Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Looking wildly around the bodies, Aemyra dreaded finding someone she recognized again. Didn’t want to see tight curls of dark brown hair, or a smattering of freckles across an upturned nose.
“Who are you looking for?” Thear asked, Eilidh still limp in his arms.
Her voice shook as she held up the handkerchief. “I watched Maggie embroider more thistles than I care to remember. This handkerchief belongs to her. Eilidh must have found it back at the camp.”
“One of the princesses passed through here?” Thear asked, eyes widening.
Heart in her mouth, Aemyra nodded. Whirling around, she couldn’t see any bodies save those of soldiers.
“I don’t think she could have—” Thear began.
“Wait,” Aemyra interrupted.
Feeling Terrea coaxing her into the Bond, Aemyra let her mind drift as her dragon flew over Dildain.
Her onyx wings skimmed the tall pine trees as she banked steeply over the narrow river, angled to view the manor house and the small bridge that connected the two turrets.
Where five Chosen priests led two young women, one with golden hair and the other with brown skin. Hands wrapped protectively over her bump.
Aemyra gasped, slamming back into her own mind.
“Maggie.”
Forgetting the pain in her body, Aemyra raced off the battlefield, Thear barely managing to keep up under Eilidh’s weight. Summoning Terrea to her, needing to get to the princesses before the priests harmed them, Aemyra fought not to let the memories engulf her.
But the smell of blood coated the back of her throat.
Thear matched Aemyra’s staggering stride as she made her way out of the valley.
Maeve was the first to come running, silver armor clanking, Sorcha not far behind. “Your Grace, are you all right?”
Aemyra held up one hand, realizing that her arm was completely soaked in blood up to her elbow. “The princesses are captive in Dildain. Muster your remaining forces and march on the town immediately.”
Maeve began to bow, but Sorcha stepped between them.
“Absolutely not,” Sorcha said, holding Maeve’s arm tightly. “Can you not see she is injured?”
Aemyra blinked to bring her vision back into focus and saw that Maeve’s nose was distinctly off-center.
“She’ll live. The princesses might not.”
Sorcha made a noise that ignited Aemyra’s temper.
“You were a captive once, you of all people should understand,” Aemyra spat.
Urging her dragon ever faster to her side, Aemyra watched Thear set Eilidh gently down on a stretcher just as Adarian cantered toward the commotion. When he saw Eilidh, he leaped from the saddle, limping a little on his bad leg.
“What happened?” Adarian asked, pulling Aemyra into a fierce hug. “Is she alive?”
She nodded. “Yes, but she is badly wounded. I did what little I could in the field. Are you unharmed?”
“I somehow managed to lose my right boot, but aside from a few crushed toes, I’m fine,” he said.
“How many cavalry are still in fighting shape?” Aemyra asked.
Adarian frowned at Sorcha’s stony face. “At least a hundred.”
“Send more riders back to the camp to get the wounded on wagons. The rest ride ahead of Maeve’s infantry to Dildain directly.”
“I thought we were waiting for morning? They will not have the numbers we—”
Aemyra interrupted her brother, desperation in her voice as Terrea flew closer. “The priests have the princesses in the manor. They will be using them as hostages.”
Adarian’s eyes widened, perhaps the only one present who truly understood her fear. Nevertheless, he shook his head. “The princesses worship the Savior, they will be fine.”
But Aemyra had a bad feeling. “Then why did they leave àird Lasair?”
Sorcha spread her arms wide. “To be used to control you just like I was. Alfred knows you care for those women. This could be a trap.”
Torn, Aemyra looked down the hill to where Dildain sat nestled among scattered pine forest, the manor house abutting a bend in the narrow river. Phoenixes decorated the sky high above, like vibrant wisps, a deadly dance choreographed by Riya.
“I refuse to be manipulated by priests again. I will go alone. Maeve and Adarian will arrive with soldiers to take the town and Riya’s warriors will cover me from above.”
“You ca—” Sorcha began, but Maeve silenced her with a look.
Thear stepped forward. “I can provide three hundred warriors to assist you.”
“No. We need the chimeras to oversee the camp and the wounded.”
With a swift bow, Maeve departed to rally her infantry but Sorcha remained, woolen skirts bristling with anger.
“Four hundred soldiers died today. People with no magic or beathaichean to protect them died fighting for you, and now you send more to their deaths to rescue two women who worship the Savior?”
Aemyra stiffened as Terrea drew closer. “Do not test me, Sorcha. I am no longer the blacksmith’s daughter that you fuck after a few mugs of ale. I am your queen.”
Overcome with rage, or perhaps fear born of watching Maeve fight, Sorcha spat at Aemyra’s feet.
For the first time, Thear looked like he wanted to hit a woman.
“You are lucky no one else saw that or I would have no choice but to execute you,” Aemyra said, her voice low.
“You asked me to respect non-Dùileach lives, well, that means respecting all of them. Regardless of who they worship or which laird they follow. I am doing everything I can to preserve life.”
With a scowl on her face, Sorcha tore after Maeve.
“You let her into your heart, but you draw the line at me?” Thear asked incredulously.
Adarian actually looked like he agreed.
Terrea landed heavily, blood splattering the ground from where it dripped from her dagger-sharp teeth.
“I sent too many people to Hela’s realm today, I cannot have the princesses’ blood on my hands too,” Aemyra said, striding for her dragon.
“Don’t listen to Sorcha. There aren’t many queens who would spend hours healing people with their own hands,” Adarian called out to her.
Aemyra’s eyes snagged on the stretcher Thear had carefully laid Eilidh upon, her face deathly pale.
“It does not matter how well I heal them if I am the reason for their wounds,” Aemyra replied. “We don’t know how many troops Laird Maryk kept inside the town. Ride hard.”
Before her brother or Thear could reply, Aemyra leaped astride Terrea, feeling her dragon thrum with purpose. She had sensed fear and desperation coming from the princesses, had tasted it in the air.
It did not matter that they likely hated her, Aemyra would not abandon them.
Raising her marked palm to the afternoon sun, Aemyra flew toward vengeance and hoped the Goddess would be ready to listen.