Chapter 36 #2
That drew a laugh from my wife, and I grunted, rising to my feet.
We dressed in easy silence, canvas trapping our quiet happiness in a small bubble. Nienna fastened the chains of my mantle, pulled me down for a fierce kiss, then I pushed aside the tent flap and stepped into the camp.
Fires burned low, embers dotting paths between humble tents. Men packed down dried grass, moving to relieve themselves or seek their first meal. I stayed quiet, sparing them disturbance before the sun rose. They needed every scrap of rest they could get.
“Advisor or food?” Greaves muttered beside me.
“Fallione. I’ll send for a meal.”
“Best keep that beautiful, brilliant mind fed.”
I whipped a glance at him, catching his amused smirk as he studied our surroundings, content to ignore my glare.
“Jealous?”
He scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “Not a chance. In fact, I might take an oath of celibacy.”
“It wouldn’t change anything.”
If he ever shared a bed, it happened when he snuck off to eat or I sent him away. And aside from the privacy I’d demanded with Eldeiade and the solitude I craved with Nienna—I could count those moments on one hand.
“I’ve managed quite well on my own. Besides, who would watch over you? These young bucks?” He shook his head. “I’ve got my hands full enough with you both.”
I bit back a chuckle. With the soldiers nearby, it wouldn’t be right for them to hear me laugh.
I agreed with him—to an extent. He would never find love at my side.
Unless he took up with Nienna’s maids. He was bound to me—and that’s where he would stay.
He didn’t want a woman to complicate things. Nienna had managed that well enough.
Daybreak came and went; my morning was split between Fallione and checking on the army. The generals had arranged it in near-perfect formation, spread across the plains, facing Sol. My advisor requested that the catapults be brought and assembled, keeping men busy while we prepared for a siege.
All the while, we awaited the Harvesters’ return.
When midday broke and a young woman entered Fallione’s tent, I didn’t spare her a glance. I aligned the map of Clay’s tunnel beneath the manor with Sol.
“King Kallias, this is Seliora.” Fallione’s tone was formal, drawing my attention with a frown.
She was pale, dark hair neatly braided down her back, linen dress dirtied from travel.
She had to be around Nienna’s age. Plain.
Nondescript. I had expected a platter of food in her hands, yet her long fingers hung loose.
She stood with her shoulders squared, stance unnaturally composed—far beyond any commoner’s ease.
We didn’t bring any women to battle the Velli.
“Harvester.” I sat settled in my chair, hair prickling at the nape of my neck. There was something about those who chose to serve in the deadliest branch of Radaan. Even I did not know everything Harvesters trained in, or their methods.
“My king.” She dipped into a bow, not a curtsy.
Masculine respect. It would’ve been unseemly for a woman of court, but Seliora could slit a throat without batting an eye.
“Report. How many Velli are in the foothills?”
“None. They remain unscathed, though communication between Sol and those that dwell in the grass is severed.” She offered a scroll. Her sleeve bunched at the wrist—a small, precise detail. Most would miss it.
I would allow her dagger to remain in my presence.
“But,” she added, “I found someone I think you should meet.”
I set her report on the table and squinted up at her. “A civilian?”
Her face, void of emotion, revealed nothing. Harvesters hid everything behind iron masks.
She nodded. “Of Sol.”
“What does this person offer the king?” Fallione asked.
“A hidden entrance.”
My guard slammed down like Reem’s gates. Hand tensed, body froze.
“Into Vellos?” Fallione pressed. “There’s no way over the Craggs. No passes within a day’s ride.”
“Into Sol—and beyond.” She remained unnaturally still, eyes locked on mine, almost as if demanding that I meet this person. “They have a path into the city, even into the manor.”
“Impossible.”
“This civilian—what’s their name?” I brushed my advisor aside.
“Anna Elizabeth of Sol.”
A lesser noble. I was obligated to trust the Harvester and her allegiance to Radaan’s mantle, but it was hard to fathom. How would this stranger know an alternate route that Clay hadn’t shared?
“Is she with you?”
“She cannot cross the plains. You will meet her at the base of the Andeluith.”
“Why not bring her?” Fallione asked, curious.
“It would not have been wise.”
Seliora could have forced her here, yet chose not to. She opted to ask her king to travel to meet them. Which meant she respected this person more than her sovereign—or there was a valid reason she couldn’t drag her here.
I ground my teeth, curiosity cutting through irritation. “Speak plainly, Harvester.”
“Her advantage is lost if seen in the open. If you wish to use her path, you must go to her.”
Greaves shifted behind her, jaw tightening. He disliked Harvesters’ cryptic ways as much as I did.
“Then I shall meet this Anna of Sol.” I sighed, opening the scroll. “Pray it isn’t a waste of time, Seliora, or I’ll have you removed from service.”
She offered another bow and took a step. “I will be ready to lead at your call.”
I nodded my dismissal. When the canvas fell behind her, I turned to Fallione, frowning. “Why is she here?”
“She is a Harvester.” His brows dipped, eyes narrowed in thought.
“And do you think it wise to have a Harvester in camp, possibly controlled by a Cruor?” They were subtle, deadly. Far worse than any threat a Thresher posed. “Did you approve her company?”
“The Harvesters flanked the army, spread out, each keeping to themselves. My apologies, I was unaware of her gender.”
“Bring me their commander. I want to speak with him.”
Fallione rose, color in his cheeks. He knew the risk.
Nienna would remain far behind our lines. Freya with her. Sending a woman into Velli territory? Unthinkable. They didn’t even aid our battle medics. It was too easy to forget.
When he returned, a man in common armor followed. He appeared no different from an ordinary soldier at first glance: tousled hair, crooked nose broken and never reset.
“My king.” He bowed deep, dark eyes flashing with questions. “Galeth, at your service.”
“Did you approve adding Seliora to our ranks?”
“Yes.”
“And did you consider she’s a woman heading into a Velli nest?” I leaned forward, anger sharpening my frown.
“She is a valuable asset,” he replied, unwavering. “Her addition benefits the mission.”
“When was her last cycle?”
Blood. It always came down to blood. Velli sensed it miles away. And if she didn’t burn her rags—risking a fire in enemy territory—they could track her and take control.
Something in his gaze sharpened, a passing shadow of rage. “She is without them.”
“And if her body decides now is the time to heal?” Some women skipped months before cycles returned. The last thing I needed was for it to start without warning.
“Her reproductive organs have been removed, Your Majesty.” Galeth’s voice came even, as if he were stating the sky’s color. “She cannot bleed.”
My throat constricted with surprise. They cut out her womb? My ignorance of the sacrifices Harvesters made—the horrors endured—sent unease prickling through me.
I leaned back, studying him. He remained impassive, silent. If she could not bleed, she posed no greater risk than any man.
But at what cost?
“When she returned, was she searched?”
“Stripped and cleansed, Your Majesty.”
The wrongness gnawed at me. It was one thing for a man to strip in front of another, searching for open wounds.
Gods, the extent of those searches… But a woman?
Subjected to such demands? I had to trust it occurred before peers.
Her bow, her posture, told me she wanted equality.
She had earned her title. Endured for it. I wouldn’t take that from her.
“If she passed your inspection, I will go with her—but I expect her to be treated as any man, with the respect due a fellow Harvester.”
“Our ways are our own, but we are equals. Seliora is well-suited to our mission.” He dipped his head.
I swallowed, staring over her report. I wasn’t the only one making sacrifices to defeat Vellos.