Chapter 23
Ilae swooped from overhead, razor-like feathers slicing through the air. An image of a grassy plain devoid of crawling roots and reaching branches pressed into my mind.
“How far?” I asked him.
He clicked his beak, flashing me Ysolthe, perched on the top of a red oak. I squinted, searching for the tree. Falling sunlight highlighted her antlers, and I picked her out of the canopy.
“The edge of the forest is just ahead,” I told Sylaira.
Thank the Goddess. If I never had to see another mahogany or ironwood tree again, it would be too soon. After everything that had occurred over the past few months, I needed open skies.
We’d have five days of them riding to Eloi. Maybe four, if I pushed us hard.
Sylaira hummed, the melody enveloping me.
Drawing me closer to her. After we danced in the rain, I thought everything would return to how it had been before the trial.
Yet she still held back, and I couldn’t figure out why.
Nor had she returned the House R?viel ring to her finger, the box still tucked away in her trunk in our tent.
At least she didn’t keep returning it to mine.
I studied her out of the corner of my eye. The way her silvery hair shone, knotted neatly atop her head. The studs pierced into the point of her ear. The relaxed way she held the reins.
What will she See next?
Because each precious glimpse of the future brought us closer to victory and peace.
Ishim’s latest letter weighed heavy in the pocket of my leathers.
The Demons were on the move. A large mass of them had slipped away in the night, while the skirmishes outside Lutsk started again.
From the prisoners he’d taken, he’d learned that during their conscription over the summer, they’d sent their most powerful to the military academy in Fured to train.
The Halálhívó had likely gone to fetch them.
Which explained Sylaira’s vision perfectly. The note was the confirmation I needed that she was speaking true about what she Saw. Iaoth would kill—quite literally—for this information. This was why she kept Seers like prized pets, so that we could be a step ahead of our enemy.
No one could know what the Goddess conveyed to my mate. Except for me.
She lifted her hand to her lips, hiding a yawn. Our march had been long. Rising early, stopping late. Sparse, rationed meals. All of it was weighing on her.
And me.
And the rest of this battalion.
At least we’d all be able to eat and rest around Vyss. The city on the fringes of the forest was a bustling trading town, and although I had no golden wings left, I could lean on the priestesses there to find us sustenance.
Especially since it seemed that my sister was using them to stir hope for the war. My mate was the center of their stories, the embodiment of the Goddess’s love for Her children.
Iaoth fucking owed me. First, she had been furious about my new bond, and now she was using it like a weapon.
“I see it!” Sylaira exclaimed beside me, drawing me out of my simmering rage.
Tall grass swayed in the distance, not a single tree in sight.
Beyond that open stretch, the walls of Vyss stood, the gates already flung wide.
Angels moved about, driving oxen to distant farms or riding horses into the heart of the town.
Children ran through the fields, their laughter ringing out like there wasn’t a war waiting to take their parents away.
It was peaceful, normal even. Everything I would never have.
Maelsar trotted up beside me. “Do you want to go through or around?”
“We’ll go through; everyone else can go around.
” We emerged from the treeline, and I lifted my face to the sky to gauge the angle of the sun.
“Have them make camp on the other side of Vyss. We’ll ask the city for food tonight.
The cooks could use a break, along with everyone else. We won’t have time to linger in Eloi.”
“I’ll relay instructions,” he said, turning his horse back the way he’d come.
Lyriasthe joined my mate and me at the front of the procession, the two females whispering and grinning.
“What’s so funny?” I asked them.
“Nothing,” Sylaira said a little too quickly.
I cocked my head and studied her, but she held her ground.
“What would you say to a real bed tonight?”
Her eyes went wide. “Really?”
I smirked because I knew my mate far better than she’d like to admit. “We can stay in the town while everyone else camps.”
She sagged in her saddle, a whoosh of relief leaving her.
“If you tell me what the two of you are talking about.”
She glared, then let out a small huff. “Fine. Lyriasthe was commenting about some gossip she heard on her ride today.”
“And what was that?” I turned my attention to the Illusionist.
Lyriasthe rolled her eyes. “Well, some believe now that if they stare too long at the Seraelth, she will See their death.”
I snorted a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish that was the worst of what I’d heard. These recruits have nothing but time on their hands to come up with the most fantastical of stories,” Lyriasthe grumbled.
With what they’d said about the Halálhívó, I could only imagine what else they’d conjured in the past few weeks.
“Thanks to a few, ah, strategically overheard conversations,” Lyriasthe grinned, “many are whispering that Althirion and Nymirae are secretly lovers, and they gladly took their assignment here so they could be together away from their mates.”
Sylaira’s mirth bubbled over, and she clutched her stomach, shoulders shaking.
“Whose idea was this?” I asked, lifting my scarred brow.
“Both of ours, actually,” my mate said, finally gathering herself. “I hate them so much. I had to retaliate somehow.”
“Little fugitive, your words have always wounded more than any blade,” I sighed, shaking my head.
As we approached the outer wall, a male trotted forward, the plumes on his helm bouncing with the movement. “Issaraeth!” he called out, waving.
We slowed our horses, meeting him in the middle.
Atop his mount, he hinged at the hips into a deep bow. “Welcome to Vyss. Our premier priestess requests that you ride to the temple. She has urgent messages for you.”
“We will head straight there.” Yet concern gripped my shoulders and refused to let them drop. Had something happened on the front? Why wouldn’t Ishim send a raven to me directly?
Or is it something from Sivy?
The three of us passed through the gates, and it wasn’t long before the two keepers chased after us rather than curving around the walls with the rest of the group.
“Think they heard the rumors?” Lyriasthe asked, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.
I tilted my head back, finding them both scowling. “Definitely.”
The main thoroughfare was packed with the late afternoon hour, everyone finishing their work and chores for the day. My hand rested on the hilt of my sword, ready to rip it free should someone scream for my mate or rush her horse. This time, I would not fail her—even if I didn’t possess my Command.
Still, her nervousness drifted down our bond.
We wove through the throng, fighting the stares. I directed us toward the glass temple, the spire taller than any other building in the city—finer than any other structure too. Because worship of Her was essential to the crown’s plan to exterminate the Demons.
We’d scarcely dismounted before a white-robed female emerged, hands clasped in her long, billowing sleeves.
With a smooth, serene expression painted on her face, she was the picture of piousness.
If it weren’t for the crinkles around her eyes and between her brows, I would have thought her within her first millennia.
“Issaraeth,” she greeted me, dipping her head. “You must be Herra R?viel, the Seraelth.”
My mate wrinkled her nose at the titles.
Our relationship still rested on shaky ground.
Venomous words didn’t spit in my direction every hour, but I was under no illusion that she wouldn’t return to that at the slightest provocation.
The only reason she reminded her keepers of the proper address was to take control back from them.
“I am Helene, leader of worship in Vyss. It is my honor to have you in our great city.” She lifted her chin, lapis-blue eyes sweeping over the three of us.
Her attention lingered on my mate. The corner of her mouth curved up in a mocking smile, like she was evaluating Sylaira’s worthiness and found her lacking.
I shifted my weight ever so slightly closer to my mate, fingers itching to draw a weapon.
“Priestess, the crown requests food for its holy warriors. Can you arrange a meal for the battalion?” I kept the irritation from my tone, a small mercy given how the beast inside me begged to snap its teeth around her neck.
“Certainly. In fact, Korona Iaoth communicated your imminent arrival, so we have prepared accordingly. Rooms are reserved for you and your mate, plus the other children of nobility traveling with you.”
Suspicion curled in my gut as she offered me a wide smile that didn’t reach her eyes. There was no way my sister ordered this out of kindness. She wanted something. I half expected her to emerge from behind Helene.
“And when you are ready to depart in the morning, I will accompany you to ensure the needs of the faithful are being met. The Koron and Korona send their sincerest apologies for forgetting to assist you in that way during your departure. From what I understand, it was quite…hasty.”
And there it was—more bars on our cage. Heat licked up my spine, and I forced myself to drag in a subtle breath through my nostrils.
Sylaira’s rage flickered through her barrier.
“How…considerate of them,” I replied through clenched teeth. “Is there anything else we should know?”
Is there any other chain my sister wishes to place around my throat?
“Oh, yes. In order to feed your traveling party, we must bless the food. The Seraelth’s presence is required. After all, the townspeople have so generously offered the first of their harvest at no cost. They merely wish to be in the presence of the Seer sent to save us all by our Radiant Mother.”
“Don’t say a word,” I warned my mate.
“Have I ever told you I fucking hate your sister?”
“More than me?”
Amusement rose for the briefest moments before that storm inside her roared again. “The scales might be tipping further in your favor.”
“We will do whatever is necessary. Our holy warriors are the most important assets to our realm,” I gritted out.
Helene’s eyes flashed at my jab, but her smile didn’t drop. “Of course. We couldn’t win the war without them. Come, we’ll drop off your weary mounts and then I’ll take you to where my flock is preparing the meal.”
She glided forward, dress whispering across the ground.
Sylaira grumbled something under her breath to Lyriasthe.
I shot them both a warning look, then led my stallion after the priestess.
The horses’ hooves clopped against the stone, the rhythm doing nothing to soothe the anger boiling inside me.
When we reached the stables, we handed them off to the waiting grooms.
They deserved a good rubbing down and proper meal after all they’d had to endure too.
“We must make haste. They are holding off on the cooking for our arrival,” Helene chided as Sylaira and Lyriasthe took a little too long satiating their thirst from their waterskins.
“Of course,” I replied coolly, gesturing for her to lead the way.
Sylaira glared at the priestess’s back as we followed her deeper into the city.
“You look as if you’re going to call lightning forth from the sky and strike her down,” I teased through our mental connection.
She broke her stare to offer me a glower instead. “If only I could. I hate being manipulated like this.”
“As do I. We will free ourselves.”
“When?” The question was bitter.
But she hadn’t been collared nearly as long as I had. I understood her impatience to break the hold over her, especially now that I had decided the only way out of this war was to kill Iaoth and Stadiel.
“Soon.”
Our conversation cut short as we approached what looked to be a large, semi-covered kitchen. Angels wielded large knives, carving meat and chopping autumn vegetables. Smoke curled through clay chimneys, the fire inside them waiting to cook the meal.
Each person stopped what they were doing and gaped.
“The Seraelth!” someone exclaimed.
Blood thrummed in my ears—all around me. Blue-shaded irises lit with excitement.
A female rushed us from the side, arms outstretched, tears streaming down her cheeks. All thought, all reason, fled as I whirled, protective instincts screaming to the surface. A metallic tang coated my tongue. Darkness, foreign and feral, surged in my well of magic.
I leaped forward, sword scraping against the scabbard as I drew it. Bronze-edged silver sang through the air as I swung.
Time crawled as her eyes widened and her heels dug into the dirt.
Far too late for either of us to stop.