Chapter 68 #2
The guard hurried to spread the godstone slurry over the wax before it cooled. Luther came up beside him, brow creased, searching my face.
“You feel it again?” I asked him, and he gave a slight nod. “I don’t think it’s . . .” I trailed off. We couldn’t speak of Ophiucae so directly without risking panic. Those who could sense his aura were already visibly on edge.
“Try to use your magic,” he said.
The phantom shackles on my wrists seemed to tighten. “It’s not my godhood.”
“Try it,” he insisted.
I sighed and held out a palm, trying in earnest to conjure a wisp of shadow. I slumped lower in my chair when no magic came.
Luther turned, grabbing Teller’s arm and leading him aside. When they were out of earshot, their heads bent together in hushed conversation.
My gaze returned to my open palm. I called on my magic again, this time reaching beyond the empty chasm where my godhood once lived to a place even deeper within me, where the curious new sensation burned low in my ribs.
The wax cooled, its heat faded, and the feeling slipped away. My palm remained empty, cupping the scarlet sunlight and nothing more.
“Your Majesty,” Alixe said, striding up. “If we want to reach Fortos City by nightfall, we should depart now. The Meros ships that Obaneryn called in have not yet arrived, but we can leave some guards behind to escort them to Fortos when they land.”
I nodded. “Call in Sorae.”
Alixe sent pulses of light into the sky, and Sorae emerged from the clouds. I mounted my horse and rode to meet her as she landed in a field outside the palace gates.
“Did you fly to the Fortos border?” I asked her. “Did you see anything?”
She snorted at my horse, sending the mare skittering backward. I yanked on the reins. “Sorae, focus—what did you see?”
Her golden eyes burned into mine, tail thrashing angrily. I could tell she was as frustrated as I was by our inability to communicate. With neither the bond nor my Faunos magic, we’d been reduced to awkward guesswork.
She growled, the sound rumbling between a wide row of bared fangs. Her wings snapped out, then shuddered.
“Is he there?” I pushed.
She clicked her jaws and twitched her head. In the past, I could have read an entire speech from those two gestures. Now, I wasn’t sure she even understood my question.
“I need a Descended from Faunos,” I called out. Alixe waved one over, and I tried to conceal my humiliation as I asked him to interpret. He repeated my questions, and Sorae swung her head toward him with a series of chuffs and trills.
“She saw a large group marching for the border, but no sign of Ophiucae or his gryvern,” he explained.
“The group she saw—were they ours or his?”
He exchanged another long stare with Sorae. “Ours, she thinks. Half the group wore uniforms.”
I looked toward the southern border. Was it the army soldiers we’d called in? If so, were their minds still theirs—and who was with them?
Sorae stamped her talons. “She, uh . . . she wants me to tell you something else,” the man said. “She said she’s going to eat your horse. She wants you to ride her instead.”
I eased my mare back a few steps. “Can she understand me without your help?”
He nodded. “The gryverns understand our language, they just can’t speak it.”
I dismounted and walked to Sorae. She gave a barely audible whimper as I cupped her snout in my palms and lowered my voice so only she could hear. “Don’t join the fight today,” I murmured. “You’ve endured enough battles. Go find Tybold and make up.”
I knew it was wasted breath even before her answering growl, but I had to try. If she didn’t make it out of this battle alive, I needed to know I’d done all I could to save her.
And if I didn’t make it out alive, I needed her to know she was free.
I sighed. “Alright. You know the plan. Same as every battle. Hold off Ophiucae’s army until I find him. Then you and I will get him as far away as we can. You’ll take on his gryvern while I—”
Her whines drowned me out, silencing me just as Luther had done. But unlike my mate, she and I weren’t guaranteed a later.
I leaned my forehead against hers and fought the burning in my throat. “I love you,” I whispered. “Be careful today, alright? Stay the hell away from ballistas.”
She nuzzled my neck. My heart broke a little as I gave her scales a final stroke, then pulled away.
Alixe was waiting for me at my horse, along with Brecke, who was carrying a jumble of oddly shaped godstone shields in his arms. “There’s one last thing,” Alixe said.
“You’re not going to like it, but as your High General, I have to insist.”
She gestured to Brecke, and I pulled an item from his arms and frowned. It wasn’t a shield, as I’d thought. It was long and narrow and fitted with three leather straps.
“A vambrace,” Brecke explained. He set the pile at his feet and rifled through it until he found an identical piece, then held it to my forearm. “You wear them here.”
I was too surprised to protest as he began to buckle the straps around my wrist. My stare moved to the ground, where an item that looked suspiciously like a breastplate lay on top of the heap.
Unlike the rough, rudimentary shields I’d seen his assistants crafting last night, this armor was impeccably made.
Though it lacked embellishments, it was elegant in its streamlined design—the work of a master.
“You owe me another favor for this,” he joked.
“Brecke, I can’t wear this,” I protested.
He finished securing the buckles and grabbed the other vambrace from my hand. “Too bad. High General’s orders.”
“We don’t even have enough shields for everyone,” I argued. “It’s not fair for me to go into battle in armor while my people risk their lives in tunics.”
He caught my other wrist, wrapping the buckles around it.
“This war was never gonna be fair. The Descended have their magic and their armor and their healing and their special skin and the best weapons gold can buy, and all we mortals have are knives and prayers.” He knelt to search through the pile.
“Best chance we have to change that is if you survive with that Crown still on your head.”
I swallowed hard. “You don’t need me for that. You have the governing council now.”
He snorted. “That council’s only gonna last as long as there’s someone in charge that the Descended are scared of. That’s why I’m making sure you have a nice, long life.” He grabbed another piece—a series of overlapping plates attached to a leather belt. “Arms up, Sister Bellator.”
I shook my head. Brecke ignored my refusal, reaching for my waist. A shadowy whip snapped against his hand and sent him jerking back.
“The armor is much appreciated, Mister Holdern,” Luther said, walking toward us. “Diem will be wearing it”—he shot me a look—“but if you touch my mate without her consent again, you’ll be learning to make armor without hands.” He held out a palm to Brecke. “Allow me.”
Brecke glared in response, though he threw me an apologetic look as he handed over the armor.
Luther turned to me. “Arms up,” he repeated.
I shook my head. “I don’t want special treatment.”
“Diem, look at the armor.”
“I know it’s good armor. Someone should wear it. Give it to my mother, or to—”
“Look at the armor.”
I held up my forearm and frowned at the vambrace, not understanding. “What am I supposed to s—” My eyes moved to the breastplate and stopped as an image flashed in my head: a circle of fallen bodies and silver flames, and Luther standing before me, palm pressed to his heart.
“The vision,” I breathed.
Luther nodded. “It’s the same armor I saw you wear. Exactly the same.”