scattered about the surface, as well as maps and figurines meant to represent the current strategic situation. A dagger juts out of the table’s wood, like it was plunged there in the middle of an argument and forgotten about.
As always, Siegrid cuts an imposing figure. She’s bent over the maps, her expression dark as she receives reports from soldiers. Her arms are spread, scarred, and tattooed. Her head is bowed. She’s listening to them like each word they say might be their last, depending on her mood.
Stark and Noemi duck into the tent after me, and the three of us wait for a break in the briefing. A stir moves through the tent as people realize I’ve arrived, and Siegrid lifts her head.
When she sees me, her posture doesn’t change. She remains with her hands braced, her wide shoulders on display, her biceps tightening.
And then, rather than addressing me, she looks past me and says, “Noemi, it’s so good to have you with us.”
Turning to the rest of the pack leaders gathered, she explains: “Noemi resisted the Phylax defection and refused to follow her pack when they declared for Killian.”
Noemi’s eyes turn to storm clouds. Her body is taut like a bowstring.
A Kryptos Gamma gives Noemi a frankly assessing look. Something in the way he stares at her makes me bristle.
I don’t have a chance to think about it anymore before Siegrid dismisses her officers with a stern command.
I turn toward her as the rest of the men and women file out. A few of them glance at me or Noemi before looking away quickly. Not one of them looks at Stark.
Then it’s just the four of us in the commander’s tent. And suddenly I remember all the things that Stark told me about Siegrid. The woman she is. My blood heats with anger, shadows starting to stir, and I have a ridiculous urge to step between her and Stark.
Protect him. Guard his throat. Punch hers, maybe.
Her throat is so fucking punchable right now.
“The situation here has never been this dire,” Siegrid says plainly, pulling me out of my violent musings.
Right. Dire straits at the war front. Maybe don’t punch your chief commander… yet.
Siegrid clasps her hands behind her back and rounds the table to stand before us.
“The Siphons have made several deep incursions into the farmlands, as you could probably see from your approach. Our original perimeter, maintained by the Phylax pack, is just gone.”
She draws a deep breath, showing a rare moment of unease. It shakes me to see her so unsettled.
“Your Highness, as you know, our plan had been to use your strength as a last resort to shore up our second line of defense. But things have changed.” She visibly gathers herself, smoothing her face back to her usual impassiveness as she delivers the worst of the news.
“As of now, the town of Weisenstat and the largest of our farming areas remain intact. But we got intelligence last night that Astreona has sent reinforcements—a very powerful Siphon general, with a whole host of new forces. This isn’t just a defensive mission anymore.
The Siphons have noticed our weakness here, and we anticipate a major attack. ”
She doesn’t voice the obvious conclusion, but I can tell we all think it: It’s going to be a bloodbath.
Ironically, the news that we’re outmatched gives me a funny sort of calm. It’s like the buzz I’d get before a difficult fight in the underground rings, I realize. Facing up against someone bigger and badder than me. Knowing that this might be it, the time that I’m finally outmatched.
Now, just like then, my resolve hardens into something steely, edged with anticipation.
I live for dangerous odds.
Stepping up to the table, I study the battle diagrams. “What are your plans so far? Will it still work to leverage my shielding power until we can get reinforcements in place?”
“No,” Siegrid says flatly. “There’s just too much area to cover, and with the forces we’re facing now, it’s likely the Siphons will strike in multiple places.
But we’ll be spread too thin if we try to anticipate every potential target.
Plus, the farmers are refusing to abandon their land and seek refuge elsewhere—even if we had the extra troops to help them get out, they won’t go. ”
She scrubs a hand over her face. “There’s something else. Queen Meryn, the corruption in the Bonded magic seems to be getting worse.”
My stomach drops. We were keeping an eye on this ever since it was first noticed. But Siegrid was so confident it would clear up once Tormun caught Killian. Once this wretched bracelet was off my wrist.
So much for that.