Chapter Twenty-One
In the evening after dinner, I follow Ronan and Taran from the palace past the Alchemists’ Guild to one of Faros’s western walls.
Taran informs us that Seth is furious that he wasn’t allowed to come see his plan in motion, but I’m glad he isn’t here. It’s one less thing to worry about while we’re up on the walls overlooking Selara.
The night is clear and cool, the sky dark and cloudless.
A scattering of stars has just begun to blanket the sky when we climb the narrow stairway onto the wall-walk.
The walls are constructed from the same stone as the palace, but they’re far older and more crudely cut.
We stick to the city side of the walk, keeping clear of the crenelations to avoid missile fire from below.
“Beautiful night to win a war, your majesty,” says a woman in Royal Guard chainmail, tall and thin as a reed, as she bows to Ronan. “You must be Sylvie. Commander Elia of House Grana, at your service.”
“Nice to meet you, Commander.” I accept her handshake and immediately regret it—it’s crushing.
Then she nods to Taran. “The command is yours, General.”
“Any movement tonight?” asks Taran. He’s drawn up his posture into his General stance, straight as an arrow and stiff as a board.
“The usual. A troupe or two shooting potshots, making sure we’re still defended. Siege engines are just out of range. We took out a ballista during today’s sortie. The furs on it had gone dry.”
“Must be running low on water-born in the forward legions,” says Taran.
“That’s our thinking as well. I’ve requested additional fire-born in the sortie troupes to take advantage.”
“Excellent, Commander.”
Elia smiles brightly, her eyes shining in the dim moonlight.
“Do you have many shadow-born here?” I ask. It’s dark tonight and getting darker. I wonder how many of the soldiers up here on the wall can see.
“A few,” she says, darkening a shadow around her. She’s shadow-born herself. “I believe I have you to thank for my elevated position. I heard you pointed out the vulnerabilities in our security.”
I beam at her. “Glad to hear they listened to at least something.”
“Don’t listen to her, Commander. At least eighty percent of what I do is Sylvie’s idea,” says Ronan.
“As it should be, sir.”
“Won’t you join us, Commander?” I ask. I’m enjoying Elia’s company. “With any luck, it’ll be quite the show.”
“Gladly,” says Elia. She leads us to a section of wall protected by a higher parapet, with arrow loops instead of the wide teeth of the merlons that make up the rest of the walls. “It’s safer from here. Much less space for an arrow to make it through.”
Though it’s difficult to see through the narrow slot, I can make out much of Adria’s camp by shifting from side to side.
“Do you see that catapult in the middle? Seth said it should be somewhere behind it, a few rows of tents back,” says Ronan, looping his arm around my waist as he joins me.
“I see it.” Somewhere out there, Octavia and Vesper are approaching. Larus waits onboard the Pegasus, ready to help them with their escape.
Although I’m still a bit disappointed not to be part of it, I’m glad Larus is there. If something happens to them, his earth-born magic will be invaluable if they wind up imprisoned.
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt,” says a messenger in black robes. “Admiral Nauta is approaching the Gap, and he wondered if you were available to have a quick word.”
“Damn, I’ve been waiting to speak with him,” Ronan says, glancing at me. “Tell him I’ll meet him in the palace in two hours.”
“Go,” I say. “I’ll be right here with Commander Elia.”
Ronan hesitates. “You could come with me, maybe. I doubt we’ll miss anything.”
“You’re being overprotective. Go. I’ll be fine.” I reach up and kiss him.
He wraps his arms around me and looks over my shoulder at Elia. “Keep her safe.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then he and Taran follow the messenger down the steps towards the river, leaving me alone with Elia and the other soldiers on patrol.
“It’s true, then,” she says, brushing a strand of her dark hair back into her helmet, her smile turning mischievous. “You’re his consort.”
Heat rises up my neck. It’s dark, but Elia can see my blush. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
Elia barks a laugh. “Well, I’ve never seen him kiss any of his other friends or advisors. So either his leadership style has seriously changed, or you’re something to him. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I’m just glad to see him with someone.”
“Have you known him long?”
“All my life. Or all of his, I guess. He’s a few years younger. My House is one of the most important producers of grain in the kingdom. Or we were. Those are our lands out there.” She points to the fields filled with Nithyrian tents.
“I’m sorry. Is your family safe?”
She nods slowly. “More or less. We have a townhome here in Faros. Many of them were there for the Festival when the city went under siege. I was at the palace, of course.”
“How did you come to be a Royal Guard?” If she came from a major farming House, I’m not sure how or why she would have joined Ronan’s service.
“Like most of the guards, I served under him in the last war. I never had a taste for farm life. I’ve never been one to get up with the rooster. More of a night owl.”
I laugh. Shadow-born humor.
“Look,” she says suddenly. “Is that…?”
“Fire.” There in the distance beyond the catapult, just where Ronan said it would be. “Damn, I hate that Ronan’s missing this—”
There’s a quiet, whizzing sound of something flying past. I don’t see it, but I hear its impact. I hear the tearing of flesh as it embeds in Elia’s neck.
It’s an arrow.
It’s a one-in-a-million shot right through the arrow loop, a narrow gap of just two or three inches wide. Gods, who could have made a shot like that?
“Ronan!” I scream. Elia is clutching at her throat, more blood than I’ve ever seen in my life squirting violently from the wound. “RONAN!”
Oh gods, she’s going to die. She’s choking on her own blood, and there’s nothing I can do. I reach out, trying to close the wound with my finger, trying to apply pressure somehow, but the blood just won’t stop.
“Elia, I’m here,” I say as she slumps to the ground. Oh gods. I’ve just met her, and I’m the last person she’ll ever see. “I’m here with you.”
I’m drenched in her blood, and I don’t care. I can’t bear for her to be alone.
“I’m here,” I say again, trying one final time to stop the bleeding.
Light flashes on my fingertips. It’s so bright and sudden that I nearly pull my hands away, but some instinct forces me to keep them on Elia.
Light magic.
Ronan’s magic coming from my hands. It’s impossible, but I’m certain that I’m right. I touch the wound on Elia’s neck, and it closes.
“Oh, Vayla. Vayla, please help me,” I pray to the goddess of light. “Please.”
I’ve got to get the arrow out if I want to heal her the rest of the way. “I’m sorry, Elia. I have to do this.” I close my eyes and pull, trying to ignore the sickening feeling of tearing flesh as the arrow passes back out of her throat with my light magic closing the hole it leaves. “Elia?”
Elia breathes weakly, her body slumping in my arms. I remove her helmet, disturbed by the way her head flops to the side. “I need a healer! Bring an elixir.”
“Sylvie?” says Ronan as he reaches the wall-walk. “I felt you calling for me—oh, gods.”
Ronan drops to the ground, hands flying over me in a panic. “Oh, Sylvie. Gods, what happened?”
“I’m fine. It’s not my blood. It’s Elia. She needs an elixir, fast. She’s lost so much blood, Ronan.”
Ronan places his hands on her, but he pulls them away quickly, confused. “There’s no wound. I don’t understand.”
I turn him towards me. He looks me in the eye, seeing me perfectly clearly despite the darkness. “I healed her. With your magic, Ronan.”
I try to summon the light to my fingertips again, but it doesn’t come. After this morning, I’ve recovered so little of my magic that I’m not sure I could even darken a shadow if I had to.
“Gods, Sylvie. What is this? What are we?”
I shake my head. I’m confused and frightened, but I’m also grateful. “I don’t know. But Ronan. I saved her.”
I’ve never felt anything like it in my life. Elia is alive and breathing, weakly, but she’s still here, and it’s because of me. Because of something I did.
I’ve never felt more powerful.
A healer rushes over and presses an elixir into Elia’s mouth. She sputters and coughs at first, but she quickly drinks it down.
“It should keep her going, but with this much blood loss, she needs to go to the infirmary. She’ll need elixirs for a week at least.”
“Take her,” says Ronan. “Bring her back to the palace.”
“Right away, sir.”
Taran joins us then, giving me a wet handkerchief to wipe the blood from my face as he issues orders to the new acting commander of the legion on the walls. Then he fusses over Elia, taking one side of her stretcher from a healer who was struggling with her weight.
“They’ve been friends for a long time,” explains Ronan. “Both outcasts in their own way.” An Orsa and a shadow-born. Two outsiders who worked their way to the top of Ronan’s legions. “He’ll be very grateful that you were able to save her.”
“I’m not sure we should tell him.” It’s not that I don’t trust Taran, but I’m not sure we should let anyone know about what’s happening with our magic. Not if the part about it being sacrilegious is true. “We can say that you healed her when you arrived to help me.”
Ronan considers that for a moment. “We could say that, yes. You’re right, I know, but there’s a part of me that wants to tell everyone what you can do.”
“There’s a part of me that wants that too,” I admit. “Ronan, I’ve never felt so much power. No wonder you’re so cocky. If I went around saving people’s lives all day every day, I’d have a pretty high opinion of myself too.”
“Oh, I’m cocky, am I?”
I give him a sardonic glare.
“I’m trying to find a joke in there about the size of my cock. ‘How couldn’t I be cocky when I’ve got this much cock?’ Is that something?”
“It’s the pinnacle of wit.”