Chapter 43
Hals?r rose from between two ridges, smoke curling from open fires. A chill swept through me, and I pulled my cloak tighter.
“How close are we to the wall?” I asked Vaeron, casting a glance at the clouds hiding the peaks.
“A half day’s ride,” he replied, focus never wavering from the outpost ahead.
The city was small—if it could even be called that. Only a few permanent buildings broke the rough terrain. Around it, tents claimed every open space, climbing onto plateaus above Hals?r and beyond. Angels dressed in gray leathers drifted down, their wings wide to slow their descent.
Thousands more marched at our backs, and fitting them into the already overflowing valley would test every inch of ground. Climbing the foothills of the Skala Mountains had been arduous, with storms and supplies slowing our pace. Vaeron was restless, frustrated as days piled onto our trek.
None of the tension ebbed now that we’d arrived.
We trotted down the main thoroughfare through the camp—little more than a cleared space between tents providing a path to the infrastructure at the heart.
From within a stone building, an Angel ducked out, her long, slate hair braided into a single plait.
We stopped in front of her, and she offered my mate a salute.
“Issaraeth,” she greeted him first, then turned her attention to me. “Seraelth.”
I didn’t have to force my face neutral at the address.
Our long climb into the mountains had given me ample hours to think about who I wanted to be.
How I wanted to act knowing that soon enough, I would be the Korona.
I wanted these people ready to follow me.
Because I would save our realm—though not in the way they expected.
“Our most holy Zahal sent word of your imminent arrival,” she continued, offering other reports that slid past my understanding.
As much as I was part of this war, I didn’t want to know the details.
Violence was necessary to reach our end; that didn’t mean I had to immerse myself in it.
Yet accidentally killing Helene still weighed on me—even with Vaeron’s constant assurance that she deserved it.
If I wanted the Korona dead, wanting Helene dead was no different.
Blood stained my hands. I didn’t want a permanent mark on my soul.
Lyriasthe angled her horse next to mine as Maelsar joined the Padisa and my mate in conversation.
After months among the ranks, I recognized the symbols etched into cloaks and leathers.
Vaeron and Maelsar had spent many nights explaining the camp structure too, how the dye of each canvas signaled which faction the tent belonged to, or whether it was intended for healing or food.
It was elegant in its design, that much I could admit.
“Here we are,” she muttered, glancing around the valley.
“Never thought I’d see this,” I murmured back.
“Nor I,” she agreed. “Do you feel…”
“Terrified?” I finished for her.
She nodded. “I know Elessarum have always preached peace and how the Demons aren’t so different from us, but now that we’re so close to the wall…”
“It’s a different reality.” If the stone-faced, haggard expressions on the soldiers passing by—none sparing us a glance—were any indication, the war had taken its toll.
I’d Seen enough of what it was like to surmise why their stares were hollow.
“Reconciling both is difficult, but I’ve become adept at holding two opposing thoughts and finding the truth in each,” I told her eventually, my focus drifting back to my mate.
A door opened behind the Padisa, and a familiar figure strode out, his stark white hair unmistakable, even after months apart. The torment in the flat line of his lips, visible to me despite the regal air he still carried, punched the air from my lungs.
“Zuriel,” I breathed. His gaze snapped to meet mine.
I expected rage; I received sorrow.
The conversation around us stilted and silenced. Without thinking, I slid from my horse, eyes never leaving his. No words passed between us. Vaeron ushered his group off to the side as my legs carried me forward, meeting Zuriel in the middle.
Jealousy trickled down our bond as I embraced the husband of my best friend. To his credit, my mate banished it quickly.
“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, locking my hands around his back. “It’s all my fault.”
Zuriel said nothing, but the tremble in his torso told me he was holding so much back. I didn’t care who witnessed my overt display of emotion. I was no soldier; I never wanted to be a leader. It was a role forced upon me, and I would be different from every Korona before me.
“I think it’s best if we speak inside,” he managed to get out.
I released him, swiping my nose with my sleeve. “Of course.”
“I’ll see you later,” Vaeron spoke into my mind. “Take Lyriasthe with you. And Isra, for your protection.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
I motioned for my best friend and Isra to follow Zuriel and me into the stone building.
Inside, a fire roared, chasing the cold from my bones.
Other officers milled about, some drinking from metal mugs at a table in the corner, while two sat at a desk, speaking in low tones and gesturing at pieces of parchment between them.
“We won’t be disturbed in here,” Zuriel said, guiding us to a small room at the rear of the quarters.
“I’ll stand watch,” Isra said, pausing in the doorway and turning her back to us.
Ever since she helped save Vaeron—and told me of how others believed she was cursed because of the sins her parents had supposedly committed—I’d kept her close.
She didn’t deserve such unkindness, not when I sensed, deep down, how desperately she craved acceptance.
Zuriel shut the door behind us, and Lyriasthe and I took seats beside the small hearth. As Heraphia’s husband settled across from us, my attention snagged on the Myrza symbol stitched into his leathers.
“This is Lyriasthe. She is—was—also Elessarum,” I introduced my new friend.
She dipped her head. “I didn’t have the honor of knowing Heraphia for long, but I loved her dearly.”
Zuriel clenched his jaw and looked away, staring into the undulating flames. “Tell me everything that happened. I want it all. Ithuriel’s letter was vague and filled with false platitudes.”
“Ithuriel attended her funeral,” I told him, my voice soft, tender. “He told me after he regretted how he’d treated her. And you.”
Zuriel scoffed. “Regrets don’t repair the rupture in my heart.” He rubbed the center of his chest like that simple movement could relieve the ache of Heraphia’s absence.
“I’m not sure anything ever will,” I murmured. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
He met my gaze again, something hiding in the ice-blue pools of his eyes. “Do you mean in this camp or still breathing?”
“Both.” I’d be lying to him and myself if I said I didn’t think he’d run straight into the blade of a Demon to rid himself of the agony of his loss. Then, he could join Heraphia in a new world.
“If I died on a Demon blade, they wouldn’t burn my body,” he stated like he could read my mind. But he was a mind healer, like Ithuriel—odd, considering they were one generation apart and shared the same color irises. “Now, tell me what happened to my wife.”
Tears pricked my eyes as memories of that seismic day rose. The one that had shattered me irrevocably. That had set me on the path to treason. That had brewed the tempest inside me.
“The Korona grew desperate for new visions. She decided to push us further than ever before.” I swallowed around the lump of panic in my throat. “Heraphia, Goddess keep her, only cared about Seeing so she could protect you. She would have done anything for you to remain alive.”
A choked sob caught in my chest. Lyriasthe rubbed soothing circles over my back as she picked up the story for me.
How the room was thick with cloying smoke.
How the Korona had wielded a holy knife and spilled their blood into a bowl, painting themselves in runes.
The white band that had pulled taut between them.
The power that had pulsed around the room.
I remembered the screams. How I’d slapped Iaoth. How I’d held Heraphia as she convulsed in the throes of her power.
And Heraphia’s final words to me.
“She Saw the end,” I choked out. “Her last prophecy.”
Pain etched Zuriel’s expression, his lips pressed in a thin line like that could contain the tide of his sorrow. “And what is that end?”
I sniffed, gathering myself. If he could be strong, so could I. “She wasn’t able to convey it. But the Goddess offered me the same vision.”
I think.
It had to be the same, though. Why else would She have waited until I was beneath Her moon to grip the back of my neck and lift my face to the stars to See again? The virelthorn had worn off long before that night.
Zuriel steepled his fingers, staring at me over them like he wanted me to continue. And I trusted him. His presence in Hals?r was a sign that he was supposed to join us in our plans.
“There will be a three-front battle atop the spine of Keleti,” I whispered. Because I didn’t know who could hear—and Isra certainly didn’t know the full extent. “The Angels will fall. The final siege will be in Sivy. But no one knows this except for us.”
“And by us you mean the two of you and your mate.” Zuriel’s tone flattened. Discerning his opinion on my fated connection to Vaeron was impossible—as was whether he would accept that I loved him now, even after we’d fled him together all those months ago.
“And my intended, Maelsar,” Lyriasthe added.
“You are not noble,” Zuriel observed, taking her in.
“I am not,” she replied.
“And how does Kisst Caerelith feel about his second son planning to marry a commoner?” Bitterness dripped from every word.
But could we blame him after how Ithuriel disowned him for doing the same?
“He does not know,” she said, her chin rising. “But it won’t matter once the war is over.”
Zuriel shook his head like he didn’t believe her. “If what Sylaira said is true, then we’ll all be dead.”
“We have a plan. And we could use your help.” I rolled my shoulders back like I was preparing to walk onto a stage to perform the Dark Swan.
His white brow raised. “And what is that?”
I told him what we’d decided, my voice scarcely louder than a whisper. Though I omitted Vaeron’s Demon blood for his safety.
Zuriel massaged his temples. “This is madness. You’re all going to end up hung from the gates of Thalvireth.”
“We have to try. For Heraphia. For all of us. For peace,” I hissed, crossing my arms.
“Don’t you dare bring her into this. If you hadn’t blocked yourself off from your gift, none of this would have happened,” he snapped, gripping the arms of his chair like that alone could hold him upright against the agony.
The words cut deep into my heart. I rolled my lips, trying to rein in the guilt and self-loathing that still lingered even months after her death.
“What’s done is done,” Lyriasthe stepped in, and I was immensely grateful for her presence. “What matters now is how we move forward. Will you join us?”
Zuriel’s focus flicked between the two of us. I held my breath as I waited for his answer.
“No.”
I spluttered, brows shooting up my forehead. “No?”
“That is what I said.” The words came out even, measured. Calculated. A flash of reckoning swept through his ice-blue irises before disappearing entirely.
“But why?” I pressed. “Don’t you want to see the end of all of this?”
“I do,” he stated, but offered no further explanation.
I looked at Lyriasthe, whose confused expression mirrored my own. She shrugged a shoulder like she didn’t know what else to say or how to convince him to join us.
“I don’t understand,” I murmured, studying him like the Goddess would offer me insight into how to sway him.
“I won’t tell anyone of your plans. Truly, I do hope you succeed.” He shoved out of his chair, jerking his leathers straight. The blue threads of his Myrza symbol shone in the firelight. “I have matters to attend to. You are welcome to rest here in my absence.”
I opened my mouth to insist that he talk to us, but he was out the door and sliding past Isra before the words could pass my lips. I stared at his retreating form until he rounded a corner and disappeared from my sight.
“What…” I trailed off, unable to process his refusal.
“Maybe it’s his grief talking?” Lyriasthe offered.
Isra entered the room before I could offer any alternative explanation. Her brows pinched as she looked between us and the male who had just rushed past her. “Is everything okay?”
I forced a smile. “Fine.”
“Do you mind if I join you then? It’s freezing here.”
I gestured to the chair Zuriel had occupied, indicating she could sit.
She sank onto the seat, hands reaching for the flames.
A shiver wracked her frame. “We’re all missing the islands even more now that it is winter in the mountains,” she chuckled, the sound deep and rich and soothing to my raw nerves.
“Have you seen snow before?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “The first time I stepped foot on the mainland was to travel to Eloi.”
Lyriasthe laughed. “You all are in for an interesting season then.”
Isra asked more questions about the mountains while explaining the contrast with the islands. The conversation was a welcome distraction from the outright rejection Zuriel had offered us.
Between every huff of amusement, though, worry speared through. Because the male who had sat across from me was so dissimilar to the male I’d spent years on the run with.
He’d said he wouldn’t betray us, but I’d tasted that lie before.
And I wondered if I’d erred in revealing our plans to him.
And whether that lack of discretion would be the very thing that led to our downfall.