Chapter 3 #2
Aila grins faintly. “If anyone can survive being half-poisoned, it’s your uncle.”
Mylo and I exchange a glance, neither of us willing to clarify just how bad it’s gotten. Maybe if we don’t say it out loud, the gods will reward us by bringing my uncle’s condition back to normal.
Aila jerks her chin toward the top of the tower, where a lean figure descends the ladder, an axe strapped to his back. “You remember Lorne, don’t you?”
My gaze follows hers, and once the man reaches the ground, I catch the familiar gleam of amber eyes beneath a fall of silver-blond hair.
His features are still young, perhaps a year or two behind my own, but there’s a maturity in the quiet way he moves.
His face is spattered faintly with freckles, his expression closed but alert.
He brushes ash from his trousers before giving me a half-bow with practiced ease. “Commander.”
“Lorne,” I say, surprised. “Of course. From the southern campaign. I remember seeing you at strategy briefings in Delasurvia. I didn’t realize you’ve transferred to our unit.”
“That was my decision,” Aila says, her fists planted on her sides. “With you and Mylo preoccupied in Hedera, I asked him to transfer in to fill the gap. He’s a skilled soldier, and we’re lucky to have him.”
Not to mention he’s fae, with the magical ability to throw sound. Pretty useful.
Lorne shifts slightly but remains standing at attention. “It’s an honor to serve under your leadership, Commander. And under General Moorgrin’s, of course.”
At the mention of my uncle, his voice softens. There’s real concern there, the kind that can’t be faked.
“He hasn’t woken yet,” I admit. “But he’s still fighting.”
Lorne nods once, solemnly. “He’s a damned legend, if you don’t mind me saying. We need him back.”
“Yes, we do,” I murmur.
As we settle into the camp, my eyes constantly flit to Dante.
He keeps himself busy, helping Isaac sort weapons and occasionally strolling down to the stream to check on the horses.
He’s not comfortable enough around my squad to keep still, but I don’t push him.
I don’t try to force him to like my squad or vice versa. It will happen naturally or not at all.
The fire crackles steadily, sparks rising like fleeting stars, vanishing into the dark velvet sky.
The moon hangs high and full above us, bathing the hills in silver, while a low breeze drifts through the red valerian growing at the edge of the ridge.
Its scent is sharp and faintly bitter, threading through the sweeter aroma of jasmine and distant pine.
I sit beside the flames, close enough to feel their heat on my shins. Across from me, Aila sharpens her blade with slow, practiced strokes, the whetstone whispering against the steel. Her eyes are focused, but I can tell by the way her brow pinches that her thoughts are elsewhere.
I glance around camp—Isaac slouched against a log, Giorgi biting the inside of their cheek as they poke the fire with a stick, Mylo sitting quietly at the perimeter with his gaze scanning the trees, always alert.
Dante lingers near the outskirts of the woods, his silhouette a steady, silent thing in the moonlight.
He leans against a large tree, and every so often I catch sight of the red glow from the end of his cigarello.
My attention returns to Aila. “Any word from the camps?”
“Still overcrowded. Feels like we’re constantly running low on clean water and dry shelter. But… the food helps.”
“They are arriving undetected?” My throat tightens.
King Silas could only get Mersos to agree on providing goods to Delasurvia if we agreed to close down the refugee camps.
As far as I know, Silas is unaware that we’ve kept them open, and there are officially no provisions being delivered to any of the camps. Not by Mersos merchants, anyway.
Aila nods. “As you requested, we’ve made sure the team rerouting a percentage of goods is keeping it under wraps. And as far as the rest of the regiment goes, they’re in the dark. The fewer people who know about this, the less likely King Silas or the triarchs of Mersos will find out.”
“Good.” I release a long breath. “The king’s been increasing his patrols. You never know where he’s got soldiers watching. Or spies listening.” I give her a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Thank you, Aila.”
“Of course, Commander.”
“Not just for keeping abreast of the camp situation. For all of it. I wish I could be in two places at once, but if I abandon Hedera, Silas will make sure Delasurvia suffers.”
Aila’s gaze softens. “You’re doing what you can, and I know you haven’t forgotten us. It’s my honor to carry on here while you have to put up with that pompous king.”
A few heartbeats pass in silence, filled only by the crackling fire and the whispering wind.
I tilt my head toward the stars, their light distant and unmoving over my homeland.
I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever return there for good, if I can protect Delasurvia from within its borders.
It was never my intention to be on the throne, but since I’ve been forced into this position, I should use it to my advantage. For my people.
The night closes in around us. Steel glints in the firelight.
Boots scuff over gravel. Lorne and Giorgi keep watch for the beacons while the others rest and regenerate.
The hum of tension lingers like a held breath.
But for the first time in weeks, I feel something solid beneath me again.
We are together. And that means we still have a chance.
“I’ll get more wood,” I offer, needing an excuse to stretch my limbs and steady my thoughts.
Dante pushes off the tree before anyone else can move. “I’ll come with you.”
The words are casual, but they pull at something deep inside me—a familiar ache I’ve had to bury since the king’s decree ripped us apart.
For weeks, there’s been no room for us. Not in the castle.
Not in the aftermath of Torbin’s fall. But out here, beyond the walls of Ivystone, we’re just us again.
I grab an axe from the supplies on the ground and head toward the edge of the trees, the brittle grass crunching softly beneath my boots. Dante falls into step beside me, quiet and sure. Always close, but never too close—not when anyone might see.
Not until we’re swallowed by the shadows.
The air grows colder beneath the canopy, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine.
I continue deeper into the trees, scanning for a fallen branch suitable for the fire.
I feel Dante’s eyes on me, and though I’ve longed for a moment alone with him, it takes me a second to work up the nerve to turn his way.
Is it the guilt? Is it fear of rejection?
I can’t wrap my head around this uncertainty that’s suddenly clogging my throat.
Spotting a few good-sized branches on the forest floor, I stop.
With a deep sigh, I finally turn to face Dante.
His eyes shine, even in the darkness, and as he steps closer, I’m transfixed by his height.
How have I already forgotten how tall he is, the outline of his broad shoulders?
I press my lips together, trying to get my brain working well enough to speak.
“It’s been a crazy few weeks,” I say.
“Feels like months. If it weren’t for our balconies facing each other, I don’t think we’d have seen much of each other at all.”
So many nights, I’d step out onto my balcony, just as the sun was setting.
It was the only time Indira would leave me alone.
Dante made it a habit to go onto his balcony as well, but he was too far away to speak to.
We’d spend many sunsets—when he wasn’t trapped in meetings with the council— simply gazing at each other over the empty distance between us, unable to communicate, unable to comfort each other.
It wasn’t much, but when the timing worked in my favor, it had quickly become the favorite part of my day.
“True. Luckily no one caught on. I’m sure the king would have made me switch rooms if anyone had seen us. But it was frustrating not being able to talk to you. I almost—” I cut myself off with a laugh.
“You almost what?”
“I almost attempted to write you a note. To find a bow and attach the note to an arrow so I could shoot it at your balcony.”
“I would have loved to see you attempt that.” He chuckles. “You might have hit me instead.”
“Maybe. I could aim better with my dagger, but I don’t think it would have made it that far.”
“We’ll have to test your theory and see.”
As we gaze at each other, our smiles slowly fade. All the questions I have come back to press down on my resolve.
“How… are you?” It sounds completely ridiculous when I say it out loud, but it’s the most pressing question on my mind. “I mean, we haven’t really spoken since…” I swallow back the lump pressing into my throat, feeling the urge to apologize. For what, exactly, I can’t be sure.
For him losing his brother to the tsar.
For my part in it.
“Dante, I’m sorry.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper.
He steps closer, his eyes searching my face. “Celeste, listen to me. It’s not your fault.”
“But I pushed him.” Whatever Torbin became in the end—cruel, power-hungry, dangerous—there was a time when he and Dante were nearly inseparable. Brothers in blood. Best friends in everything else.
“You had no choice. I was there, don’t forget.” His voice is softer than I expect, cutting through the stillness like a blade sliding from its sheath. “He could have killed me. He almost killed our father. I didn’t lose him when he fell from that tower; I lost him way before that. I see that now.”
I release a breath as a weight lifts from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized until this moment how important it was for me to hear him say those words.
“I can see that this has been troubling you.”