Chapter 45
DIEM
“Tell me your name.”
Empty eyes stared back, unblinking.
“Who sent you?”
I already knew the answer. That wasn’t the point.
“Who have you come to kill?”
His head turned toward the tent’s opening, and he strained at the ropes holding him to the chair.
My jaw felt near to cracking with how tightly it was clenched. “Will you at least have something to eat?” I held a piece of bread to his mouth. “Take a bite. You can’t kill them if you’re passed out from hunger.”
Stuart was unpersuaded.
I put two fingers in my mouth and blew a shrill note, hoping to trigger some willingness to accept a new command. I’d seen it in their heads on the battlefield, the way Vance’s whistle was like placing a quill to paper to write his will into their minds.
Unfortunately, Stuart’s pages were blank. I couldn’t find a single memory or thought, only an irresistible compulsion to kill my army—but not me.
Vance had tried to make them do it. Had it failed to work because they were Sophosian, and I wore the Sophos Crown? My Crown had never stopped the Descended of Lumnos from trying to take my life. Nor the people of Faunos. Nor Fortos. Nor Umbros.
The command to spare me must have come from a higher authority than Vance. Perhaps the Kindred had intervened on my behalf, or maybe the Old Gods.
Or perhaps the man who had taken their minds in the first place.
I whistled again, then held the bread against Stuart’s lips. “Eat,” I commanded.
He didn’t eat. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.
Luther ducked his head into the tent. “Any progress?”
I flashed him a hard stare in answer. I threw down the bread and pushed past Luther into the evening air. The camp was unusually quiet. After returning home from Mort-Feu, there’d been no music or drinking. Even the campfires had been kept low, barely emitting a crackle.
These days, we’d all lost our taste for fire.
“There might be someone who knows how to help him,” Luther said. “Send a note to Doriel and ask—”
He stopped as the realization hit us both.
Though the former Sophos monarch had many flaws, they were passionate about protecting their people.
When Ophiucae went back to Sophos, Doriel would have been on the front lines.
And as the strongest Sophos Descended, Vance would have wanted their formidable magic for his army.
If Doriel wasn’t at the battle today, I could only imagine one reason why. Despite our unfriendly past, my heart stung.
More blood on my hands, more corpses at my feet.
Luther followed silently as I walked to the makeshift infirmary that had been set up for the injured. Thankfully, Alixe had the foresight to bring in Descended healers from Fortos days ago, though many of the mortals had refused the help of their magic.
Including, to my frustration, my brother, who had taken a dagger to the shoulder in the attack.
“Will you stop being so stubborn and let them heal you?” I said crossly as I stopped beside him.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, staring at the sky. “They said the blade missed everything important.”
“There’s still a risk. The wound could get infected.” I reached for his shirt. “Just let me—”
He smacked my hand away. “I’m fine.”
I perched on the foot of his cot, lowering my voice. “Is this because you don’t want to fight in the Royal Guard anymore? I can speak to Alixe—”
“I do want to fight,” he rushed out. “And I don’t want you interfering. You promised you wouldn’t give me any special treatment in the Guard.”
“I lied.”
Teller glared.
I sighed. “If you won’t let them heal you, will you let me do it instead?”
“You’re out of magic.”
“I can absorb some from Luther.”
“Why haven’t you done that already?”
I bristled at his pointed stare. Little brothers could be obnoxiously perceptive when you least wanted them to be.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I snapped. “Why do you insist on suffering when someone’s trying to help you?”
Teller snorted. “The same reason you do.”
He and Luther exchanged a knowing look. I was one second away from grabbing both their hands and forcing Teller’s choice when Lily’s shouts turned all our heads.
“Teller!” She ran toward us, her eyes round and rimmed with silver. “They told me you were hurt.”
He quickly sat upright. “Lily—hi.” He did a terrible job of hiding his wince. “It’s not that bad. A little scratch, that’s all.”
“Let me see,” she insisted, sliding onto the cot at his side. She reached for his wound, then paused. “May I touch you?”
His cheeks flushed pink as he gave a short nod.
Lily gingerly pushed the hem of his tunic up past his torso and peeled back the gauze to inspect his wound. My eyes caught my brother’s and narrowed with an unspoken message: You’ll let her look, but not me?
His nostrils flared in response: Go away.
Lily gasped. “Teller, this is a serious wound.”
I crossed my arms. “Lily, since my brother refuses to obey his Queen’s orders, maybe you can convince him to let one of the Fortos Descended heal him.”
She nibbled her lip for a moment, glancing between us. “Oh . . . um . . . well, Your Majesty, it’s just that . . . Maura says that we’re supposed to respect a patient’s choices.”
My brother mirrored my crossed arms with a smirk.
Lily looked back at Teller. “I could make you a salve, if you’d like. It will help with the pain and the swelling.”
“There are others hurt worse than me,” he said. “I’m sure they need you more.”
“The mortal healers just returned from the arena. They’re tending to the others.” Her face fell. “But I understand if you prefer someone with more experience.”
“No,” he blurted out. “I want you.” His cheeks exploded with red. “To help me, I mean. With the salve.”
She brightened, nodding, then reached to unfasten his uniform. As her fingers moved over the buttons, her voice dropped to a murmur. “When they told me you were wounded in the battle, they didn’t know if you’d survived.” Her fingers slowed, her lip trembling. “I thought . . .”
Teller set his hand over hers, and their gazes met.
My mating mark burned hot at the familiar emotion glowing on both their faces.
Though I was struggling to feel much of anything—my heart felt like the frozen, empty wasteland where unworthy souls were forever condemned—I wanted a different fate for my brother.
His soul was worthy. Good. Unstained by the sea of innocent blood that flooded mine.
“Lily,” I said, “Teller’s going to have to disrobe for you to tend that wound. Why don’t you take him somewhere more private? His bedroom in the palace, perhaps?”
Luther growled behind me. Teller went pale.
Lily nodded emphatically. “Yes, of course, Your Majesty.” She stood and tugged on Teller’s hand, but he hesitated, and I wasn’t sure why. I knew my brother well enough to know he wanted to reconcile with Lily more than almost anything in the world.
But then he gazed out at the campfire, and his throat bobbed. I knew without asking he was thinking of the Sophosians who’d died. People he’d known, even if only for a short time. People who would have become his friends and colleagues and neighbors, had it not been for Doriel’s schemes.
People whose fate he might have joined. People whose fate that, perhaps, he felt that he deserved to join.
I couldn’t force Teller to heal, if he preferred to hurt. He was right—I’d be a hypocrite if I tried.
But perhaps I could help him in other ways.
“You know,” I said, “I bet someone else would like to check your wound.” I scanned the camp until I saw a splash of vivid red hair, then waved to catch her eye. “Mother! Over here!”
Teller shot to his feet. “Come on, Lily, let’s go.” He clutched her hand tight and practically ran for the palace, dragging Lily behind him.
“What is it?” my mother asked as she approached. She frowned at my fleeing brother. “Is Teller alright?”
“He’ll be fine. Have you finished logging the Guardian casualties?”
“I have. One hundred thirty from our camp.”
It was an effort to keep the air in my lungs. “So many?”
“We were prepared to fight mortals and godstone, not magic. Your Descended did their best to shield us, but when the second wave arrived behind us, it was every person for themselves.” She let out a long sigh.
“I did not want to use our usual methods against Vance, but I fear we have no choice. Next time, we’ll come prepared with bombs. ”
Next time.
I swayed unsteadily on my feet at the idea that what happened today could happen again.
My mother glanced toward the Ignios camp. “The others fared better. Hardly any Descended at all.” She made an effort to bury the bitterness in her words, but to my ears, the resentment was screaming.
After all my promises to make things equal, the mortals were still paying the heaviest price. I wondered for the thousandth time if I’d done the right thing in asking the Guardians to fight for me at all. I wanted to help the mortals, not force them to earn their liberation in tombstones and blood.
I looked down. “If any of your people wish to leave . . .”
“Some already have,” she admitted. “I didn’t try to stop them. I only asked them not to join Ophiucae’s army instead.”
“They would do that? Even after what they saw today?”
“Ophiucae has been wise to keep himself out of sight. The mortals are starting to see Vance as the person we’re really fighting.”
“He is.”
“He’s not,” she said sharply. “You need to learn that even more than they do. Ophiucae will never submit to anyone, Diem. If he’s letting the mortals think they’re in control, it’s for a reason.
Asking myself why is what keeps me up at night.
” She rubbed wearily at her eyes. The signs of age that crept across her face looked deeper and starker than ever.
“My Guardians do not distrust Vance like you and I do. He has always been open about desiring a Descended-free world, and now he’s proving to them that he can make it happen.
The mortals are tired, sweetheart. They’re sick of fighting, and they’re sick of dying.
The solution you’re offering requires time and sacrifice and hard work. Vance’s solution does not.”