Chapter 40
COMMANDERS AND MIREBERRIES
Seryn
“Ilove this dress on you,” Breena said, plucking teasingly at the fabric along my shoulder. “Looks like someone fixed these. I wonder what could have happened to them in the first place?”
I giggled as she winked. Letti had mended the dress Breena had gifted me for the Moonbud Revelry. Wistfully, my fingers glided over the delicate, sheer strip of chiffon that followed the plunging neckline.
My thighs pressed together at the memory of Gavrel snapping the thin, braided straps as easily as if they were blades of grass, and then taking me against a doombark that night.
With a smile, I smoothed my hands over the dress’s black, kaleidoscopic threads.
The necklace Gavrel had made for me dangled against my chest, the rune stone warm against my skin.
Gavrel pushed my loose curls over one shoulder as he met us, placing a gentle kiss in the curve of my neck. “It’s none of your concern, Cadell.”
She snorted, patting him on the cheek and rushing off to get another goblet. Her olive skin glowed, cheeks flushed from the drinks she’d imbibed throughout the afternoon.
Her deep red dress danced around her thighs as she sidled next to Kaden and Caelora at a table, Letti and Xeni across from them.
Breena waved animatedly with whatever story she was telling, a chunk of cheese clutched in her fingers. Even Xeni and Caelora’s mouths quirked as she went on.
The main square’s construction was nearly finished. A tepid breeze carrying notes of freshly cut doombarks, damp mud, and brine pushed away the lingering scent of smoke.
A mystical magenta light cast upon the night, and a rosy blush shaded the moon, its form lingering closer to the horizon even at its full height. Tomorrow, the full Mireberry Moon would be a sight to behold.
But only the Ancients knew what tomorrow held for me, or if I’d even get the chance to appreciate it.
Firelight flickered within little glass balls that dangled from interwoven strings in the trees.
The crowd wasn’t as big as at the Moonbud Revelry, but new and familiar faces gathered.
Laughter and lively chatter bopped among the long tables circling the square, each spread littered with goblets of mireberry wine, ale, and an assortment of meats, vegetables, and fruits.
A small ensemble of fiddlers played at one end, their lively tunes bouncing off the trees.
A smile curved my lips. Helos would always rise from the mire. No matter what skirmish or disaster befell them, or tried to steal what was theirs. Like their battle plans, history, and scriptures, the community’s bond burned in their minds and hearts, and no one could take that from them.
From across the platform, Yaya beckoned us over, and we joined her, sitting on a bench across from her and three others. Marek, Rhaegar, Keethan, and Eliz sat on either side of us.
She gestured toward Gavrel and me. “This is Commander Gavrel Larkin and my granddaughter, our future Elder, Seryn Nightshade.” A note of pride lifted her voice at the end.
I dipped my chin in greeting, and Gavrel shook each of their hands, his polite nod carrying the weight of respect between leaders.
Yaya introduced the two seated to her right. “Commanders Neris Kymara of Haadra, and Zeph Stratos of Pneumali.”
Neris was stunning. Her skin was a deep umber, and her hair woven into dozens of neat braids threaded with silver wire that caught the firelight.
Her eyes, sharp and assessing, softened when they landed on me.
She wore a royal-blue jacket fastened with silver clasps, its sleeves rolled to the elbow to reveal forearms dusted with faint burns, which I took as proof of someone who’d survived.
An opalescent raven feather trailed from the side of her right wrist all the way to her elbow.
“An honor, Elder Nightshade,” she said, her tone smooth and measured.
“Your reputation precedes you. Let’s hope your head’s as clear as your courage. ”
I smiled faintly. “Depends on the day.”
Her laugh was genuine, and I decided I liked her immediately.
Beside her, Zeph was the opposite in temperament, his sharp features carved into a stern expression.
A scar traced a line from his right jaw to his temple, marring his pale skin and vanishing into the graying blond sweep of his cropped hair.
Just under the right side of his jawline, in black ink, the head of a screeching raven peeked out from his collar.
His pristine uniform was grayish yellow with white piping, like the sun trying to break through dark clouds after a storm.
His lean form sat tall in his seat, eyes shrewdly studying everyone around us.
He inclined his head in greeting. “Your efforts in the coming days will inspire many to our cause. That is no small feat.”
His voice was level but not cold.
I tilted my head. “Yours as well. Thank you.”
“And this,” Yaya continued, turning toward the broad-shouldered man to her left, “is Commander Drakon Valyn from Pyria Island.”
The man rose, sunlight catching the amber in his eyes.
A strip of red cloth tied his dark hair back.
His sleeveless burgundy tunic exposed biceps, which were honed and covered in various tattoos of creatures dancing among liquid fire.
There were so many, I couldn’t find where his Korax tattoo was yet.
A pendant of lava rock rested against his light brown chest. “It’s an honor to meet you both,” he said, voice smooth as tide-worn stone.
“The tales of your adventures have reached even our shores.”
Gavrel’s lips flattened. “Don’t believe everything you hear.” His gaze softened as he glanced at me. “Unless it’s about her brilliance. That is accurate.”
Drakon laughed, and it was a deep, rolling sound that carried across the platform. “Brilliant, yes. And I’d wager there was much left out. We do like our legends to be a little mysterious, their stories blazing through the ears of all who revere them.”
A flicker of discomfort made me shift in my seat, and Gavrel traced a slow pattern along my lower back. I eased into his touch.
“Blazing, is it? Fitting,” Neris murmured, sipping her drink. “You command the Fire Island, after all.”
He winked. “And you command my respect, strategist.”
Zeph’s sigh was barely audible, but his lips twitched. “Ancients save us from Pyrians and their charm.”
The table chuckled, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of war lifted.
Yaya leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “We’ll talk strategy after the feast,” she said, her voice low but sure. “The rebellion’s threads are tightening, and soon we’ll have to pull.”
Neris nodded. “We’re ready. The sea routes are secure, and our spies within Evergryn report Lucan’s Draumr movements have lulled.”
“He’s becoming too complacent,” Zeph added. “Could be an opening—or a trap.”
Drakon crossed his arms. “Either way, we strike before they do.”
Yaya looked between them, then at me. “And that is where your part begins.”
Their attention shifted my way. Three commanders, each shaped by a unique elemental bloodline but united under one cause. The subtle glow of their auras revealed their rising emotions, each color matching their attire.
Neris’ gaze was calm and calculating, Drakon’s unwavering and strong, Zeph’s sharp and focused.
Their faith weighed on me, heavier than any crown.
I was no longer an anonymous Druik. Now, I was a crucial link that joined them, the prophecy, our cause, and our realm’s salvation together.
“We will rise.” Yaya’s voice cut through the jubilant music bouncing around us. “But you, granddaughter, have given us hope—the proof that the prophecies are true and that all we’ve worked for was not in vain. You are the spark that ignites our fight, reminding the Korax of their true purpose.”
A chill ran down my spine, half awe, half dread. Gavrel’s arm, tight around my waist, anchored me as I thought of my responsibilities and the war to come.
I straightened, swallowing the lump that rose in my throat. “Then I’ll do my part.”
Drakon’s lips curved. “That’s the spirit.”
Neris inclined her head in quiet approval. Zeph simply leaned back, satisfied with my response, and bit into a piece of meat.
Gavrel stood, offering me his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you all, but if you’ll excuse us.”
I bowed my head to each of them and went with my fated.
The hum of laughter and music faded into something softer as he led me toward the center of the platform.
The stringed globes flickered above, and pinkish hues spilled over his dark tunic and breeches, catching on my dress’s iridescent threads.
I was untethered, adrift in a dark ocean. Perhaps in the deepest zeniths of the Insomnis Sea, the space where its boundary separated the Oneiric realms.
Gavrel turned to me, cupping my jaw with a calloused hand. “Little Star,” he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear. “You won’t carry this alone. And not all at once.”
My chest ached. “It feels like I already am.”
His thumb brushed my cheek. “Then let me carry some. We share the weight. Always.”
Before I could answer, he tugged me closer, one arm circling my waist as the music swelled. He moved with effortless grace that made my pulse stumble. The song was a haunting, lilting tune, a melody written for the stars.
“You’ve already done the impossible,” he whispered against my hair. “You’ve fought against nightmares, defied the Ancients, and you’re still standing. Whatever comes next—you’ll rise to meet it.”
I pressed my cheek to his chest, letting his words flow through me. Letting his love course through my veins.
I can do this.
My ember thrummed against my nape, and I looked up, eyes grazing over his striking face. “You have a lot of faith in me.”
His dimple flickered before he spun me out and back again. “Faith? No. I see you, Seryn Nightshade. You don’t need faith when you already know the truth.”
Around us, the celebration was in full motion. Caelora shook her head as Jace offered his hand, only for Kaden to stride in and claim it instead. She frowned but let him pull her onto the dance floor. Jace’s jaw worked as he watched them, something burning beneath his mask of poise.
At the far end, Breena danced beside Rhaegar, her drink sloshing dangerously close to his boots.
He threw his hands up, and then his chest shook with laughter.
A few paces away, Marek stood, arms crossed, trying and failing to look unaffected as her wide hips swayed under her red dress.
Something tugged at the corners of his lips before he turned away, knuckles whitening at his sides.
Gavrel’s hand slid to my hip, pulling me back to him. “You know what this dress does to me.”
I smiled, hands trailing over the hard planes of his chest. “I do. And I wouldn’t mind a repeat.”
His hands ran up my spine, and I shivered. “Oh, there will be. Several, once the night quiets. But for now …” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “We dance.”
The world blurred around us, light and sound and color dissolving until there was only him and me, and the steady rhythm of our steps. The fiddled chords bounced around us and the others on the dance floor.
For the first time in ages, I felt alive.
The music soared, and he lifted my hand, twirling me once more. The world spun out of focus, except for him. Only him, as he drew me close into his warmth.
When the final note vanished into the night sky, I rested my forehead against his as he leaned in. My pulse was steady, thumping in time with his.
Was I still terrified? Absolutely.
Did I know what the void I was doing? Definitely not.
Would I fight for Midst Fall and do whatever was needed to save it? Would I love this man with everything I had until my final breath?
“Always,” I whispered against his lips.