Chapter 23 #2
I’ve heard more mention of Daemos riders getting blowback when they impel like what happened to that boy in the arena, although Stark hasn’t experienced it. Noemi mentioned casually on the ride down here that her shields had become too strong on occasion, blocking Bonded out.
Not that we have that many Phylax left to worry about.
“Does the added strength in the magic help at all?” I ask. Since I put the crown on, everyone’s magic has surged.
Siegrid purses her mouth. “No. The troops have had no time to learn the scope of the changes or adjust our battle maneuvers to compensate for the differences.”
We’re all quiet, considering that.
My instincts are trying to tell me something. What would I have done in the fighting ring when the odds were so clearly against me?
I almost always managed to win. No matter how formidable the opponent.
It was because I could surprise them. They looked at me, and they thought they knew me. Thought I was a weak little girl who would fold easily, barely put up a fight.
What surprises do we have up our sleeve now?
“I should use foresight,” I murmur, growing more confident of the words as I say them. “We don’t need to accept defeat before it happens. Nothing is inevitable. Maybe I’ll get a glimpse of a path to success.”
Siegrid nods slowly. “It’s worth a try, Your Highness. Do you have the strength to attempt it now? We anticipate their attack coming tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”
I swallow hard. I’m worn out from our travel, and from fighting off the deserters who attacked Saela. But what other choice do I have?
“I’ll do it.”
Stark finds me the most comfortable chair in the tent, and Noemi posts herself by the entrance as guard. Siegrid seats herself across from me, gathering ink and parchment so that she’ll be ready to make note of anything that I relay.
I pull the crown out from the pack at my waist and settle it onto my head. The rush of power it gives me is heady, dangerous. It’s unnatural, thinly papering over my exhaustion. I could get myself in trouble by relying on this strength too often.
Closing my eyes, I sink into myself. Even in the best of moments, it’s hard to trigger foresight. But I focus on the feeling I get when I glimpse what’s ahead—like the hazy image on the back of your eyelids when you accidentally look at the sun.
The magic pulls me under.
Battlefield. Siphons everywhere, bodies, blood.
Smoke rising off in the distance—from farms burning, I realize.
Anassa and I are still standing, maintaining a Phylax shield with the last of our energy—but it’s not enough.
The reach of the shield is failing, and I can see many of our best warriors already dead on the ground. The faces stare up at me, blank.
Noemi. Beautiful red hair flaming around her, eyes unseeing.
Venna. So like her sister in death. Face beautiful, frozen like ice.
Siegrid, dismembered. Her fearsome direwolf, Genicos, curved around her, as if protecting her even now.
Stark. Stark.
My eyes flutter, and I pull away from that thread, heart pounding. I reach out again, follow a different path forward.
Death.
Fire.
Destruction.
Each path ends the same.
Until…
Shadows. Anassa and me, and shadows everywhere. The Siphons in retreat.
I gasp and wrench myself away from the visions.
“I need to ride out and meet the Siphons head-on. Unleash my shadebending on them,” I say, voice shaky. “It’s the only future where we beat them back.”
Siegrid’s response is instant. “No.”
I bristle. Don’t punch her throat. Don’t punch her throat. Don’t—
“If you’ll recall,” she says dismissively, “military matters fall under my authority as Sovereign Alpha. I cannot allow the queen to risk herself in direct combat, especially when you lack battlefield experience beyond the controlled environment of the Trials. You have no control over the shadebending, even still. You could get killed—and you could kill our people, too.”
I straighten my spine, lift my head, and lock eyes with Siegrid. “You and I both know that foresight is imprecise, but over and over again, all I saw was death and destruction. This is the only possible solution that was offered to me.”
I pull the crown from my head and study the opal, gleaming in the firelight. The nightmare of my visions presses in again, and I squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of tiredness washes over my body.
Silence, as the group takes that in.
“I’ll go alone,” I offer up quietly. “That way, no one else will get hurt if my powers are out of control.”
“Meryn,” Noemi says on a soft gasp. “No.”
“Absolutely fucking not,” Stark snaps. “You cannot be serious. You’re the queen. Alone on the battlefield, facing down our enemy?”
I look at him imploringly. “Stark—if we lose this whole area, our nation will starve. What is one woman compared with the hunger of thousands?”
“You’ll go with her, Stark,” Siegrid says tersely.
We both turn to stare at her. “What?!”
“You know that the Sovereign Alpha has the ability to shadebend, too,” Siegrid says. “Because of our family’s powers, Stark will be protected. He cannot be endangered by your strength.”
A dark look comes over Stark’s face. “How do you know that for certain?”
“I just do,” Siegrid says snippily.
Another terrible thing about Siegrid: She deliberately withholds information from Stark. I’ve had enough of secrets and information withheld for a hundred thousand lifetimes.
“While Meryn wields her shadebending,” Siegrid continues, “you will keep an eye on the Siphon movements. If you sense that the queen is outmatched, you will protect her and bring her back to our camp immediately.”
“Of course she’s going to be outmatched,” he barks at her. “One woman against an entire regiment of Siphons and their immensely powerful general?”
I hold up a hand, stilling him.
While the foresight visions are hard to parse, I know what I saw. And I know I’ve barely dipped a toe into the deep, spiraling pool of darkness that lives inside me. It’s begging to be unleashed, whispering at me to open myself up to it and let it take control.
“I can do it,” I say quietly.
His jaw ticks. “Or you die.”
“Or I die,” I agree. “Maybe we both do. But if I don’t attempt it, our deaths are a certainty.”
“In that case,” Siegrid says, now fully won over to my side of the argument. “Shall we discuss details?”
Stark shakes me awake before dawn, just as planned. The tent is dark and cold; the fire in the brazier burned down to just coals. He heads out to ensure that Cratos and Anassa have everything they need, and I dress hurriedly, pulling on layers to ward off the chill.
I slip into the other room of the tent, stoking the fire there with extra logs, then turn to wake Saela.
I can’t go to battle without saying goodbye.
And there’s something else I need, too.
“Saela,” I whisper, lightly touching her shoulder. “Wake up, sis.”
Her eyes snap open, and she yawns, sitting up. “Meryn?”
“I want a hug before I go,” I say, keeping my tone light and refusing to let my fear or my nerves about the upcoming battle show. Not to her. “I have to go fight. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
Venna and I had a long talk last night, and she promised to look out for Saela, however she can, should the worst happen.
Saela nods, and in the dim light, I can’t quite make out her expression.
I pause before my next question, wishing I didn’t need to ask it.
“Saela, can I borrow Mother’s necklace? Like with the crown, I’ve felt it amplify my powers before. I think it would be helpful for today.”
Saela nods and slips the teardrop gem out from under her shirt. She wraps her hand around it once as if for luck before unclasping it and handing it to me.
As it settles around my neck, my hands twitch with an electric burst of energy. The shadows surge in my veins, ready to be directed. With the necklace and crown combined, I’ll be a force to be reckoned with.
Saela gets out of her nest of blankets on the couch and stands. Then she moves quickly to our pile of bags and scrabbles through them, casting things to either side.
“Saela?” I ask, brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”
She doesn’t stop, just says in a monotone voice, “I must go to him.”
“Go?” A chill runs down my spine. I cross to her in two big steps. “Go to whom, Saela?”
She stands, slinging a pack behind her. “Killian. He calls me.”
I freeze in shock and then lunge forward to grab her hand. She’s trying to slip out of the tent flap and into the cold.
“What the fu—what are you talking about?!” I hiss.
My heart leaps into my throat. Not now, not after all this time. Not when he’s finally gone silent in my own mind.
Saela pulls against me, struggling mindlessly. My arms tighten around her, and I want to scream.
The sire bond. It must be the sire bond that Aldrich mentioned finally affecting her. Because of…
The necklace.
I’d put it on her almost immediately after she turned, hoping it would protect her. And it did, it seems—in a way I’d never predicted.
I wrench the necklace from my neck and force it over Saela’s head.
The moment the opal touches her skin, she sags in my grip and then turns to me, confused. “Meryn? What happened?”
“I—” Horror stifles my words.
Killian. That fucker.
My breathing returns to normal as Saela’s expression remains unmistakably her.
“Saela, listen carefully. I need you to keep that necklace on at all times, all right?”
Her eyes widen in fear, and she swallows.
Taking a deep breath, I lean down so that our eyes are level. Then I tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her on the cheek.
“Just promise me, okay? I’ll explain everything later, but I was wrong about me taking the necklace. You need it. Do not take it off while I’m gone.”
She nods in silence.
After another tight hug, I force myself to leave. As I go, I reach out mentally to Venna, letting her know about the necklace so she can keep an eye on it.
Then I catch up with Stark where he’s waiting with our wolves. Anassa greets me with her teeth bared—she’s edgy, riled up, and desperate to get out on the field.
Stark sits astride Cratos, decked out in full battle leathers. The layers of leather and padding emphasize his muscular arms and shoulders, the broadness of his chest. The two of them together are an inky black silhouette against the dawning light. A vision of strength and power.
“You ready?” I ask both him and Anassa.
Stark merely scowls at me. I know he’s still furious that I won the argument, that we’re charging off on this possibly foolhardy mission.
But I also know that he won’t let anything happen to me—not while he’s still standing.
“Let us go rain death upon them,” Anassa growls.