Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“Welcome to Myura River Fort,” Pyetar grumbled. He had stopped to face her, hand held out toward a break in the trees where it looked like the forest opened onto a river bank.
A surge of trepidation filled her, despite how good it sounded to get out of the cold and off her feet. Her feet were slow to step around him, her eyes lingering on her guide.
They were probably a sorry-looking pair.
She was stiff, cold, and exhausted, hunched inside her cloak like a fox in its burrow.
But Pyetar looked like he’d lost a fight with a tree.
His hair was a mess where it peeked out beneath his cap, sappy pine needles clinging to his clothes.
And his face was pinched with pain that she could tell he was trying to hide.
Walking all night on that leg had been a stupid choice.
Whether it was because of the pain or lack of sleep, Pyetar’s expression looked almost comically grumpy as he stared at her, nostrils flaring and brow lowering deeper the more she lingered.
She rolled her eyes and stepped quickly around him and onto the bank, then immediately froze as a current of something roared through her.
Her gaze skimmed over the mostly frozen river and huge wooden fortress, to the edges of the great walls.
She could just make out what looked to be a city.
Only the general clustering of buildings was visible, but her memories filled in townhouses, wide streets, and storefronts.
She could almost smell the people, hear the creaking of carriage wheels and the full buzz of a dozen conversations. Things she thought she’d forgotten.
“Have you been to the city? Before everything fell?”
“What?” Iryana jerked around to where Pyetar was watching her. Realizing she was breathing harder than she should be, Iryana focused on calming down.
“You just looked like you were remembering—never mind.” He sighed, eyes closing as a look of exhaustion swept over him.
She was remembering Klees, not his home; but he didn’t deserve to know that. Didn’t need to know that before guardian families traveled little unless they were on a mission. It was hard to defend a place if you weren’t there.
Iryana didn’t remember hearing about the Myura River Fortress and the town that surrounded it, but it was upriver of Klees.
If it had been significant, she would have.
Klees, and the capital in particular, had to be much larger, but after more than a dozen years in a small village and the wilderness, she couldn’t imagine anything bigger than the looming wooden walls across the river.
Forcing herself to look away from the fallen city, Iryana took in the fortress itself.
It stood tall, nestled in a bend of the Myura River.
The walls along the river were shorter, less fortified, but she could make out the massive towers and walls that stretched around the other side.
It was all made of dark, aged wood, just like the older buildings in her village, but everything was greater and grander.
The confidence that her frustration with Pyetar had bolstered fizzled away.
She needed to prove herself, her significance, in a place her village could fit inside at least four times over.
How large was the brigade? How many people would she need to trick?
How many would watch her every move, waiting for her to fail?
Her hands pressed tightly against her thighs.
Drawing her attention, Pyetar rolled his shoulders and began climbing a great pine tree right at the end of the forest. She was curious enough to smooth her worries away, at least for a little longer. His movements were practiced, but slow, likely because of his injury.
She had no idea what he was doing. They needed to cross the river, but she saw no bridges, and trying to cross the already breaking ice would be treacherous. So he was climbing a tree? Did he need to send a signal of some sort? Perhaps he had a stash of supplies hidden among the branches.
She stepped back, picking out the path he could take up.
The branches looked sturdy, well placed, and where there were gaps, large spikes had been driven into the trunk.
The path was almost a tunnel through the needles.
With a frown, she looked up further still, trying to figure out what was up there. And then she saw it.
Two faint lines slashed across the sky.
Starting at two-thirds up the tree, across the river toward the fortress, were two taut ropes. A tingle of excitement skittered down her arms.
“You coming?” Pyetar called over his shoulder, already halfway up.
Making sure her bow, bag, and quiver were carefully in place, Iryana began to climb. The branches were worn where she placed her hands, the pepper and mint smell of pine surrounding her. It felt good to use her muscles differently after walking so long, but oh, how her thighs protested.
When she reached Pyetar, he stood on a small wooden platform.
So small that he was looming over her as she made it up the last few branches.
She made the mistake of glancing up. His eyes were on her, like they always were; watching, thinking.
The attention made her bristle. He would likely watch her just as closely at the fort.
She could only hope he would be away most of the time.
“That’s how we cross.” Pyetar gestured at the ropes stretching across the river.
Iryana stepped up to the edge and peered across. The ropes seemed to be secured to the western-most tower along the bank, but she couldn’t see anyone on the other side. A slight wave of relief hit her. She had a little longer before she had to deal with the rest of them.
“This looks earth-imbued,” Iryana murmured as she trailed her fingers along the thick, neat rope.
“Yeah, it’ll hold. But if you’re too afraid to cross, I can still take you back home now.” So predictable.
Iryana couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of her. “Being afraid of dying has never stopped me from doing anything.”
She didn’t wait for his instruction lest he try to stop her again, because she did want to turn back—just for very different reasons.
Iryana stepped onto the lower rope, wrapped her hands around the top one, and quickly sidestepped out over the river.
Getting away from Pyetar was a reward in itself.
“What are you doing?” Pyetar growled. A glance back showed he was reaching for her, but she was too far already. “There’s a rope for your waist to keep you from actually falling.”
Well, it was too late for that.
Iryana shrugged. Despite how tightly the ropes were pulled, every time she moved, they swayed. Her stomach lifted each time they bounced her, but she kept shuffling toward the tower, trying to keep her movements as steady as possible. Halfway across and her arms were already shaking.
Iryana turned back to look at Pyetar. He was scowling, a rope looped around his chest and beneath his arms, secured around the upper rope. He was still on the platform, but he was pacing the small ledge. Two steps to the side, two more steps back, a deeper frown, and repeat.
The corner of her mouth perked up, and Iryana returned her focus to crossing. The wind rustled her hair and spun around her; the river cheered her on from below. The rope slid beneath her palms, and her muscles burned.
The river seemed larger from above. The edges were still thick and snowy, but further into the center they got dark and glassy.
She could almost see the river flowing wildly beneath it.
A channel had fully melted at the center with patches of ice flowing quickly by.
Casually, she noted how difficult it would be to climb out of if one were to fall in.
The simplicity of that danger almost made her laugh again, but she forced herself to focus.
When she finally reached the other side and stepped onto the solid wood floor of the tower, stumbling slightly at the sudden stillness, she felt off.
Queasy. For one moment, one crossing, she had been absorbed entirely.
There had been nothing but the wind, the river, the rope, and the possibility of falling. It had almost been peaceful.
Sometimes the threat of death did that.
Now standing on the top floor of the tower, she could see the pitched ceiling and a ladder in the center of the room that led up to what was likely a smaller viewing desk of sorts at the tower’s peak.
The rest of the room was mostly bare. A few benches, several unlit torches secured to the walls, and not much else.
“You almost look disappointed you made it across.”
Her scowl deepened. Pyetar was breathing hard, lips parted, his body lounging against the wooden wall.
She’d missed his crossing entirely. His long legs were braced on either side of him, his hands untying the harness from around his chest. She noted the obvious strength of his body, even in this exhausted state, carefully; she would not be stupid enough to underestimate him.
He must have practically run across the ropes to reach her so fast, and Iryana pondered what could have motivated him to do so. Still eyeing him carefully, she watched as Pyetar exhaled long and slow, tilting his head back and exposing his neck.
Iryana looked away, an uncomfortable tension in her muscles.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he sighed.
She crossed her arms. Despite her own doubts spinning in her head, Iryana refused to let Pyetar see them. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure.
With a sigh, he pushed himself back to his feet. “Follow me.”
Climbing down the steep staircase, the smell of dust hit her as they entered a dimly lit room.
If the space wasn’t well used, could Iryana dare to hope that the river crossing wasn’t either? It would make meeting Hadima and sneaking out much easier.