Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Everyone from the youngest ward to the most senior archon is on edge, waiting restlessly for the relative safety that winter provides Faraengard. But fall hangs on with both hands, pushing everyone to their limits—in training, in patrols, and on watch duty.
Tonight, the training yard is almost empty, stripped down to nothing but shadows and the fading scent of dust and sweat. All the others drifted off hours ago toward the baths, the Crimson Feather, and other things easier than another hour of drills.
But Ryot and I stayed, fighting until we were both ragged. Now, the stars are out and the air bites colder against my skin with every passing minute. I sit on the ground, breath heaving, downing a flask of laomai before I fall over. Across from me, Ryot wipes down his blades.
“You’re getting faster,” Ryot says, his voice rough from too many hours shouting commands.
“Or you’re getting slower,” I say, a faint smile tugging at my mouth.
He exhales sharply—a sound that could be a laugh if he allowed it. But he won’t. I haven’t heard him laugh at all these last few weeks. He’s too wrapped up in all the things that can go wrong.
He finishes cleaning the last training blade, setting it carefully beside him.
“You’re getting harder to read. That’s good. It makes you harder to kill.”
“Harder to kill,” I echo. “It’s strange to think of that as a goal. Isn’t it?”
He rolls his broad shoulders and looks up at the stars. “In war, being hard to kill is everything. It means you get another day. Another chance to fight.”
I fall backward to the ground with a sigh, my eyes finding the heavens. “I’m not even sure what I’m fighting,” I admit. “Some days I’m clawing at nothing, for nothing.”
“You’re not clawing at nothing,” he says. “You’re still here. That can be enough for now.”
I don’t think he’s trying to comfort me with pretty words. He says it like it’s a truth.
“I miss them,” I confess, the words slipping past my lips before I can stop them. “My family, my parents, my brothers. But sometimes … Sometimes what I miss the most is who I was before all of this.”
“I miss my family, too,” he says quietly. “And I miss who I was when I was theirs.”
Maybe it’s the simple understanding in his answer that prompts more. “I used to think that if I could survive long enough, if I could endure, I could get back to her. The girl I used to be. How sad is that?”
He sighs, but it’s not one of exasperation. “It’s not sad, rebel girl, but you can’t go back. None of us can.”
I close my eyes, breathing against the ache in my chest. There’s a rustle in the dirt as he crosses the yard, and I don’t have to open my eyes to know he’s lain down next to me—the heat of him seeps into the ground, into the little bit of empty space between us.
For a while, we just breathe. When I finally open my eyes, it’s to see the stars blink overhead.
They’re beautiful, but I can’t help but think they must be cold. Like the gods I don’t understand, they’re distant and uncaring, far away from a world that’s not theirs.
Next to me, Ryot shifts and our arms brush, in a brief, accidental touch that sends a shock of heat through the night’s chill. I ignore it.
“I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now,” I whisper.
“You don’t owe that answer to anyone. Not the archons. Not the gods. No one gets to decide that but you.”
I turn my head toward him. He’s already looking at me.
Without thinking, I reach out and brush the backs of my fingers against his hand.
At first, he doesn’t move, but then he shifts to turn his hand palm-up.
His fingers curl loosely over my own, which rest on the jagged gash that marks him as mine.
A crash behind us shatters the moment. I snap my hand back as Ryot sits up and grabs his sword in one smooth motion. Faelon stands at the gate to our Ra’veth training area with his arms crossed.
“Am I interrupting?” Faelon asks, a shit-eating grin on his mouth.
Ryot sighs but climbs to his feet. “You’re always interrupting, Faelon.” Ryot slides his sword into the holster he wears on his back and then points a finger at me. “Get some rest. We leave for our patrol rotation tomorrow.”
I smirk up at him. “Yes, Master .”
His lips twitch before he turns to walk away. I’ve seen other wards—from other vanguards—get whipped for this kind of insolence, but Ryot likes it when I’m snarky.
He slaps Faelon on the shoulder as he walks past. “How was the Crimson Feather?”
Faelon’s grin widens. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. “Oh, you know,” he says. “Full of bad decisions wrapped in beautiful packaging.”
Ryot grunts, and then he’s pushing out the gate and striding away. My gaze follows his retreating back until Faelon lets out a low whistle.
“You keep looking at him like that, and people are going to start making bets.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Bets?” I ask, aiming for casual, but probably missing it by a league.
He smirks. “On how long it’ll take before one of you breaks—and then breaks the rules.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Faelon holds up a hand.
“Relax,” he says. “I won’t say anything. You two wouldn’t be the first to develop feelings around here. But a word of advice? Try to keep it casual. Loving someone gets you whipped harder than straight insubordination.”
I huff out a breath that’s part embarrassment, part exasperation. “Thanks for the unsolicited advice.”
“Anytime,” Faelon says, flashing a grin, but it falters a hair.
He shifts his weight and slides a hand from his pocket.
“Speaking of bad decisions.” He tosses an envelope at me.
“This was handed to me at the Crimson Feather by a beautiful blue-eyed woman with the barest traces of a Selencian accent.” Faelon shrugs a shoulder casually, but his eyes are sharp and trained on me.
“She asked me to give it to the new female Altor.”
A chill runs up my spine. A beautiful blue-eyed woman with a Selencian accent … He must mean Maeravel, the rebel commander’s daughter. There aren’t many beautiful Selencian girls left—most of their parents scar them before they grow so the soldiers don’t pay them much attention.
I clutch the envelope to my chest. “You didn’t know her?”
Faelon tilts his head, studying me. His grin is gone now. “I might’ve seen her once before, but I can’t be certain. She didn’t give me a name.”
His grin comes back, saucy and full of attitude. “She didn’t give me a kiss, either, can you believe?”
I huff a laugh, even as my fingers tighten on the letter. “Shocking, Faelon. Truly shocking.” I desperately try to ignore the way I want to rip open the envelope clutched in my hand.
He presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “It still hurts.” Faelon chuckles and winks, then turns to go inside, whistling low under his breath like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
I wait until the whistle fades, until the air is still and the only sound is the steady drum of my own heart pounding in my ears.
Only then do I tear open the envelope. Inside, there’s a single sheet of parchment, written in a familiar, looping scrawl that makes my breath catch in my throat. Seb.
It’s written in the stilted, secret language my mother taught us, and the one her mother taught her. It’s one we used when the soldiers came to raid the villages, one that lives only in old prayers and even older songs.
Leina—
We’re safe. We found them. Leo’s become friends with a little girl named Bri.
I press a fist to my mouth, blinking hard against the sudden sting behind my eyes. They're alive. Seb and Leo are alive, and they’re safe. For now.
We have a chance, Leina. There’s an Altor here; his name is Aelric. He’s Maera’s husband, can you believe it? He’s found out for us that you’re safe, too, and I’m so relieved.
Oh, my gods. The missing Altor from my cast! My breath comes faster as I keep reading.
Aelric wants us to find all the information we can on the Kingdom of Aish. There’ve been no diplomatic ties between Aish and Faraengard, and he says we may need their support to succeed in the rebellion. He thinks you might be able to find out more in the Reckoning Hall.
All our love,
Seb
I jump to my feet, crumbling the letter in my hands. I’m tempted to keep it, but I toss it into a lantern as I turn the corner. I watch it burn—this one piece of my brothers I have. I don’t even shed a tear, because Archon Lyathin is right. The Synod is no place for false comforts.
And then I stride toward the Reckoning Hall. Ryot’s warning to get rest before our patrol echoes distantly in my mind, but I can’t rest. Not now.
Aish. All I know about it is that it’s an isolated, desert land that lies to the south of the Valespire Peaks.
But I’m going to find out more—right now.