59. Family
Chapter 59
Family
19 th Day of the Blood Moon
West of Achyron’s Keep – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Alina rested her head against Rynvar’s snout, her eyes closed. She drew a long, calming breath through her nostrils, rubbing her hands along the scales that armoured the ridges below his eyes.
“Not much longer,” she whispered, her fingers trailing over a long wound that stretched from just above the wyvern’s mouth and back to his jaw. A new scar to go with the old. “I promise.”
Not a night had passed in which they hadn’t flown out and torn into Lorian forward camps or ripped a supply caravan to pieces.
Dayne and Joros had used the horses their forces had captured in the Lost Hills to chase down any supply caravans or wagons that moved during the day. But they left no survivors.
The night attacks always left survivors. ‘To spread the fear’, Dayne had said. Her brother liked to think he didn’t understand the logistics and semantics of war. But to him it was second nature. Dayne understood the ways of the human mind to a depth that almost unsettled Alina. He knew how to drive terror into human hearts, knew how to break them.
She exhaled, then leaned back and opened her eyes.
Two pools of sapphire blue stared back at her, deep and vibrant. There was understanding in those eyes. Wyverns may not have been able to speak, but they were still creatures of immense intelligence. Rynvar understood her, felt her pain, saw into her heart, just as she did his.
A soft, clicking purr left Rynvar’s throat, and the wyvern nuzzled his head into Alina’s chest. He continued to purr as he moved around Alina and curled into himself, his tail trailing about her legs, his head resting on a rock.
She drew another breath and stroked his head. When he was tired, he was more like a pup than a wyvern, always seeking out her hand, always curling up in the first place he found warmth.
“Rest,” she whispered, running a hand along the black and orange scales of Rynvar’s snout. “You’ve earned it. You did your part, and now I must do mine.”
Alina checked the poultice mashed into a wound on the wyvern’s flank, held in place by straps and cloth, before stepping from the shallow cave he had dug in the side of the rock face.
A small ledge jutted from the cave, and a cool wind greeted her as she stepped to meet it. She allowed herself to stand there a moment before descending the ladder that had been pegged in place.
In the wild, wyverns always built their Rests in the highest possible place, ensuring that predators on the land couldn’t butcher them in their sleep or ravage their eggs while they hunted. When traveling, those wyverns who had been claimed by riders could delay that natural inclination to create a Rest, but in a case like this, where they had been encamped for weeks on end, there hadn’t been a choice.
The entire rock face of the cliff that overlooked the camp was now cratered with shallow Rests, hundreds of wyverns creating homes away from home. And from each Rest dropped ladders of thick rope and short planks, some descending over two hundred feet to the ground.
Even Alina, who was well used to heights, had to stop for a moment when a gust of wind pulled a peg from the rock and the ladder swayed. She paused as the wind died down and looked out over the camp.
Thirty thousand strong, gathered from all the Major and Minor Houses in Valtara, along with hundreds of wyverns and Wyndarii. Never in Valtara’s history had such a force been brought together in a single place with a single cause. Pride swelled within her at that thought, but she curbed it. It was not time for pride. Valtara was not free. And if Aeson Virandr didn’t fulfil his vow and arrive by the new moon, the army she had assembled would either starve or crash against the walls of Achyron’s Keep. And even if he did arrive, it might still be too late.
Besides, there was little pride to be taken in what needed to be done next.
Five of her Royal Guard stood waiting at the bottom of the ladder, the wyvern of House Ateres worked into their new golden cuirasses, capes of burnt orange clasped to their shoulders.
“My queen, this way.” Savrin Vander pressed his hand to the wyvern on his chest. He gestured towards a path through the camp, bowing his head. Savrin had said little to her since Dayne had appointed him, but he had always been a man of few words. In truth, until Dayne had brought him to her, Alina had not known Savrin was still alive. The man had lost himself to drink years ago. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him again, at least not so soon. But she trusted Dayne, and that was enough.
“Rynvar is well after the battle, my queen?” The commander of her guard, Olivian of House Arnon, stood a head and a half taller than Alina. Her face was soft and kind, but beneath the surface the woman was wrought iron. “I can arrange to have food brought to him if he is too weak to fly. And two new Alamant Healers arrived with Captain Kiron’s ship last night.”
“He needs rest, but he will be fine. That would be kind of you, Olivian.” Alina looked back over her shoulder at Rynvar’s Rest nestled into the rock face almost two hundred feet up. “But?—”
“I will bring the food myself, Your Grace. I spent my childhood climbing the Abaddian cliffs, watching the wyverns soar over the ocean. It would be my pleasure.”
Alina nodded softly in thanks.
Her guards led her through the camp, walking in a square about her, Olivian at her side. They eyed everything askance as though the evening shadows themselves might come alive and strike her down. Two Hand assassins had snuck into the camp the night before, killing twelve guards and injuring three. Had Alina not decided to spend the night in Rynvar’s Rest, she may well have been dining in Achyron’s halls come dawn. As it stood, the pair found the end of Savrin’s blade. That, combined with the battle earlier that day, had set the whole camp’s hackles on edge.
They walked past a set of House Ateres banners on the camp’s western edge and up a dirt track that curved around to a sheltered flat.
There Alina found her brother along with three of his Andurii captains, Belina Louna, Mera, Luka, Amari, Joros, and the heads of each Major House with the exception of Hakari Herak, who remained in Ironcreek to protect their flank.
The group circled around four women who knelt in the centre, their hands bound. Two of Alina’s Royal Guard stood behind them, Ravan and Evrian, valynas gripped in their hands.
The others greeted Alina as she moved closer, tilting her head to the side, a rage swelling in her belly. Black ink tattoos covered each woman’s fingers, lines tracing down towards their hands. Wyndarii they had captured in the battle that morning. Traitors who had sided with Loren.
Not a word was spoken as Alina stood there in silence. Even Tula Vakira, who always seemed to have something to say, held her tongue, her son Oben at her side.
Alina took another step closer, Olivian matching her, never straying further than an armspan. “Why?”
The wind whistled through the flat, rasping against the rocks around them.
“Why?” Alina roared this time, allowing the fury to fuel her. “After everything we have been through, fought for, died for… Why do you turn to Loren and the empire? You are Wyndarii …”
The woman closest to Alina lifted her head and stared back, green eyes looking into Alina’s. She had looked into those same green eyes in the sky above the battle only hours ago at the River Makeer, right before Rynvar tore the woman’s wyvern to pieces.
“Because you will set Valtara on fire.” The woman stared back at her.
“On fire? We are nearly free.”
“You are either naive or stupid, Alina Ateres. You?—”
Amari strode forwards and struck the woman across the face with a vicious backhand. “You are talking to your queen. Alina of House Ateres, First of the Wyndarii.”
“Not my queen.” Blood trickled down her lip, a bruise already showing across her cheek. She collapsed on her side, Amari’s second strike making the first look like a warm hug.
Amari made to draw her sword, but Alina shook her head. “What is your name?”
“Hanal of House Okur.” Hanal shifted her weight and lifted herself back to a seated position, her hands tied behind her back. “I was the rider to Tryaer before you left his body in a river.”
“You flew against me. That was your choice, and so the weight of his death lies with you.”
“Look what you’ve done.” Hanal gestured at the other Wyndarii beside her and those who stood watching. “You have split us in two. Valtarans killing Valtarans while Loria watches. Do you think I want to stand by the empire’s side? There is an army of forty thousand marching from Aonar. They will be here within two weeks. A fleet of a hundred ships sails from Aerilon, another two hundred from Antiquar. Valtara will be blockaded from north and south. What happened the last time Valtara declared open rebellion? My son was ripped from my breast, my firstborn, my love. What do you think they will do this time, Alina Ateres, Queen of Valtara, and First of the Wyndarii? What does a lion do to the lamb that keeps stepping on its paw? It crushes it. They will not let us live this time, my queen. If you have your way, Valtara will be erased from the annals. I followed you once, but I was naive. I was angry, hurt, lost.”
“And what are you now? Found?” Alina shook her head. “I would rather die trying to free my home than spend a lifetime in fear and darkness. Than live in a world where they take our firstborn, where they hold a boot on our neck because they fear what would happen if they didn’t. And do you know what, Hanal? They are right to fear. We will raze Achyron’s Keep, and we will turn the Hot Gates into a fortress. And we will honour our oaths and march with this new Draleid. We will burn the Lorian Empire to ashes, and their banner will never fly in Valtara again.”
“And what will you do when the dragons come? When they pour fire over everything you love?”
“I will fight. And I will die if needs be. But never again will I be their pet.”
Any arrogance faded from Hanal’s expression, her eyes holding only grief. “Hera was right then. You will die, and you will take all Valtara with you.”
“Hera was a coward and a traitor who cost hundreds of Valtaran lives when she led the assault on Lostwren – against my orders. She didn’t give a single fuck about your life or any Valtaran lives that day. All she cared for was her own gain, her own honour and glory. And when she learned the size of the force Loren had amassed at Achyron’s Keep, she turned coward again.”
Alina stood over Hanal, allowing her heart to calm. “Hanal of House Okur, for treason against the crown of Valtara and its people, I, Queen Alina Ateres, sentence you to death. Do you have any last words?”
“I pray to The Sailor and The Warrior that you are right and I am wrong.”
Alina inclined her head. She drew her sword, but Olivian approached with her hand on the pommel of her own.
“Allow me, my Queen.”
Alina gestured for Olivian to step back and sheath her sword. “What am I, Olivian, if I can cast the sentence but not swing the blade? I am exactly what Hera said I was. Exactly what this Wyndarii thinks I am.”
Alina moved so she stood at Hanal’s side and gripped the pommel of her sword with both hands. “By The Warrior and The Sailor, by blade and by blood.”
Hanal didn’t squirm or weep or thrash about. She simply leaned forwards and stretched out her neck. “If you do me one kindness, Queen Ateres, make it clean.”
Alina hoped that in such a position, she would have the same dignity and control. And in that thinking she couldn’t help but know pain at the thought of killing the woman. Valtara needed warriors with that kind of courage, that kind of strength. And yet, Hanal had betrayed them, and that betrayal had led to the deaths of hundreds. It had led to the death of Marlin Arkon.
Alina tightened her grip on the hilt, then swung. Her strike was clean, and Hanal’s head came free in one swing, dropping to roll in the dirt. Her body stayed upright for a few seconds before collapsing on its side.
Alina lifted her gaze and looked to Dayne, who stared right back at her. He gave her a sharp, approving nod.
Blood dripping from the tip of her blade, Alina moved to stand before the next Wyndarii. “What is your name?”
Even in the cold of winter, Alina dripped sweat as she moved around the sparring pit, a long wooden staff gripped in her fists.
Alcon, Glaukos, and Savrin stood before her, each with their own staff, each bleeding and sweat-soaked. Both Olivian and Saralis of House Toth observed from the sides while the rest of her Royal Guard watched over the entranceways.
The three men circled her, trapping her between them. On a different day, she would have held her patience and waited for one of them to strike first. Men were bigger and stronger, and they knew it. In battle, whether they realised it or not, that simple fact informed everything they did when they fought a woman. It made them sloppy, careless. And that was a weakness she could take advantage of.
But it was not a different day, and Alina wasn’t standing in that sparring yard to practice or to learn. She was there for release.
She bounded forwards, ducked beneath Glaukos’s strike, and slammed her staff into the back of his knee as he pivoted. She twisted, leveraging her back swing and ramming the other end of her staff into the man’s now-exposed belly. He reeled backwards.
Alina made to go for the killing strike but was forced to turn away a swing from Savrin’s staff and then Alcon’s in quick succession. The two men came at her together, not allowing her a moment to breathe as she parried their strikes one after another, twisting and turning, her muscles screaming, the rage within her blazing.
She lunged, catching them both off balance and dropping past their guard. Alina rammed the butt of her staff into Alcon’s gut and then snapped it upwards into his chin. She whipped the other end towards Savrin’s leg, only for him to ram his own staff into the sand and block the strike.
Alina smashed her shoulder into Savrin’s chest, knocking him backwards and following up with a flurry of powerful swings. Savrin blocked each with ease but never struck back. She pushed harder, exposing herself. She cracked her staff into his left hip, then back across his jaw, into his chest, and hard as a hammer against his shoulder.
“Fight back,” she growled through gritted teeth. She doubled down, driving Savrin harder, her staff a blur as she rained blow after blow after blow. Marks of black, blue, and yellow already bloomed on the man’s flesh, and yet he didn’t stop or yield. He let her unleash her fury with abandon and that only angered her more. She lunged forwards and shoved Savrin in the chest, knocking him back a few paces. “Hit me!”
The man simply stared back at her, blood trickling from his nose and lip. “You did what needed to be done, Alina. Your mother would have made the same choice.”
Alina clenched her jaw, swallowing. She lunged again. Savrin blocked her first three strikes, then redirected her fourth, sending her stumbling off balance. She dug her foot in the sand and twisted, hammering her staff into the side of his shin.
Alina let out heavy breaths, Savrin’s staff levelled against the side of her head, just resting gently against her temple.
“Emotions are only useful on the field of battle if you can control them, my queen,” he said calmly.
“Savrin, if you will not spar with me, I will have to strip you from my guard. It is your responsibility not only to protect me but to ensure I am prepared to protect myself. How can I be prepared if you refuse to fight me to the fullest? Do you understand?”
“I understand, my queen.”
“Then fight back!” Alina smacked Savrin’s staff away with her own and bounded to her feet. She struck hard to his right leg, finding his staff instead, then again to his left arm with the same result. Twice more she hurled herself at him with all the rage and fury she could summon, but on that second strike, he blocked, then countered.
Savrin’s staff collided with Alina’s ribs on the left side of her body, then slammed into her jaw on the right with the force of a horse’s kick.
She hit the ground like a sack of stones, blood filling her mouth, her head ringing. She spat saliva and blood into the sand, then lifted her head to see Savrin extending his hand.
Alina gripped the man’s forearm and pulled herself upright, stumbling as her head spun.
“You asked me to hit you.” The slightest semblance of a smile flickered on the man’s lips, his shoulders twitching in an even slighter shrug.
“That I did.” Alina pressed her tongue against a tooth on the right side of her mouth, overjoyed to find it wasn’t loose. She stared down at the bloody pool of spit at her feet and then at Glaukos and Alcon, who had pulled back and were now watching. Olivian and Saralis were both a few steps closer, their stares hard.
“I’m sorry.” Alina licked the blood from her teeth.
“There will not come a day when your need for apology outweighs my own, Your Grace. But what is given is accepted. If I may?”
Alina nodded.
“Today I watched a queen with the strength to make the hard choices and the heart to feel the consequences. In my experience, those are two qualities rarely found in the same soul. And when they are, one is often burned away by the other. I would council, if you care to hear it, that you not allow either side to die. This was only the first hard choice of many. A true queen does not rule over her people, she serves them. She makes the hard choice and bears the weight and the cost so they do not have to.”
“Stop wriggling.” Dayne undid the buckles of Mera’s cuirass. He peeled the armour away from her skin, the blood dried and tacky.
Mera hissed, slapping at his hand. And as she did, Audin rose from where he lay against the rock wall of the Rest, a trembling rumble resonating from his throat.
“I’m not the one who sliced her open.” Dayne turned to glare at the wyvern, regretting his decision as soon as his gaze fell on the maw of savage teeth that stared back at him.
The wyvern blew a puff of warm air from his nostrils, the smell of blood and fresh meat blowing over Dayne.
“And you,” he said, turning back to Mera, who was pulling her blood-soaked undershirt free. “Do you remember back in Stormshold, when you sewed my shin? This is going to be sweet revenge.”
Mera frowned at him, peeling the undershirt from her body, strings of part-dried blood pulling tight and snapping. The wound ran along her right side, just below her arms and along her ribs. Long and angry. A nasty piece of work, given to her by one of the treacherous Wyndarii’s javelins that morning.
“Sit.” He gestured to the rickety wooden chair he’d hoisted up to the Rest only two days prior. The sight of her truly hurt cut all the mirth from his heart. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost her. The thought didn’t bear considering. She was a Wyndarii, just as his mother had been. It was her purpose to fight for Valtara, just as it was his. And as much as he wanted to keep her safe, he would never take her purpose from her. That was a hard thing for him to accept, but he understood it. She was a warrior, just as he was.
Dayne snatched the satchel of dressing and catgut from atop the blanket rolls near the wall. He produced a small tin of brimlock sap and a cloth from within. He puffed out his cheeks at the sharp, pungent stench of the sap but drew a deep breath and proceeded to kneel beside Mera and clean the wound.
He wasn’t quite as deft a hand as Mera when it came to stitching a wound, but he took his time, ensuring the catgut pulled tight and the wound was neatly closed. In truth, he was more used to working on his own wounds than somebody else’s.
“Try to be more careful next time.” Dayne brushed Mera’s naked shoulder gently before grabbing a clean tunic from atop the blanket rolls in the corner and tossing it to her. “It’s easier on my heart when it’s you stitching me back together instead of the other way around.”
“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.” Mera slid her arms into the tunic, grunting as she pulled it over her head. “Do you have any other sensibilities you’d like me to pander to, oh mighty Dayne Ateres?”
Audin pressed his snout into Mera’s shoulder, a soft purr vibrating in his chest. It was such a strange thing to see a creature so powerful and vicious behave so gently.
“I’m fine.” Mera rested a hand on either side of the wyvern’s jaws, fingers brushing across his deep red scales. She pressed her forehead against the tip of his snout, exhaling softly. “You’re like a mother hen. Go and eat. I’ll be fine.”
The wyvern gave Mera a deep growl in response, his lips curling, nostrils flaring.
Mera growled back, pressing her head harder against his.
“Go,” she repeated.
Audin’s breath blew Mera’s hair back over her shoulders. He pressed his snout into her once more, then turned and leapt from the edge of the Rest, dropping like a stone before swooping back into view and soaring over the camp.
“He’s a little needy, isn’t he?” Dayne said.
Mera snapped herself around and stared at Dayne as though he were an idiot of the highest order.
“What?”
“Did you really just say that out loud without realising the irony in it?” She moved closer to Dayne and cupped his hands in hers. “You know, there was a point years ago when I believed you had died and your spirit had found me again through Audin. That you held on and found a way to watch over me. He is stubborn, courageous, gentle, protective… irritating at times. You are one and the same.”
Dayne brushed a strand of bloody hair from Mera’s face. He could have looked into her eyes until time broke, and he’d die happy.
“What are you staring at?” She narrowed her gaze in mock suspicion.
Dayne let go of Mera’s hand and cupped her cheeks. “The one thing that keeps my heart warm.”
He turned and walked towards the back of the Rest, his gaze trailing along the scratch marks in the rock that Audin had carved. He tilted his head back and fixed his gaze on a spot on the back wall.
“Dayne. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” He let out a long sigh, then reached into his pocket, feeling the dulled edges of the hard wooden box. Even in the flames of battle, his heart never beat as furiously as it did in that moment. His throat constricted, breaths fluttering.
“There is clearly something wrong, Dayne. Talk to me.”
Dayne shook his head, still looking at the back wall. “When I was gone all those years, not a day passed that I didn’t think of you, that I didn’t think of coming home.”
“Dayne, I know. You don’t have to?—”
“I would replay the night I left again, and again, and again. I made the right choice. I know I did because we both stand here now. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t cut me so deep I still bleed.”
“We’ve already spoken about this, Dayne. Where is this coming from? I don’t care that you left. I only care that you came back.”
Dayne turned, staring into Mera’s eyes, his own brimming with tears.
“Why are you crying?” Genuine worry bled into Mera’s voice.
He looked at the ground, his hand trembling in his pocket. “You are the fire that kept my heart warm on the coldest of nights. You are the reason I want to be a better man. I wasted so many of our years. Twelve long years that I could have felt the warmth of your skin, heard the sound of your voice, built a family… So many years gone.”
Mera leaned forwards and wiped the tears from Dayne’s cheeks. “I’m here, Dayne. And I’m not going anywhere. We can’t take back time lost. We can only look forward.”
Dayne pressed his forehead to Mera’s, then stepped back. “Mera Vardas, you are everything that is good about me. You are warm when I am cold, you are right when I am so very wrong, you are strong when I am only ever a moment from breaking. You are the light that keeps my ship from crashing against the rocks, the star that guides me home. I have wasted so much of my life not looking into your eyes. And I refuse to waste another second.”
Dayne dropped to one knee and pulled the small wooden box from his pocket, prying it open. Inside, on a bed of orange silk, was a gleaming gold ring, wyverns etched into its curves, small gleaming sunstones set into their eyes. “I will never deserve your heart, but I vow to do everything I can to earn your love from this day until my last day. Would you please make the mistake of taking me as your husband?”
Mera stared down at Dayne, her mouth ajar, eyes wide, hands shaking. “Dayne Ateres, get off your knees.”
She leaned down and hoisted him up by his arms, kissing him deeply.
“Is that a yes?”
“I’ve waited for you to ask that question for over twelve years. Of course it’s a yes. It has always been a yes. You are mine, and I am yours. Now give me my ring.”
Tears welled in Dayne’s eyes as he laughed and slid the golden ring onto Mera’s hand. He could not remember another time in his life when he’d cried from happiness.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I asked Senya to have it made by the same jeweller who made Alina’s crown. She gave it to me the day she died.”
“I will cherish it forever and pass it on to our own son.”
Dayne stared at Mera.
She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “I am with child, Dayne.”
For the second time that night, and only the second time in his life, Dayne cried tears of joy. He wrapped his arms around Mera and pulled her close, his fingers tangling in her hair, his tears dripping onto the crown of her head. “Are you… are you sure?”
Mera slapped him on the shoulder. “Of course I’m sure, you idiot.”
“You say such sweet things.” Dayne pulled away, then planted a kiss on Mera’s forehead. Then another one, and another one, continuing until she pushed him away, laughing.
“I’m going to be a father?”
“You’re going to be a father.”
“A son?”
“Would it matter?”
Dayne shook his head. “A son, a daughter… None of it matters. My child. I love them already. Is that even possible?”
Mera nodded, tears rolling down her soft cheeks.
“How long have you known?”
“I’ve not bled for two moons now. And I can feel the changes. I was thinking Ilya if it’s a girl, Arkin if it’s a boy.”
“I would love that.”
“Thought you might.”
Dayne pulled his hands away from Mera, fighting the urge to scratch his skin.
“Dayne, what’s wrong?”
“I just…” Images of the night attack on Ankar flashed in Dayne’s mind. The blood. The carnage. He had done what he’d needed to do, had become what he had needed to become to ensure Valtara’s freedom, but that didn’t absolve him, it didn’t clean the blood from his hands. And Ankar had just been one of many… One thousand four hundred and sixty-three. That was how many men and women had died at Dayne’s hands. What kind of man was he to think he could raise a child?
“I’m not interrupting, am I? It feels like I’m interrupting.”
Dayne let out a long sigh and ran his hands through his hair. He looked past Mera to see Belina standing at the mouth of the Rest, shrouded in darkness, her face lit only by the setting sun that drifted in behind her and bounced off the rock.
“What is it, Belina?”
“Well, that’s not a very nice way to greet a friend who might have just saved your life.” Belina shrugged as she always did.
“Belina, I’m not in the mood. What is it…” Dayne brushed his hand against Mera’s shoulder and squinted. “Belina… is that a hand… in your hand?”